Enoch Walks with God
And Learns Many Lessons Along the Way
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“And Enoch walked with God: and he was seen no more; for God took him.”
— Genesis 5:24
God walked with Enoch because Enoch didn’t say very much, and Enoch walked with God because he found he became wiser and wiser all the time.
“That’s a sycamore,” said God, pointing to it as they passed. They walked on in silence.
Enoch bowed his head and pondered the lesson of the sycamore tree, given to him by God. He recognized in it a great and powerful truth. For in learning the name of the sycamore tree, he became aware that there were indeed varieties of trees. In gaining knowledge about one, he discovered his ignorance with respect to hundreds. Thus, true knowledge leads always to humility, and the wise man’s learning teaches him how much he does not know.
Enoch nodded. A good lesson.
And God thought, “Hang on a minute. Was that a sycamore? I can’t remember. There are just so many me-damn trees in this me-damn world.”
They walked on.
Next, they came to a mighty desert. The wind howled across the face of the expanse, and nothing stirred except the shifting sand. “Well, this is the pits,” said God, looking around. It was late in the day, so they sat down to rest. Soon they fell asleep.
When Enoch awoke, the moon was high in the sky, and friendly stars shone down from their great dance above. He looked, and saw shiny green beetles skittering about in the sand. He saw a scorpion too, but he wasn’t afraid. He saw a desert fox—or perhaps it was a jackal—testing the air for the smell of fresh water. Enoch was glad. The lesson was clear: things are rarely as they seem, and even at the nadir of one’s ill fortune, one can find signs of life and the comfort of fellowship.
Enoch decided not to wake God and tell him what he had learned. Undoubtedly, this was the sort of thing God already knew, and precisely why God had brought him into the desert in the first place.
“Get up, Enoch,” said God, the next morning. “We’re late.” The sun was high above them. God brushed off his robes and hurried off, and Enoch did his best to keep up. They walked quickly past many ponderous sights: wild crocuses in bloom, and swallows building nests out of mud. As they walked, Enoch knew then that the urgency of their haste was merely a test, an illustrative device, and that he was meant to know that worry is an illusion of the Ego. For nature never hurries, yet everything is accomplished. Enoch saw too the beauty of divine simplicity: whatever must be done, can be done, in its own time.
This, Enoch decided, was one of God’s better lessons. And, he thought, as he quickened his stride, a very clever way to get the point across.
Finally, they came to a great mountain. Enoch saw that its peak touched the highest heaven, a gateway to the stars.
“Ah,” said God, remembering Enoch, with one leg already up the mountain. God turned and looked at him. “Well, I suppose you can come too. I could take you with me. Have the angels give you a tour of the cosmos, and that sort of thing.”
Enoch thrilled and trembled. This was the highest of adventures, the deepest of mysteries: to shuffle off this mortal coil, to slip into the deathly darkness of the Great Unknown. He recognized, to his own slight surprise, that he was ready to die. What’s more, he saw that mortality was a gift, and death a friend. For brevity gives life its resplendent worth, and time’s finitude is why men call it precious.
“Are you coming or not?” said God, crossing his arms. Enoch was clearly having one of his little moments. “Oh come on, it’s not like it’s gonna kill you or anything.” Then God gave him a tug, just to get him moving, and they started up the mountain together.
And Enoch walked with God: and he was seen no more; for God took him.
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Mortality is indeed a gift.