by Lynn Austin
The king should know that the Jews who have moved here from Babylon are rebuilding the rebellious and wicked city of Jerusalem. They are restoring the walls and repairing the foundations. Furthermore, the king should know that if this city is built and its walls are restored, no more taxes, tribute or duty will be paid and the royal revenue will suffer. Now, since we are under obligation to the palace and it is not proper for us to see the king dishonored, we are sending this message to inform the king, so that a search may be made in the archives of your predecessors. In these records you will find that Jerusalem is a rebellious city, troublesome to kings and a place of rebellion from ancient times. That is why this city was destroyed. We inform the king that if Jerusalem is rebuilt and its walls are restored, you will be left with nothing in Trans-Euphrates.’”
Zerubbabel lowered the letter and faced the assembled people, his anger poorly concealed. “You’ll notice that Rehum said nothing in his letter about the Holy Temple, which was the true reason that King Cyrus commissioned us to return. If Rehum had mentioned the temple, then the original proclamation could have easily been found. Instead, the governor deliberately misled the new king. Now I’ll read King Artaxerxes’ reply, which Rehum has just received.” He unrolled a second scroll and began to read, his tone edged with bitterness.
“‘Greetings. The letter you sent us has been read and translated in my presence. I issued an order and a search was made, and it was found that Jerusalem has a long history of revolt against kings and has been a place of rebellion and sedition. The city has had powerful kings ruling over the whole of Trans-Euphrates in the past, and they demanded that taxes, tribute and duty be paid to them. Now issue an order to these men to stop work—’”
“No!” The outcry raced through the crowd at his words. Stop working? They had just begun! The prince waited for the cries to die away.
“‘ . . . Issue an order to these men to stop work so that Jerusalem will not be rebuilt until I so order. Be careful not to neglect this matter. Why let this threat grow, to the detriment of the royal interests?’”
The crowd’s outrage overflowed as the prince rolled up the letter. He finally held up his hand so he could continue. “Governor Rehum and Shimshai his secretary and their associates are now compelling us to stop working through threat of force—you’ve all seen their enforcers among us.” Once again, he glared at the Samaritan leader and the soldiers standing guard beside him. “It grieves me to tell you that their order includes all work on the temple.” The loud cry came from the priests this time. Zechariah craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his grandfather and saw that he had covered his face with his hands.
“And since we can no longer build our city,” the prince continued, shouting to be heard above the murmuring, “it also means that new immigrants will not be allowed to come.”
At this, the crowd stilled. Zechariah caught his breath. His parents wouldn’t be allowed to come? He might never see them again? He looked at his grandmother and saw her standing with her eyes closed, her hands covering her mouth as if to hold back her grief.
“Rehum has assured us that once we stop building the temple and stop repairing the city walls and gates, our neighbors will make peace with us,” the prince continued. “The threats and the violence will end. The local people will trade with us again.”
It wasn’t a fair exchange. Zechariah knew they could survive without Samaritan food, but not without God’s presence. Their lives would have no meaning at all without Him. Once again Zerubbabel had to hold up his hands to quiet the people, who seemed to grow angrier every minute, like a hive of bees that had been disturbed. This time Prince Sheshbazzar stepped forward to speak.
“We all know that King Cyrus has commissioned us to build the temple. Rehum knows it, as well. Once the king’s original proclamation is found among the Persian documents, it will confirm our right to be here and to build here. I’m sending emissaries of my own to Persia immediately. This matter will be settled in our favor. Unfortunately, it will take time to get the justice that we deserve, and in the meantime, I’m sorry to say that all construction on the temple must cease.”
“No . . .” Zechariah murmured. He repeated it, louder, joining the chorus of protests. “No! No! We can’t stop building!” He felt his grandmother’s hand on his shoulder and looked at her tear-streaked face. “Why won’t the Holy One help us?” he asked. “He could do miracles!” Safta could only shake her head in reply.
Once again, Zerubbabel gestured for silence. The high priest had joined the other two men on the platform, waiting to speak. “The daily sacrifices and annual feasts will continue,” Jeshua said. “No one can prevent us from worshiping God as we wait for the original proclamation to be found. In the meantime, we have much to pray about.”
There was nothing that anyone could do. The courtyards slowly emptied. Zechariah walked home with his grandmother and the other women, staying with them all day as Saba had asked him to instead of going to the watchtower. Why keep watch when the enemy was already in Jerusalem, defeating them?
The sun went down and the stars came out, but Saba still didn’t return home. Zechariah pushed food around on his plate at dinnertime, unable to eat as bitter questions churned inside him. He waited for his grandfather outside the gate to their courtyard, watching for him, and when he finally trudged down the street toward home, alone, Saba resembled a plant that had withered in the summer’s heat. Zechariah ran out to meet him.
“I don’t understand why the Holy One allowed this to happen, Saba!”
“Our enemies are very shrewd, Zaki. But they won’t be able to stand in God’s way for long.”
He blocked Saba’s path, needing answers before his grandfather talked to the others. “Why doesn’t He help us? The Holy One drowned all the Egyptians and their chariots. He struck their firstborn dead and—”
“The Holy One has a purpose in this. Maybe this time of waiting will be good for us.”
