by Lynn Austin
Manasseh had to stop. The memory of his father’s unshakable faith caused him too much pain. He stared instead at his barren cell, at the flies swarming around his empty food bowl. As he toyed with the hook that pierced his nose, he tried to count how many flies there were. But even that was impossible. They moved too fast. And there were too many of them.
Hours later, when he was ready to journey again, Manasseh traveled back to the royal platform, only this time he was the king, striding up to the Temple with Zerah beside him. “Sin is an illusion, Manasseh. Remember, you’re the sovereign ruler of Judah. You are accountable to no one.”
The Temple Mount looked very different than it had when his father had stood on the platform. Manasseh saw the carved image he had made standing in front of the sanctuary; the altars to the Baals and the starry hosts in both courtyards; the booths for male and female shrine prostitutes; the altar for divination; the Asherah pole.
Yahweh alone.
Where had all those altars and images come from? Manasseh remembered placing them there, but he could scarcely remember why. His mother had worshiped Asherah—that was one reason. But why hadn’t she ever told him? “‘Praise the Lord, O my soul …”’ she had sung. “‘He does not treat us as our sins deserve.”’
His father had been deceived and manipulated by the priests, Zerah had said. Manasseh must return to pure worship—acknowledging the god in everyone and everything in creation. But had King David been deceived and manipulated, too? And Abraham? And Moses? Manasseh tried to recall when he had made all the changes at the Temple and decided that it was after he had discovered the conspiracy, after he’d learned how Isaiah and Eliakim had plotted against him. But now he wondered who he should believe—Zerah, who had died cursing and blaspheming his gods? Or Eliakim, who had looked Manasseh in the eye before he died and said, “I want you to know that I forgive you.”
Manasseh groaned in confusion and despair. He was too weary to sort through all these thoughts. He simply wanted to journey back to happier times and be a child again. He closed his eyes and padded barefoot into his father’s chambers to say good-night to him. Abba sat in front of a small table, sorting through a pile of documents by lamplight. He put them down when Manasseh entered and drew him close to his side.
“Tell me what the rabbi taught you today, son.”
Manasseh shivered, afraid suddenly that he might forget something or mix something up. But Abba’s hand rested gently on his head, caressing his hair. His fears subsided.
“I’m learning the Ten Commandments, Abba.” His childish voice sounded innocent and sweet. “They begin, ‘I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing …’”
Manasseh’s eyes flew open, and the barren gray walls of his prison cell confronted him. Punishing. He was in Babylon, in a prison cell, in chains, as Isaiah had warned. All the gods he had pleaded with—Baal, Asherah, Molech, Amon—hadn’t saved him. He had broken God’s commandment and worshiped idols, and now he was going to die here as punishment.
He looked down at his body and wept at what he’d become. At least six months had passed since the Assyrians had shackled him with hooks and chains, six months since he’d bathed or washed his hair or trimmed his beard. His skin was black with grime from his own sweat and filth, his fingernails were jagged claws, his clothes mere rags. One of his teeth had fallen out after he’d chewed a leathery piece of gristle, and the others were just as rotten. He was mere skin and bones, barely human, unable to bear his own stench.
Memories poured down on top of him, thousands of them, like garbage piled in a dump. He thought of the people he had murdered: Rabbi Isaiah, tortured to death; Eliakim, scourged and stoned; his infant son hurled into the flames. Those were only the first murders. How many hundreds had followed? He recalled all of the vile, disgusting things he had done while worshiping false gods, his uncontrolled lust and depravity, and he shrank from himself in shame. Manasseh didn’t blame God for punishing him, for abandoning him here. He could find no comfort, no consolation as he faced the naked ugliness of his sin and guilt; only deep self-loathing and horror. He was going to die here, and he deserved it.
He slowly uncurled his fist and stared at the blue tassel that had torn from his royal robes the day he was arrested. God had commanded the Israelites to sew tassels on their clothing to remind themselves of His laws. “You will have these tassels to look at and so you will remember all the commands of the Lord, that you may obey them and not prostitute yourselves by going after the lusts of your own hearts and eyes.”
Manasseh sank deep into despair, his mind and his spirit exhausted from his memories. His crimes against other people were bad enough, but his worst sins had been committed against God. He had broken His laws, offended His holiness. When he saw himself as God did, Manasseh grieved, weeping uncontrollably, wishing for death. His soul was as filthy and loathsome as his flesh had become, the stench of his sin reaching to the heavens.
“I can’t take this anymore,” he wept. He could no longer confront his past and all the evil he had done. He couldn’t abide his present, confined like an animal in this stifling cell. He couldn’t face his future, existing day after day without hope. And he couldn’t face himself, knowing what a wretched creature he had become. Separated from other people, from God, and from himself, Manasseh knew he was already in hell.
