Thirty years after Babylon burned Jerusalem to the ground, a man named Ezra lay on his bed in the city of his captors and could not sleep. His thoughts boiled. His heart raged. Because everywhere he looked, the math didn't add up.

God had chosen Israel. God had given them the Torah at Sinai, bending the heavens and shaking the earth to do it, passing His glory through four gates of fire and earthquake and wind and ice. He had picked one vine from every forest, one lily from every field, one dove from every flock. And then He had handed that chosen people over to a nation that didn't even know His name.

So Ezra opened his mouth and did something almost no one in scripture dares to do. He put God on trial.

"You formed Adam from dust," Ezra said. "You breathed life into him. You planted the garden. And then you gave him one single commandment — and when he broke it, you sentenced his entire line to death." He traced the whole history. The flood that drowned the world. Noah preserved. Abraham chosen in secret. Jacob set apart. David commanded to build the Temple. And then — ruin. The city delivered into enemy hands. Because the evil heart that plagued Adam plagued everyone after him. The disease was permanent.

"Weigh our sins against Babylon's sins," Ezra demanded. "Put them on a balance. You destroyed your own people and preserved your enemies."

Then the angel Uriel arrived. And he did not come with comfort.

"Your understanding has utterly failed," Uriel said. He gave Ezra three impossible tasks: "Go weigh for me the weight of fire. Measure for me a measure of wind. Call back for me the day that is past."

Ezra couldn't answer. These were things he lived with every day — fire, wind, the passage of time — and he couldn't even explain those. How then could he expect to understand the mind of the Most High?

Uriel told a parable. The trees of the forest planned to wage war against the sea. The waves of the sea planned to conquer the forest. Both plans failed — fire consumed the forest, sand stopped the waves. Each was assigned its place. "You have judged rightly," Uriel said. "But why have you not judged so in your own case? Those who dwell on earth can understand only what is on the earth."

But Ezra would not let go. "I'm not asking about the ways above. I'm asking about what we experience every day. Why has Israel been given over to godless tribes? Why do we pass from the world like locusts, our lives like a mist?"

Uriel's answer was terrifying: "The age is hastening swiftly to its end." A grain of evil seed was sown in Adam's heart from the beginning, producing ungodliness ever since, and it will not stop until the time of threshing comes.

"Count for me those who have not yet come," Uriel challenged. "Gather the scattered raindrops. Make withered flowers bloom. Show me the picture of a voice. Then I will explain the travail you ask to understand."

Ezra fell silent.

Then Uriel showed him a vision: a flaming furnace passed by, and when the flame was gone, only smoke remained. A cloud poured down violent rain, and when the storm passed, only drops remained. More time had already passed than was left to come. The end was closer than Ezra imagined.

And the signs of that end would be unmistakable. Blood dripping from wood. Stones uttering voices. Stars falling. Friends making war on friends. Wisdom withdrawing into its chamber, sought by many but found by none. One country asking its neighbor, "Has righteousness passed through you?" And the answer: "No."

Ezra awoke. His body shuddered. His soul fainted. But Uriel held him, strengthened him, and set him on his feet. The questions were not answered. They were only just beginning.