The Brink of Despair
Dread of his personal liability would have become a nagging irritant as he thought, and he would have become obsessed with the spectacle of being demoted from the highest level of service to sudden banishment in ignominy. If he had been tracking ever-widening pathways of error, it would have harassed and unnerved him, world without end.
Whether or not he was conscious of guilt, we know by the flaw’s report that the Light Bearer was changed. He was transfigured, transmogrified, reborn, recreated, born anew. He had been praised as the perfect covering cherub; but in becoming a man, he would become feared as a perfectly intolerable menace by some and hated by others as the scapegoat that reminded them of their own iniquities.
After expulsion from heaven, his reception on earth as a mortal would have been met with resentment from everyone he encountered, drawing shame and derision upon him. His adoptive brothers would have painted him with guilt that he would forever shoulder as an infectious outsider.
Still worse, bloody tale bearers would surely seal his dishonor among their fellows with gossip; and he would be labeled as a devil. Some would even whisper that he was the Satan about whom they had been warned.
Times are determined by the spin of the wheel; and in God’s creation, wheels turn within wheels as firmaments evolve into expanses. By the time Lucifer first lived as a human being, the bane of iniquity would have touched every family on earth.
Perceived through the dimmed eyes of errant mortals, the fallen angel could expect no sympathy for his fate; nor would he find remedy against the shudder his name awakened in the hearts of his contemporaries.
Ostracism is severe punishment. On his own at all times, Lucifer would have craved alliances. He would have welcomed even his fiercest detractors because confrontation requires interaction, which would have chiseled away at the distance between himself and his accusers, relieving his solitude and opening a causeway for dialog.
Desperation would have been driving him near madness. His thirsting soul would have been riven by an itch of the absurd; and the corrosive cancer of guilt within his angelic core would have metastasized into a narcissistic pride that had not been present in his experience as the covering cherub, but which would have seized upon his nakedness as a hapless man.
It would no longer be said of him that he was perfect in all his ways, or that he was the Bearer of God’s Light.
When the realms were created, an expanse between heaven and earth was formed to divide the higher from the lower, the light from the darkness, and to rule the reality of discrete systems integrated with other systems throughout the expanse of space, in whose vacuum night and day are one.
The creator of a universe that is both good and very good gave mankind laws that were also good, the ten sayings. Those were followed by laws that were not good: not “bad” laws, mind you, but laws that fell somewhat short of being “good.”
The “not-good” laws are the statutes and ordinances of the Levitical priesthood, whose initial purpose is to meet man in his fallen state and, using metaphor, to map out the pathway that would lead mankind back to the measurement of Torah’s Son of God. Lucifer wasn’t an inhabitant of the temporal realms. He was the covering cherub for all of creation, as though he were an intelligent membrane between organs with differing functions.
The covering cherub joined part to part while serving the whole in the interests of order; for he supported communication between synchronized operations of the autonomous components of integrated systems. The interface between the creator and his creation, the covering cherub held occupancy in all realms, but none could claim him as occupant.
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