Jeremiah found their bodies a couple days later. Shemaiah’s skin leprous white, fingers, toes gnarled and twisted. Tumors the size of mandarins grew out of his throat and chest. The wild dogs sniffed at him and continued their search for food. Jeremiah wouldn’t have recognized Zephaniah except that a group of mourners had built a memorial for their prophet. He could still smell the diesel fumes which had soaked Zephaniah’s body before fire exploded around him.
Long lines of prisoners had streamed out of the city the next couple of months, Russia their ultimate destination. Bridges needed repair. Highways and rail lines had to be built. Everything made possible by the slave labor brought in from the Atlantic States. Many of the prisoners died before they stepped foot on the transport ships, exhaustion and starvation decimating their ranks. The Russians left their bodies where they fell.
The rains came the day Zedekiah lost his sight. Cool, healing rain pouring down on a thirsty landscape. Grass grew, trees sprung to life. Life returned as though it had waited for that very moment. The Russians left the poorest of the poor behind to keep nature from completely overrunning the city. They installed Gedaliah, Ben’s son, as the governor in charge of the new Russian province. He lasted less than a year before a coup attempt ended his life.
Russian forces amassed along the northern outskirts of the city again. Johanan Koreah, one of the few American officers who had escaped the purge and the one responsible for capturing Gedaliah’s assassin, sought out a word from the Lord. Jeremiah returned to him ten days later.
“Have you heard from him?” Johanan asked.
Jeremiah nodded. “Here is what the Lord says. ‘If you stay in this land, I will build you up and not tear you down; I will plant you and not uproot you, for I have relented concerning the disaster I have inflicted on you. Do not be afraid of the Russians, whom you now fear. Do not be afraid of him, declares the Lord, for I am with you and will save you and deliver you from their hands. I will show you compassion so that they will have compassion on you and restore you to your land.’ However, if you say, ‘We will not stay in this land,’ and so disobey the Lord your God, and if you say, ‘No, we will go to the south, where we will not see war or hear the trumpet or be hungry for bread,’ then hear the word of the Lord, you remnant. This is what the Lord Almighty says: ‘If you are determined to go south and you do go to settle there, then the sword you fear will overtake you there, and the famine you dread will follow you, and there you will die. Indeed, all who are determined to go south to settle there will die by the sword, famine and plague; not one of them will survive or escape the disaster I will bring on them.’”
The debate between Johanan and his advisors lasted less time than it took for Jeremiah to rub his eyes. He stood tall as the insults began again, as the disbelief manifested in slander and anger directed at God as much as at him. The response didn’t surprise him. Maybe it should have. Then again, mankind never seemed able to learn from its mistakes. Mel shrugged his shoulders and pulled Jeremiah aside.
“What are you going to do?”
“It doesn’t look like I have much choice,” Jeremiah said. “Johanan seems determined to disobey.” He gestured towards Baruch, who waited patiently by his side. “And take us with him. You?”
“I don’t know,” Mel said. “I suppose I’ll wait for the Russians to sack the city again.” A quick laugh passed from his lips.
“Are you sure?” Baruch asked, the gray hair drooping over a pair of glasses a couple years too old.
Mel nodded. “I’ll be alright. Jeremiah just said so. Besides, the Lord promised he would spare me wherever I go, and what he says, he does.”
Jeremiah held out his hand. “I wish you the best,” he said. “May the Lord always be with you.”
Mel grabbed the hand and pulled Jeremiah in.
“I’ll miss you.”
Jeremiah didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He watched as Mel walked away, following his fading outline until distance hid him from sight.
I, Baruch son of Neriah, attest to the accuracy of this story as I witnessed it firsthand or collected it from the people involved. We’re at the end of this particular chapter. I have no idea what the next chapter will be or even if there will be one. All I know is that the story was never about the what, the why, the where, or the when, but about the who. Read the Book of Jeremiah again and you will see. It is His story, the Lord’s story. A story of truth and justice and wrath and righteousness. But if we are willing to open our eyes, it is also one of mercy and redemption and love.