When Methuselah Dies: A Prophecy of Flood and Faithfulness

0930 AM (2830 BCE) – METHUSELAH

“Methuselah?” Daniella shouted from inside the eating tent. “Methuselah?”

After a few lingering moments, the head of a handsome, mature man of great stature stuck his head in.

“Yes, mother?” Methuselah’s face was weathered from almost 250 years in the desert, but his smile had not changed one bit in all that time.

“Have you seen your father? Is he back yet?” Daniella had become used to the routines of life. They were simple, predictable. Many would say boring—hence the rebellions to El and His ways. But Enoch was not one to be routine when he didn’t have to. He was different than everyone else, even his son. Enoch would often start his day helping his many daughters working the fields, then, just as likely by afternoon, he would be on the high grounds with his many sons tending the livestock. But for certain, by evening, he was always up at the Garden, just being with El.

Daniella did not mind, even though there were times she felt alone. Methuselah stayed close. He was the firstborn, and he honored her by always being available. Of course, there were other siblings who could and would step in, but with El’s promise of judgment ever looming, she just needed to know that Methuselah was close by.

Besides, she had stopped having children, which made her melancholy, and the last of her sons and daughters had been married off. Many worked the lands and fields with Enoch, but just as many wanted to start their own operations and moved far enough away to be fruitful and to multiply and to fill the earth and subdue it.

Methuselah spoke up, “I saw Enoch in the far distance, coming from the Garden. Pretty sure he will make it back by dark.”

Daniella nodded as she finished dinner preparations for the special occasion. “Ok, and I am sure he will be famished.”

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It wasn’t too long until Enoch finally approached the eating tent, and the aroma of the evening meal tantalized his aching body. He could already hear the subdued voices of his many children and his wife. Snapping the tent flap open, conversation abruptly died down, and everyone turned to look at Enoch.

“Greetings,” he said with a smile, “El sends His word.”

Enoch entered and turned to begin unloading his pack, and the previous conversation resumed at a more subdued volume. Finally joining the family, Enoch received the plate Daniella was offering him. He said a quick blessing to El and then ate just enough to stave off his hunger pains.

He cleared his throat. All eyes once again turned to him. “I, uh, as many of you are wondering… um, thanks for coming on such short notice. Sorry I was late. The death of Adam was a shock to all of us, and, well, I had to speak with El.”

Fitful murmurs made their way around the tent packed with close relatives. Adam, having died of natural causes, caused consternation toward Enoch, as it contradicted years of teaching regarding the judgment of the millennium. It was supposed to be Methuselah who died—not Adam. How were the people going to trust anything Enoch said?

“So, um, regarding the unexpected death of Adam and the coming millennial judgment…” The unshakable Enoch was clearly struggling. Standing before everyone, having to apologize for jumping to the wrong conclusion, it was humiliating and embarrassing. He was the head of the tribe, and the tribe counted on him being right.

“Look, from the very beginning, death was promised by El. And from that time, we certainly have been surrounded by death. But, for the most part, none of us have tasted death… until now. When El said that He would protect us from being harmed, we accepted it without any hesitation. And He did protect us. Nobody teaching the truth of El has been harmed. When He said to reach out to those who embrace death, we eagerly went without question. However, now that El has fulfilled a much older promise—that Adam would surely die—we gather together in grief and start to doubt all the works of our hands? We start to doubt El?”

Enoch set his plate aside and shifted his position. “Should we ever doubt El’s promise to fulfill His other promises, just because He fulfills the ones we truly don’t want to see fulfilled?”

The murmuring had died down, but angry looks took their stead.

Enoch noticed. “Look, I have been walking and talking with El for a long time. We have grown close. I gathered the courage to ask Him if He changed His mind or moved the dates about the judgment. And He said…”

Enoch’s voice, again, broke a little. He grabbed his wine glass and sipped, setting it back down.

“He said no. He was not like men, whose opinions changed with the blowing of the barley in the wind. What He has said, He has said.”

The awkward discomfort intensified, as many of the eyes watching him were filled with skepticism and, for some, even disdain.

“I petitioned El to help me understand, and El finally relented. I guess… I almost wish He hadn’t.”

Enoch grew silent for a moment. It was not theatrics. He really was lost in his thoughts.

“All this time I taught that the judgment of the world would cut Methuselah’s life short. But… but, really, it’s Methuselah’s life that will cut the world short. El finally told me what He had planned. That is, He told me what the judgment would be. When Methuselah dies, it seems, we all die.”

Enoch looked around and sighed. Then, frustrated with himself, he stood and briskly walked out. Daniella and Methuselah exchanged puzzled glances, and then they also followed Enoch out. Enoch went into his sleeping tent, and his wife and firstborn followed him.

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The three stood in the sleeping tent silently for several moments.

“I don’t understand,” Daniella finally blurted. “What did we miss? I thought El loved us? How could He let the righteous perish along with the wicked?”

Enoch was fighting hard to push back his tears. “Two generations,” was all he could get out.

Methuselah stepped forward. “Two generations? What do you mean two generations?”

“Uh,” Enoch replied, “in just two generations, there will not be even ten righteous people left anywhere in creation. He said that for the sake of ten people, He would not destroy everything. But it is more like, when there are fewer than ten faithful people, El will destroy the world.”

“That’s not so bad,” Methuselah suggested. “I mean, that would not take place until I am at least two thousand years old, right?”

“No, Methuselah,” Enoch groaned, as he rubbed his brow with his thick, coarse fingers. “Within two generations. So, your children, and then your children’s children. And remember, He called it the millennial judgment. Probably means that when you are around a thousand. It means you will see your children and grandchildren, and they will die right after you. It means only a handful of them will be faithful people.”

Daniella put an arm around Methuselah. “Honey…”

But all Methuselah could do was gently shake his head as he contemplated the fate of his children, his family, all of humanity. His life was the countdown to something horrible.

Enoch interrupted his thoughts. “It also means many today who claim to have faith really probably don’t. They are just too afraid to admit it. It means their children will not be convinced of the truth of El, and many others will fall away. Many will ask, ‘What’s the point of doing good, if we all are going to die?’ Methuselah,” Enoch almost shouted, “let me tell you, it matters!”

Enoch sat on his bedding and started to prepare for sleep. Methuselah sat next to him. “Abba, you said it yourself—El has a plan. El says I will die from natural causes. I have to be honest, from the sounds of it, I am not sure there will be much to live for by that time, anyway. We both know He will make a way for the faithful to survive. It is our job to teach our children best we can. We have one obligation in life, really, and that is to have children, teach them the truth about El, live that truth, and help them be moral. If they choose to follow Cain instead, well, I don’t know what to say. El gives them that choice.”

Enoch and Methuselah shared a hug, and Methuselah stood, patting Enoch’s leg with a warm smile. “Abba, it will be fine. At least we have you.”

Used with permission by the author. Find the author’s complete works online: Complete Works of Mack Samuels