“How can it be good for us? We should fight back instead of giving in to our enemies.”
“I’ve been arguing about this all day, Zaki,” he said, and his voice did sound hoarse. “I told them that we should obey God, who commanded us to rebuild the temple, and not the men who told us to stop. But Prince Sheshbazzar has the final authority, and he fears that because the Persians have labeled Jerusalem a rebellious city, they will retaliate with force if we disobey. He has decided to send emissaries to Persia and go through the proper diplomatic channels and wait for a reply. He wants to protect our people.”
“But . . . but the Almighty One could protect us!”
Saba laid his hand on Zechariah’s shoulder. “You and I are among the very few who believe that, I’m afraid. No one listened to me today. The last time the priests took my advice, our enemies attacked us and killed Shoshanna. Now our leaders are afraid.”
Zechariah turned to slouch away, but Saba stopped him before he could open the gate. “Listen, every man among us—including you and me—has to settle this matter in his heart: Did God command us to rebuild the temple or did King Cyrus? If it was King Cyrus, then construction may stop for good. But if it was God, then this setback by our enemies is only temporary.”
Zechariah rubbed his eyes, fighting tears. “I heard the prince say that new immigrants won’t be allowed to come.”
Saba put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “You’re worried about your parents, aren’t you?”
“Abba said that he and Mama would come later, and now they can’t.”
“Your father made the mistake of waiting when he should have acted. And he wasn’t the only one. When we hear God’s call, we need to respond to it immediately. Now all of those people who stayed behind in Babylon will have to obey the Persian authorities because they chose not to obey God.”
This wasn’t what Zechariah wanted to hear. He tried to escape his grandfather’s grasp, but Saba wouldn’t let go. “Are you doubting that the Almighty One spoke to you, Zechariah?�
� He didn’t reply. “Listen, son. Do you remember how God tested Israel in the wilderness? How He wanted to see what was in the people’s hearts—fear or faith? God already knows what’s in our hearts, of course, but He tests us so we’ll see it for ourselves. Our forefathers should have used their time in the wilderness to learn about God, to learn that He would lead them and provide for them and fight for them. But they didn’t. As soon as the bad spies gave their report, the people were ready to turn back to Egypt. Only Joshua and Caleb had faith. Do you remember what they told the others?”
“Don’t be afraid of the people of the land,” he said woodenly. “God is with Israel.”
“That’s what you and I need to be saying to all of the others now, while we wait for justice.”
“How long will we have to wait?” Zechariah asked. He had been calculating in his head all afternoon and not liking the results. It would take at least three months for Prince Sheshbazzar’s emissaries to travel to Persia. Weeks or maybe months longer to go through the proper diplomatic channels and get an audience with the king. More time would be spent waiting while the king’s officials searched the archives for King Cyrus’ original proclamation. And even if the king issued a favorable ruling, it would take another three months for the emissaries to travel back to Jerusalem with the news.
“How long?” Saba repeated. “I suppose it depends on how long it takes us to learn the lessons of faith.”
“It’s not fair! We just started building the temple!”
“Life is seldom fair, Zechariah. But we can use this time to nurture our faith or to nurture doubt. That’s what these times of testing are all about. How long did David have to wait before becoming our king while his enemy, Saul, chased him around the wilderness? Was that fair? During those long years of waiting, David nurtured his faith, and now the words of his psalms can strengthen ours. ‘Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.’”
“Why can’t I learn to fight while we’re waiting? We could make weapons and—”
“This is the Almighty One’s battle, not ours. Your job is to study the Torah.”
“What? . . . No!” This wasn’t what Zechariah wanted to hear.
“We’ve decided to reopen the yeshiva tomorrow since Governor Rehum assures us that there’s no need for guards as long as we obey the king’s edict.” Again Zechariah tried to leave, but his grandfather stopped him. “If you really want to fight for God, then find out what He is saying to us. Study His Word and learn about God’s faithfulness in the past so you’ll have the faith to trust Him now. Help me speak His truth to those who have no faith. Help me convince them that the temple must be rebuilt no matter who tries to stop us. Can you do that, son?”
Zechariah nodded. He may have to wait, but he wouldn’t have to like it.
Part III
Jerusalem
You showed favor to your land, O Lord;
you restored the fortunes of Jacob.
You forgave the iniquity of your people . . .
Restore us again, O God our Savior,
and put away your displeasure toward us.
Will you be angry with us forever?
PSALM 85:1, 4–5
Chapter
29
TEN YEARS LATER
There was so much to learn. Zechariah stood on the temple mount with his class of future priests, watching an older priest named Jakin demonstrate how to prepare a ram for the burnt offering. Jakin gripped the animal in a firm hold, subduing it, and tilted the animal’s head, exposing its neck. “It’s very important to place the knife in the proper position. The animal must not suffer unnecessarily.”
Zechariah now spent part of each day in the yeshiva studying the Torah and the history of his people and the writings of Israel’s prophets, and the remainder of his time on the temple mount receiving hands-on instruction from the older priests.
