by Lynn Austin
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 arrived 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 Jedu- thun 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 Judahno, 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, slaughtering 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
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 joyfiil 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.
When the music ended, Hezekiah faced the people. "Now that you have rededicated yourselves to Yahweh, you may bring your peace offerings and thank offerings." The overwhelming response amazed him as hundreds of men brought their offerings forward. Zechariah and the other Levites had to take over for the exhausted priests as the people brought animals to them in a steady stream. As the morning wore on, a misty rain began to fall, washing gently over the worshipers, and it seemed to Hezekiah that it cleansed the entire city. The Levites continued to praise and sing in spite of the rain until the last offering was finally placed on the fire.
Hezekiah bowed his head as the high priest delivered the benediction: "'The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace."'
"Amen," Hezekiah murmured. He felt a sense of relief knowing that peace had been restored between him and God. He had a new beginning after so many wasted years. Now he could begin to lead his nation on God's path.
8
JERUSHA LIFTED THE TENT FLAP and dragged the heavy water jug over to the hearth, lacking the strength to carry it. Her limbs ached, and she felt horribly ill as she battled waves of nausea. She knew that she would receive no compassion or relief even if she was sick, so she struggled with her work in silence, willing her seething stomach to be still.
Black flies swarmed around the food, and she swatted uselessly at them. They hovered everywhere, clinging to the dishes and cooking pots. Everything about Jerusha's new home seemed oppressive and evil, as if all the color had drained out of the world, leaving only darkness. Dull black tents stretched endlessly in every direction. The Assyrians' curly hair and pitiless eyes were black. The ever-circling vultures darkened the sky, blotting out the sun.
Birds no longer sang during the day-or else they were drowned out by the cries of human pain and torture and the distant sounds of battle. At night the hyenas and jackals boldly roamed about in the darkness, fighting and feasting on the bodies of the fallen. Jerusha couldn't escape the smell of rotting flesh, but to the Assyrians the scent was a sweet-smelling perfume. Death was their sport, their way of life, their god. Her life had become an unceasing grind of slavery, preparing meals during the day, being used and abused by Iddina and his fellow officers at night.
Jerusha had lost track of time as the days and weeks merged together endlessly. Had she been captured a month, six months? She no longer knew, nor could she recall joy or laughter or love. When she tried to remember her home and her family, she found that the memories had faded, merging with the suffering all around her. She could remember her family only as she had seen them last: Abba covered with blood, Mama and Maacah cowering in fear. She recalled how the grape arbors and olive groves of her homeland looked after they'd been looted and burned. Death and destruction were all she knew.
"You'd better hurry up!" Marah's angry voice brought Jerusha back to the present.
"I can't work any faster," she moaned. "I feel awful."
Marah continued to grind grain in silence, offering no sympathy. From the beginning, Jerusha had shared the three-room tent and all the cooking duties with Marah, but if Jerusha had hoped for any love or friendship, she was soon disappointed. Marah had retreated long ago to a secret world inside her own mind in order to escape from the Assyrians and her living death sentence. She had nothing to give Jerusha beyond the basic instructions of their daily work.
Jerusha had guessed Marah to be in her late thirties and was startled to learn that she was twenty. She seemed like an aging, bitter woman, her beauty used up, her youth and innocence long dead. Through the scattered, fragmented sentences Marah offered from time to time, Jerusha learned that she had been captu
red more than a year earlier during an Assyrian raid like the one on Dabbasheth. Her husband and tiny son had been brutally slaughtered in front of her. Now Marah often retreated to a world inside herself, sitting alone in her tent in a huddled ball, rocking endlessly, staring at nothing. Once withdrawn that way, she was deaf, blind, unreachable.
"What's wrong with you today?" Marah asked. "Why are you so slow?"
"It's my stomach. I feel like I'm going to be sick."
The smell of burning dung suddenly reached Jerusha's nostrils, and she could no longer control her nausea. She dropped the dough she was kneading and fled behind the tent to vomit.
When Jerusha stumbled back to her work again, Marah was star ing at her with her hands on her hips. "You're pregnant, aren't you." It wasn't a question, but an accusation.
"No .. I can't be...
"Why not?"
"Because-" Jerusha started to say that only women who were married and had homes and husbands got pregnant, but the words died on her lips. For a painfiil, bitter moment she thought of her promised betrothal to Abram and the rosy-cheeked babies she had imagined they would have together. It had been her dream, all that she had asked for in life. Then the vision died with the realization of where she was and what she had become.
"You are pregnant," Marah said, and Jerusha knew it was true. She covered her face and wept. "I'll take care of it for you," Marah said after a moment.
"What do you mean?" Jerusha couldn't imagine why the cold, unfeeling Marah would offer to help care for her child.
"I know how to take care of it so it'll never be born."
Jerusha drew back. "No. . ."
"It's better to kill it now, before it grows too big."
"I could never do that!"
Marah gave her a disgusted look. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you." She returned to her work.
Jerusha didn't think her life could become any more unbearable than it was. She was already living a nightmare that she could never awaken from, and now she had to face the fact that she was carrying a child. A baby conceived by rape was growing inside her, and she would have to give birth to it in this dark, evil place. She covered her face again and wept at the hopelessness of it all, her body shaking with her sobs. Why had God abandoned her to this living hell?