by Lynn Austin
Again, he thought of Zechariah’s words: “When it comes to obeying the Law, you can’t pick and choose.” The Torah instructed him to be faithful to one wife, and if he had to decide between Hephzibah and one of his concubines, there was no contest. None of the others could match her elegance and grace—or her astonishing beauty.
He took a deep breath. “It won’t happen. From now on I’ll have only one wife, as the Torah commands.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “What?”
“It’s true. You’ll be my only wife.”
Hephzibah gave a cry of joy and threw herself into his arms, clinging to him as if she would never let go. He had surprised himself, as well. He certainly hadn’t made this decision ahead of time. And as he held Hephzibah close and stroked her soft, fragrant hair, he was equally surprised to discover that he no longer cared about the rest of his harem. How could he have forgotten how beautiful Hephzibah was?
“I know that in time we’ll have a son,” he said, “maybe by this time next year. But there’s really no hurry. I plan to live a long time, so I won’t be needing an heir right away.”
She looked up at him, smiling through her tears, and Hezekiah was overcome again by her loveliness. “I will give you an heir—I promise! If I bring regular offerings to Asherah, she—”
“Oh no,” Hezekiah groaned. Hephzibah worshiped idols. He released her from his arms.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Hezekiah saw the look of horror on her face as she realized she had lost him again, and in spite of the revulsion he felt toward her idolatry, Hezekiah couldn’t bear to hurt her. He studied her delicate face for a moment, the perfect slope of her nose, the slant of her eyes, the flush of her smooth, tawny skin.
“Do you believe in Yahweh, Hephzibah?” he asked.
“Yes; my family taught me to offer sacrifices to him.”
“Other gods, too?”
“Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“The lord Baal . . . the goddess Asherah . . .”
“And Molech?” He felt his stomach turn.
“No, my lord. Not Molech.”
Hezekiah sighed. Once again he remembered that Hephzibah had been a gift from Ahaz, and her idolatry didn’t surprise him. He knew he was free to divorce a wife who worshiped idols and to choose his own wife, but he was amazed to realize that he didn’t want to. Maybe it was because he recognized her deep love for him. Or maybe because she was so very beautiful. Hezekiah didn’t fully understand why, but he knew he wanted to give Hephzibah another chance. He felt irresistibly drawn to her, like the proverbial moth to the flame.
“There is only one God,” he said gently. “Yahweh. He is the only God we will ever worship in this nation and in this household as long as I am king. The others are only wood and stone. If you want to remain married to me, you must give up Baal and Asherah and worship only Him.” He wondered if he was asking for too much too soon.
“I will do anything for you,” she said, and again he saw the love in her eyes. He believed her.
Hezekiah wondered what would happen if he opened his heart to her in love. He hadn’t really loved any of his concubines. “Confide in her. Listen to her. Win her loyalty and her love, and you’ll be the happiest man alive,” Zechariah had assured him. But how would he begin to build a life with her? Hezekiah didn’t even know her. He gazed around the room, searching for a place to start, and spotted a small lyre.
“Is that little harp yours, Hephzibah? Can you play it?”
“Yes.” Her smile was both shy and radiant.
“Would you play a song for me? I love music, but I don’t play an instrument myself. My grandfather is a Levite singer, and of course my ancestor David was a musician, but I didn’t inherit any of their talent.”
“Shall I sing for you, too?”
“Yes, I’d like that.” He watched as she picked up the lyre and began strumming it softly. He could tell by the way her delicate fingers caressed the strings that she was an accomplished player. But when she began to sing, her voice was the most beautiful sound Hezekiah had ever heard. It flowed so sweetly and effortlessly that she made singing seem easy. He sat entranced, feeling the tension and strain of his day melt away. He was sorry when the song ended.
He sat in silence for several moments, enjoying her beauty, basking in it. Then he said, “Please . . . sing another one.”
She smiled. “All right. I’ll play one that was written by another ancestor of yours.” She strummed a few bars of a haunting melody, then began to sing.
“‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for your love is more delightful than wine. . . . Take me away with you—let us hurry! Let the king bring me into his chambers. . . . Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.’”
When she finished, Hezekiah gently took the lyre from her hands and gathered her into his arms.
7
King Hezekiah leaned back on his throne as another long day of listening to petitions drew to a close. “Are we finished for today, Joah?” he asked the court scribe.
“Almost, Your Majesty. A delegation of priests and Levites from the Temple requests an audience with you.”
“Good. Send them in.” He turned to Shebna, seated by his right hand. “I’ve asked them to report their progress in purifying the Temple. Let’s hope it’s good news for a change.”
Shebna made a face. “More likely it is another internal power struggle for us to solve. We seem to have plenty of those.”
“Yes, well, now we know why King Solomon prayed for wisdom.”
The delegation consisted of Hezekiah’s grandfather, the new high priest, Azariah, and Shimei, the chief Levite. As soon as they entered the throne room, Hezekiah knew by the expressions on their faces that they brought good news. Azariah, who had served as high priest before Uriah, seemed alarmingly old and frail, and he had difficulty rising to his feet after bowing low before the king. But when he spoke it was with the vigor and enthusiasm of a much younger man, willing to tackle an overwhelming job.
