Michael.
I was drawn out of the water and raised in a house that was not mine, by a people who were killing my own. I killed a man at forty and ran, and I kept another man's sheep in Midian for forty years after that. Those are the years nobody counts. They are the ones that made me. Four decades of silence with animals took whatever Egypt had put in me and emptied it out.
I was eighty and a shepherd when the bush burned and did not burn away. I did not want the work. I said so five times and I was sent anyway. That is the honest beginning of it.
As for the role — men remember the sea. The sea took one night. What came after took forty years.
I brought two million people out of a country that had owned them for four hundred years, and then I had to make a nation out of them in open country, and they had never governed themselves for a single day. No courts. No precedent. No memory of rest. They knew how to be worked and they knew how to be afraid, and that was the whole of what they knew.
So I sat and judged their cases from morning until evening until my father-in-law told me plainly I would wear us all out, and he was right, and I did what he said.
The Law came down for that. Not as a philosophy. As the thing that holds a people together when there is nothing else holding them. Cities of refuge because otherwise one death makes two and two makes four. A commanded rest because slaves do not know how to stop unless they are ordered to. A year that returns land, because a people who just escaped an underclass will build another one inside forty years if you let them.
It did not make anyone righteous. I never said it would. I broke the first tablets before a word of them had been read.
I am not eloquent. I have never had a second way of saying a thing.
And I did not go in. I saw the land from Nebo and I died in Moab, and no one knows where.
I wrote, before that: the Lord will raise up a prophet like me — listen to him. I did not know who I was writing about. I knew it was not going to be me.