**The Unfailing God of Babylon**
The sun hung low over the city of Babylon, casting long shadows across its towering ziggurats and bustling marketplaces. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmurs of merchants haggling over silver and spices. In the heart of the city, a grand procession was underway—priests in ornate robes carried the heavy idols of Bel and Nebo atop gilded litters, their faces solemn as the crowd bowed in reverence.
Among the onlookers stood a small group of Israelites, exiles from Judah, their faces etched with weariness. They had seen this spectacle many times before—the gods of Babylon paraded through the streets, worshipped by kings and commoners alike. But today, as the idols swayed unsteadily on the backs of beasts and men, one of the elders among the exiles, a man named Ezra, turned to his companions with a knowing look.
“Do you see them?” he whispered, gesturing toward the procession. “These gods they carry are burdens themselves—weighed down by gold and silver, yet unable to move unless men lift them.”
His words stirred memories of the prophecies they had heard from Isaiah before their exile. One of the younger men, Micah, furrowed his brow. “But our God—He is not like these idols, is He?”
Ezra smiled faintly. “No, my son. Listen to what the Lord spoke through His prophet: *‘Bel bows down, Nebo stoops; their idols are on beasts and livestock; these things you carry are borne as burdens on weary animals. They stoop, they bow down together; they cannot save the burden, but themselves go into captivity.’*”
As the procession lumbered past, the idols wobbled precariously, and a few laborers grunted under their weight. The sight was almost pitiable—gods who needed to be carried, gods who could not even save themselves from being captured when invaders came.
Micah’s eyes gleamed with realization. “Then the Lord—our God—He is not carried. He carries *us*.”
Ezra nodded. “Yes. Hear the Word of the Lord: *‘Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been borne by me from before your birth, carried from the womb. Even to your old age I am He, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.’*”
A quiet awe settled over the group. The truth was overwhelming—unlike the lifeless idols of Babylon, their God was the One who had carried Israel through the Red Sea, through the wilderness, and even now, in exile, He had not abandoned them.
That night, as the stars glittered above Babylon, the little band of exiles gathered in a humble dwelling. They prayed, not to gods of gold that could not hear, but to the everlasting God who had promised, *”I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me.”*
And in that moment, though they were far from Jerusalem, they knew—they were not forgotten. The One who had carried them thus far would carry them home.
**The End.**