“Your Majesty, we’ve finished cleansing the Temple,” he said simply.
It took Hezekiah a moment to realize the importance of his words. “You mean everything is finished?” he asked in astonishment.
“Yes, everything. We’ve restored and sanctified the altar of burnt offerings and all its equipment, and set up the Table of Shewbread. What’s more, we’ve recovered all the utensils discarded by King Ahaz when he closed the Temple, and they’re beside the altar of the Lord, ready to be used again.”
Hezekiah couldn’t hide his surprise. “You mean everything’s finished already? The Temple is purified?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I can’t believe it. I thought it would take months to restore. How did you accomplish everything so quickly? It’s only been—how long? A little more than two weeks?”
“Sixteen days, Your Majesty,” Shimei said. “But some of us have waited a lifetime for this opportunity.”
“It’s not fancy,” Zechariah added, “and there’s still a lot of repair work to be done, but it’s purified according to the Law. Why don’t you come with us and see for yourself?”
Hezekiah couldn’t resist the invitation. He hadn’t been to the Temple since the night Uriah died. “Lead the way,” he said. Shebna remained behind as Hezekiah followed the three men.
The afternoon was dismal, and a light rain fell as Hezekiah climbed the steps of the royal walkway to the Temple Mount. Rows of rolling gray clouds hung heavily over the valleys, and Jerusalem looked sodden and deserted.
“We’re as surprised as you are it was finished so quickly,” Azariah told him as they ascended, “but we all worked together as one man. The priests took everything that was unclean out of the Temple and carried it into the courtyard. Then the Levites took it down to the Kidron Valley and dumped it. We reached the outer court in about a week and finished everything else this afternoon.”
When they arri
ved at the entrance to the Temple, Hezekiah stopped to admire the spacious open courtyard and the magnificent view from the highest point in the city. Then he followed the others through the court of women and into the inner courtyard, stopping just inside the gates. The Assyrian altar was gone. Yahweh’s altar was back in its original place. It loomed above them, thirty feet square and fifteen feet high. Hezekiah watched as one of the priests ascended the ramp to fuel the fire, which hissed and steamed in the falling rain.
“How did you ever move this altar back?” he asked. “It’s so huge I imagined it would require hundreds of workers.”
“Your new engineer, Eliakim, figured out a way for a handful of men to move it as if it weighed nothing at all,” Azariah said.
“Amazing.” On Hezekiah’s left, a team of craftsmen was working to construct a new base for the Bronze Sea to rest upon, modeled after the original base of twelve oxen from Solomon’s time. The huge basin still rested crookedly on its old, improvised foundation, and raindrops made spreading circles on the glassy surface of the water. Hezekiah walked over for a closer look, running his fingers across one of the oxen’s shining flanks.
“They’re magnificent,” he said. “I never saw this the way it’s supposed to be. Didn’t you tell me that the original oxen were sent to Assyria?” he asked his grandfather.
“Yes. Such treasures to give away to a heathen king.”
“Not just our treasures—our wealth, our sovereignty. . . .” Hezekiah felt a surge of anger, but for now he was powerless to change the situation his father had created. Perhaps the rededication of the Temple would bring the return of Yahweh’s blessings.
“Have all the priests and Levites consecrated themselves?” he asked the high priest.
“More Levites than priests have returned to serve with us, but we’ve all performed the ritual of consecration as Yahweh commanded. We’re ready.”
Hezekiah looked around again at everything they had accomplished and remembered his disappointment the first time Zechariah had brought him here. It had seemed like an empty ritual, with none of the splendor and majesty that God deserved.
“How long has it been since the daily sacrifices have been offered?” he asked.
“According to the Law of Moses? I don’t know . . . many years,” Zechariah said. “Yet Yahweh commanded that a sacrifice be made morning and evening for the sins of the people.”
“Then the account of our sin must be very great by now. When can we begin sacrificing again?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Azariah said, smiling.
“Are the musicians ready, too?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Shimei said. “I’ve organized everything according to the pattern prescribed by King David, just as you commanded. All the Levites from the tribes of Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun are ready. We have singers, harps, lyres, and cymbals. And we’ve been rehearsing.”
Hezekiah rested his hand on Azariah’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe everything is ready so soon. You’ve all worked hard. Thank you.”
He was about to leave when he saw Eliakim hurrying across the courtyard to bow before him. His clothes were drenched, and rain plastered his hair to his head and dripped from his beard.
“Welcome, Your Majesty. I hope you’re pleased with what we’ve done so far?”
“Yes. I’m amazed at how much has been accomplished, Eliakim. How are the structural repairs coming?”
“Excellent, Your Majesty. I have a very dedicated crew. There’s still a lot of repair work to be done, but the foundations are solid. Solomon’s original structures were well built, each stone chiseled so precisely that mortar wasn’t even necessary, and—” Eliakim paused to sneeze. “Excuse me, Your Majesty.”
“We’ve tried to get him to go indoors for a while, out of the rain,” Shimei said, “but he won’t listen.”
