Poor analogy. The only reason the king merits greater punishment of an offender than the same offence committed against a servant is because if the king is harmed, everybody in the kingdom is affected. If I commit an offence against you, and God chooses to be offended by my crime against you; nobody else is affected by my offence except you and God. A better analogy would be the crime against a rich man vs the same crime against a poor man which should merit the same punishment.
The idea that an eternal being should merit more punishment than the same crime against a temporary being is IMO backwards. A person who has only a limited time to live has less time to get over the crime than someone who lives forever. The eternal being should merit less punishment if anything
Ken
Adam was crowned. Your argument actually supports the consequences and righteous decision God has already made.
I like the idea from this short story and the message that it conveys:
At the end of time, billions of people were scattered on a great plain before God's throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before them. But some groups near the front talked heatedly - not with cringing shame, but with belligerence.
"Can God judge us? How can he know about suffering?" Snapped a pert young brunette. He ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi Concentration Camp. "We endured terror ... beatings ... torture ... death!"
In another group a Negro boy lowered his collar. "What about this?" he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. "Lynched for no crime but being black!"
In another crowd, a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes. "Why should I suffer?" She murmured. "It wasn't my fault."
Far out across the plain were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the evil and suffering he had permitted in the world. How lucky God was to live in heaven where all was sweetness and light, where there was no weeping or fear, no hunger or hatred. What did God know of all that men had been forced to endure in this world? For God leads a pretty sheltered life, they said.
So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because they had suffered the most. A Jew, a person from Hiroshima, a horribly deformed arthritic, and a thalidomide child.
In the centre of the plain they consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case. It was rather clever. Before God could be qualified to be their judge, he must endure what they had endured. Their decision was that God should be sentenced to live on earth - as a man!
Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of the birth be doubted.
Give him a work so difficult that even his family will think him out of his mind when he tries to do it.
Let him be betrayed by his closest friends.
Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge.
Let him be tortured.
At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly alone.
Then let him die, and so that there can be no doubt that he died, let there be a great host of witnesses to verify it.
As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the throng of people assembled. When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long silence. Nobody uttered another word. No one moved.
For suddenly all knew that God had already served his sentence.