“Put the tip of the knife here and draw it back . . . like this.”
His mind wandered as Jakin showed how to collect the sacrificial blood in a bowl. Beyond the altar, the temple ruins and the abandoned construction site looked the same as on the night Zechariah had snuck up here with Yael ten years ago, searching for God’s presence. She had gazed up at the stars that night, pointing to them, because there was no temple to look to for meaning in life.
“When the blood has been drained and set aside, we . . .”
Everything was still in place. The crane stood ready to lift the building blocks onto the temple’s new foundation, although the ropes had begun to rot. So had the piles of rain-soaked timber. Weeds and scrub brush had slowly crept back over the site, knee-high around the new foundation they had laid.
“Zechariah? Are you paying attention?”
“Yes, sir . . . I’m sorry.”
Zechariah had to learn how to slaughter the sacrifices, how to skin the animals and remove their entrails, how to prepare the meat and the fat for the offerings. He had to know the differences between daily offerings, burnt offerings, fellowship offerings, and guilt offerings. Then there were the intricacies of the annual feasts to learn and the special rituals required for each one. And because Zechariah descended from a family of priestly musicians, he also had to learn the proper trumpet calls for the New Moon festivals, the yearly feasts, and most important of all, for the annual Feast of Trumpets. After his ordination in a few years, the rhythm of his ministry at God’s altar would determine the shape of his days and years for the remainder of his life.
He glanced over at the ruins again, wondering if he could find the place where he had sat with Yael and prayed. He had told her that the temple was like a map, a way to find God’s presence. But there was no temple, no map, and he feared that his lifelong friend was walking deeper into darkness with each passing year. And she was just one of the many people in Judah who needed to find their way back to God.
“Zechariah . . .” Jakin was staring at him, and so were all the others. “Would you stay behind for a moment, please? The rest of you are dismissed.”
Zechariah could feel the heat from the great altar several yards away as he waited for Jakin to speak. “What’s wrong, son? You’re one of our best students. You have a brilliant mind for Torah study. But lately you’ve been distracted. Are we losing you like the others?”
“No, sir. You’re not losing me.” Three of Zechariah’s fellow Torah students had recently quit, and in the past few months he’d heard of two more Jewish families who had decided to return to Babylon.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong, then?”
He was about to say that he didn’t know. But when he pictured Yael sitting among the huge, abandoned building stones, he suddenly realized what was wrong. “I’m fed up with all of this!” He swung his arms in a wide circle to take in the entire temple mount. “The more I learn what the Torah says the more frustrated I get because no one seems to believe any of it. They’re just words on a page.”
Jakin’s shoulders stiffened. “Of course we believe it.”
“No, you don’t. The prophets Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and even Daniel the Righteous One all told us that God wanted us to come back and rebuild the temple—but we stopped building. If we truly believed these men spoke God’s word—if we believed in a God of power and miracles—there would be a temple standing over there instead of rubble.”
“That’s not fair. Our leaders have been trying to get the king’s edict reversed, but there have been setbacks. The Persian courts—”
“I know all about how our enemies in the Persian courts have sabotaged our requests. I’ve heard all the announcements about political intrigues and palace insiders in the Persian government working against us—the schemes and plots and important messages that were intercepted and stolen. Meanwhile, our work on the temple has been abandoned for ten years. Ten years!”
“Stop shouting, Zechariah. This is a sacred place.”
He drew a breath to calm himself, inhaling the aroma of roasting meat. When work on the temple ha
d first halted, Zechariah had worried that he’d be forced to wait for a year—an outrageously long time. No one, including his grandfather, had ever imagined that ten years would pass.
“We’ve waited long enough,” Zechariah said. “Do we believe the Torah or don’t we? Moses said not to look at our enemies and tremble in fear but to remember what the Almighty One did to Pharoah and his armies. We’re supposed to remember His miraculous signs and wonders and God’s mighty hand.”
“The exodus from Egypt was a special time when—”
“See? Even you don’t believe it.”
“That’s not true! I resent that!”
“I’ve heard Jeshua and some of the other priests saying that a restored altar is enough for now—”
“And it is, Zechariah. It has been.”
“You can’t tell me that God asked us to leave Babylon and travel all this way just to build an altar. If so, He played a cruel joke on us. The Almighty One promised to dwell among us and be our God, but how can He dwell here without a temple? If we really heard from Him all those years ago, then we need to finish what we came here to do.”
“We had no choice. The Persian authorities ordered us to stop building.”
“What about the words that we pray every morning: ‘Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.’ We have it memorized, but we don’t believe it.”
Jakin took a step back. “This is so unlike you, Zechariah. You need to talk to the high priest. Your anger and your . . . your accusations are unbecoming to a candidate for the priesthood.”
“You’re right. I’ll do that. Right now.”
Zechariah strode across the courtyard and down the stairs, knowing he would find Jeshua in the house of assembly this time of day. He felt a growing sense of urgency with each step he took, as if they were all inside a burning building, yet no one would listen to him and stop the flames. He wanted to shout at everyone, even the high priest. At the same time, he was angry enough to simply walk away and let them all perish in the fire.