Eliakim dismissed Shimei’s concern with a wave of his hand. “Even the great earthquake from King Uzziah’s time didn’t seem to damage the main structure. Most of the work will involve repairing the crumbling plasterwork, replacing rotting beams, and restoring what was damaged when the gold was stripped off by King Ahaz. But the Temple is ready to be used for the sacrifices.” He finished with another sneeze.
“That’s very good news, Eliakim. I appreciate your dedication. And now I’m ordering you to go home and change into dry clothes.”
Eliakim blushed and fought to suppress a grin. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
As Hezekiah walked back through the courtyard toward the palace, a glint of metal caught his eye. He turned aside for a closer look and saw a statue of a snake draped around a brass pole. He called Shimei over. “What is this?”
“It’s the bronze serpent that Moses raised up in the wilderness. According to the story, poisonous serpents attacked the Israelites because of their sin, but when they looked to this bronze serpent, God healed them.”
“I noticed it the last time I was here, but I assumed it was more of my father’s idolatry. Was this part of Solomon’s original Temple?”
“Well, no. Not exactly.”
“Get rid of it, then. It doesn’t belong here.”
Shimei stared at him in surprise. “But many people pray to it, and some even claim healing—”
“Then the people are misusing it. They’ve made it into an idol. It’s unclean, and I want it out of here. God is the One who heals, not this thing.”
“But, Your Majesty, the people consider it sacred and—”
“I don’t care. I’ll smash it to pieces myself if you don’t want to, but it doesn’t belong in this Temple. It isn’t sacred. It’s a hunk of brass. Our worship must remain pure.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Tell the priests that I want the sin offering tomorrow to be seven times the usual sacrifice for sin. Offer it for the entire congregation, and for the sanctuary because it was so defiled. And for all of Judah—no, make that for all of Israel and Judah. Even though we’re two nations, we’re still one people.”
“Everything will be done just as you command, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Until tomorrow, then.”
The overcast sky was beginning to lighten in the east when King Hezekiah descended the broad palace steps to greet the nobles and city elders waiting for him in the courtyard. The crowd streaming up to the Temple seemed large—larger than he had dared hope, especially with wave after wave of gray storm clouds rolling down from the distant mountaintops into the valleys below. The spring rains had been plentiful this year, and Hezekiah wondered again if God had already begun to bless his nation.
From a distance he heard the bellowing of the sacrificial animals and smelled their scent. Blood had to be shed, atonement made, and suddenly Hezekiah felt very conscious of his sins, as if they were visibly written on him for all to see. He knew his guilt was very great, and he wondered if he would feel any different afterward.
Azariah stood beside the altar of burnt offering, dressed in the miter and ephod of the high priest. The air above the altar wavered from the heat, and Hezekiah could feel its warmth as he approached. One of the young bulls strained against the rope as it instinctively shied away from the fire; Hezekiah identified with the animal in its attempts to escape, remembering his own desperate struggle against the soldiers who had carried him to Molech. Hezekiah placed his hand on the bull’s head, feeling the rough stubble of its fur, and he remembered Uriah’s hand resting on his brother Amariah’s head, marking him as the firstborn. The bull would take Hezekiah’s place, would die for his sins. His brother had also died in his place.
The high priest did his job swiftly and skillfully; the bull went limp, its blood filling the ceremonial bowl. Then there was a flurry of activity around him as the priests slaughtered the animals that the chief elders had presented. Carcasses piled up around the altar as the priests poured out basin after basin of blood at its base. Knives glinted and flashed, the priests’ arms turned bloody, their garments stained, but they worked tirelessly, slaughterin
g the seven rams, then the seven lambs. The Levites helped with the sacrifices, removing the fat for the priests, who carried it up the sloping ramp to the altar. When everything was ready, the high priest began to chant the liturgy, and the men who still remembered the words joined in. “‘Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered.’” Everyone fell prostrate in worship as the priests and Levites sang: “‘I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.”’”
As the congregation rose to their feet, the high priest laid the offering on the altar and stepped back. Then the joyful cry rang out as a pillar of fire ascended into the air. “‘You forgave the guilt of my sin. Therefore let everyone who is godly pray to you while you may be found . . . you are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.’”
The words seemed like a promise to Hezekiah, and he wondered if he would ever have enough faith to trust God for deliverance from Assyria. He looked at his grandfather and knew that Zechariah had waited and prayed many years for this day.
With the sin offering completed, Hezekiah gave the command for the burnt offering to begin, and the Levite musicians assembled on the steps of the sanctuary with their instruments. The sound of voices and instruments in the echoing courtyard, along with the stirring melody, touched a chord in Hezekiah as ancient as his ancestry and brought back tender memories of Zechariah singing to him, comforting him when he was a child. As the music rose in the morning air, the sacrifices seemed transformed. The splattered blood and slaughtered animals faded into the background as the priests accomplished their tasks in rhythm to the music. It was no longer a scene of carnage, but an act of worship.
“‘Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth. Worship the Lord with gladness; come before him with joyful songs. . . . ‘“> The aroma of roasting meat filled the air, and Hezekiah found it was a sweet smell, one he would smell every morning and evening from now on as the wind carried it down the hill to the palace.