As demons of madness danced around him, beckoning him to join them, Manasseh ran to the only refuge that remained. He closed his eyes and huddled in the safety of his mother’s arms, allowing her song to drown out insanity’s taunting cries.
“‘Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion.’”
As Manasseh sang the beloved words, they slowly penetrated his tattered soul. The song described what Yahweh was like, what He had promised. Manasseh had lived with false idols, false ideas about God for so long that it was as if he had never heard these words before. They washed over him like drops of life-giving rain on his parched spirit.
“‘The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.’”
Manasseh fell prostrate before God as his father had done, bowing before God’s majesty, pleading for his mercy. “O Lord Almighty, God of my ancestors,” he prayed. “I know that you alone made heaven and earth, and that all things tremble before your power. Your glorious splendor can’t be contained, and your wrath toward sinners can’t be endured. Yet your promised mercy is immeasurable and unsearchable, for you, O Lord, are a God of great compassion. You are long-suffering and very merciful, and you have pity on human suffering.
“O Lord, according to your great goodness you promised forgiveness to those who sin against you. And in the multitude of your mercies you allow sinners to repent, so that they may be saved.
“You, O Lord, have not appointed repentance for the righteous, for Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, who did not sin against you, but you have appointed repentance for me, a sinner. For the sins I have committed are more in number than the sand of the sea. They are multiplied, O Lord, they are multiplied!
“I’m not worthy to look up and see the height of hea
ven because of the multitude of my sins. I am so weighed down with them that I can’t even lift my head because of them, and I have no relief. For I have provoked your wrath and have done evil in your sight, setting up abominations and multiplying offenses.
“But now I bend the knee of my heart, begging you for mercy. I have sinned, O Lord, I have sinned, and I admit my crimes before you. I earnestly beg you—forgive me, O Lord, forgive me! Don’t destroy me with my sins! Don’t be angry with me forever or repay me for all the evil I’ve done. Lord, please don’t condemn me to the depths of hell. For you, O Lord, are the God of those who repent, and in me you will show your goodness and mercy to all the earth. O Lord God, unworthy as I am, please save me by your great mercy and love….” Manasseh couldn’t finish. He lay with his forehead pressed to the stone floor, weeping.
Then, for the first time since Zerah died, Manasseh was suddenly no longer alone in his cell. He felt God’s hand of compassion reaching out to touch him, God’s arms of mercy surrounding him. His tears of love washed Manasseh clean.
As the power of God’s forgiveness slowly transformed him, Manasseh lifted his heart to heaven.
“‘Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name.’”
Then he slept in God’s embrace, knowing true rest and peace for the first time in his life.
27
JOSHUA’S CARAVAN MADE THE SLOW, WINDING CLIMB to Jerusalem, and as the land of Judah unfolded before his eyes, the hills and valleys all seemed achingly familiar with their terraced vineyards and ancient olive groves—yet so horribly different. His homeland seemed as alien to him as Egypt had when he first moved there. Pagan shrines and high places now blighted the once-beautiful landscape. The smoke of Baal’s altar fires rose like funeral pyres from every hilltop, proclaiming the spiritual death of his nation.
“Judah’s idolatry is worse than Egypt’s,” Joel complained. The high priest averted his gaze to avoid the shrines and had no place to rest his eyes but the ground. “We certainly have a lot of work ahead of us.”
“Yes,” Amariah agreed, “and after all these years, I don’t think we’ll be able to change things overnight.”
Joshua’s first glimpse of Jerusalem stopped him in his tracks. “Miriam, look,” he said in a hushed voice. “There it is!” The golden sunlight of early fall gilded the city’s stone walls. Warm beams reflected off the Temple’s roof like the radiant glow of a beacon, beckoning him home. From a distance, the city seemed bathed in an aura of amber light. “God of Abraham … I’ve forgotten how beautiful Jerusalem is!” he murmured.
The illusion quickly faded as they approached the gates, then entered the defiled city. In the marketplace, every wicked practice and unclean thing imaginable was for sale, from carved idols and fortune tellers to ritual prostitutes. Joshua gazed in horrified fascination at the vulgar images and mysterious amulets displayed on either side of the stall he’d rented, too stunned to look away. “How has Yahweh tolerated this for so long?” he murmured.
“I don’t know,” Joel said, “but thank God He shielded us and our families from it on Elephantine Island.”
Joshua was eager to begin the reformation. His restlessness provided the drive necessary to get everyone through the first difficult days in their homeland. The stall they leased in the marketplace, piled with bolts of Egyptian cotton from their caravan, provided a convenient base from which to observe the city. Joshua managed to rent a tiny one-room house for Miriam and himself nearby, while Nathan, Joel, and Amariah slept in the rear of the booth. By the end of the first week, Joshua had gleaned enough information for them to take the first step in his plan.
“The greatest obstacle to your assumption of power doesn’t seem to exist,” he told Prince Amariah. “We’ve seen no sign of Assyrian officials or troops anywhere in the country. The only government officials that I can see are the city elders meeting at the gate, and even they don’t appear to be very effective. But we’ll start with them, first thing tomorrow.”
Leaving Nathan in charge of their booth the next day, Joshua set out with Joel and the prince for the city gate. He had strapped his dagger beneath his robes, where he could reach it quickly. Prince Amariah waited for the elders to finish settling a dispute between two other men before stepping forward to repeat the words he and Joshua had rehearsed.
“Good morning, my lords,” he began, “I was wondering if you could help me. I’ve been living outside of Jerusalem for many years, but I’ve recently learned that my older brother has died. I’d like to find out how I can redeem my father’s inheritance.”
“We have authority only in Jerusalem,” the chief elder said. “Is your father’s property within the city limits?”
“Some of it is. But tell me—who has authority outside of the city?”
The elder paused, glancing nervously at the others. “At the moment, no one,” he said quietly.
“Well, isn’t there someone at the palace I can petition?” Amariah asked.
The spokesman studied Amariah carefully, as if deciding how to answer. “You can leave your petition with a palace chamberlain, but … in case you’re not aware … the king left Jerusalem some months ago and hasn’t returned.”
“What about his secretary or his palace administrator? Didn’t he leave one of his officials in charge?”
The elder seemed reluctant to answer and irritated with Amariah for forcing the issue. “There is no one,” he finally admitted.
Joshua’s heart quickened with excitement. God had paved Amariah’s way, making this easier than any of them could have imagined. When Amariah turned to him, his eyes asking an unspoken question, Joshua said, “Go ahead, tell them.”
Amariah squared his shoulders and faced the elders again, his voice strong and decisive. “Very well, I’ll begin with the part of my claim that is under your jurisdiction: my father’s property here in Jerusalem. I am Prince Amariah, son of Hezekiah. My brother is King Manasseh.” He extended his fist to display his royal signet ring.
The elders all seemed dumb struck, especially the chief elder. One of them had to sit down to absorb the news. Joshua watched them carefully, gauging each of their reactions. He had warned Amariah to expect suspicion and resistance, but as their astonishment slowly faded, the overwhelming reaction of all these men was fear. Joshua released his hold on the dagger handle as he breathed a sigh of relief. These elders wouldn’t oppose his plans.
“If you require further proof of my identity,” Amariah said, “feel free to question me.”
The elder who was seated shook his head. “I would believe you, even without that ring. Your resemblance to your father is unmistakable. And I know who you are, as well,” he said, pointing to Joshua. “You’re Lord Eliakim’s son.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Like two ghosts from the grave,” the chief elder murmured.
“You don’t have anything to fear from us,” Amariah said.
“There has been enough bloodshed already during my brother’s reign. We’re here to help restore the government. I’m aware that Manasseh has a son who is his legal heir, but I’m not interested in challenging his claim. I only want to provide leadership until he’s old enough to be anointed king. I’ll serve as his palace administrator, Joshua as his secretary and advisor. From what you’ve said, I assume no one else lays claim to those positions at the moment.”
“There’s no one left to fill them,” the chief elder said. “The Assyrians deported all of the king’s officials along with him. Any noblemen who were lucky enough to escape are afraid to come forward.”
“What about Manasseh’s son?” Joshua asked.
“The boy is in hiding with his mother.”
“Let him remain in hiding,” Amariah said, “until you are confident that I mean him no harm.” He crossed his arms, appraising the astounded men. They were unable to stop staring at him. “So, then. Can I count on your support for my claim?”
“We’ll support you, Prince Amar
iah,” the chief elder said quickly. “Heaven knows, we’re desperate for leadership around here. But may I ask you a question? Why on earth would you want the job? Judah is an Assyrian vassal state. Do you have any idea what will happen to you if Emperor Ashurbanipal disputes your claim to the throne?”
“I can well imagine,” Amariah said. “But I have King David’s blood in my veins, and that gives me certain responsibilities to our nation. I have a healthy fear of the Assyrians, yes, but I also have faith in Yahweh. I believe that this is His will for me.”
Joshua watched carefully, but the elders showed no response at all to Amariah’s declaration of faith in Yahweh. He longed to astonish them further with the news that Joel was the anointed high priest of Yahweh and that they intended to reclaim the Temple as well as the government. But they had agreed ahead of time not to reveal Joel’s identity. No changes at the Temple would be possible until Amariah was firmly in control of the nation.
“How soon can I reclaim my father’s property?” the prince asked.
“You mean his palace? We can take you there now, if you’d like.”
This was too easy. Joshua’s mind raced ahead, searching for the trap. “Just a minute,” he said. “What about Manasseh’s guards?”
“The Assyrians rounded up every Judean soldier they could find, as well as the king’s bodyguards. The palace is empty except for the chamberlains and a handful of servants.”