Love in a Broken Vessel

by Mesu Andrews

  “You know I did.”

  “Do you believe the Lord called you to speak His message here, today, at King Uzziah’s burial?”

  Isaiah glanced toward the front of the processional, where King Jotham rode his white donkey and the royal household followed at a respectful distance, Amoz and Aya among them. Hosea and Isaiah would join them for the ceremony, at Jotham’s request, but Isaiah’s features seemed a battlefield of warring emotions. Finally, resolve took control. “Yahweh’s temple remains in ruins. My cousin Jotham has made no attempt to steer the people back to Yahweh’s presence. We’re standing in the cursed valley of Hinnom, where pagan sacrifices still burn, and the men mourning Uzziah will soon pass by the high place at En Rogel. In what better place, and to what better audience, could I declare Yahweh’s message?” Shoulders square, chin raised, Isaiah said, “Yes. Today is the day I am to speak for Yahweh, my friend. I must trust Him to continue His work in Abba’s heart.”

  Hosea laid his arm around Isaiah’s shoulders, and the two men resumed their steady gait. “Since Uzziah was denied burial in the royal tombs, maybe Jotham will feel comforted that Yahweh spoke through a prophet at his abba’s grave.”

  “We can hope for that,” Isaiah said with a dubious tone and lifted brow.

  When the processional began congregating in the field owned by David’s descendants, Isaiah leaned close to Hosea. “I’m terrified. I’d rather hide here with the prophets or stand unnoticed near Abba and Aya—mourning Uzziah with the rest of Judah.” Hosea drew a breath to encourage him, but Isaiah’s determination spoke first. “But I will be obedient, my friend. The fire inside me won’t be quenched until I speak Yahweh’s message.”

  Hosea patted his shoulder, following Isaiah through the crowd to take their place among the royal household, as Jotham had requested. “Trust Yahweh to lead you,” Hosea whispered as they trudged through the knee-high grass.

  Will you be obedient, Hosea? Do you trust Me to lead you? The voice was a mere whisper in his spirit, no cool breeze, no fire in his body.

  Perhaps he’d imagined it. He continued following Isaiah, hurrying toward the front of the processional.

  But before they reached the royal party, Hosea again heard the gentle sound of Yahweh’s call: Show your love to her again.

  “What?” He stopped midstride, and Isaiah turned around, looking puzzled.

  “Are you all right?” he shouted from a few paces ahead.

  “I’ll be fine. Go ahead.” Isaiah resumed his frenzied pace, but Hosea slowed to a determined march. “What do You mean, ‘Show your love to her’?” he whispered.

  Buy her back. The voice spoke on a gentle breeze this time.

  Fear. Anger. Anticipation. Frustration. He felt them all as he hurried to catch up. It had been almost four years since Gomer had helped him escape from Arpad. He’d rebuilt his life in Tekoa. The children were well adjusted and content, spending their days with Aya and Yuval, their evenings at home with him. How could Yahweh ask him to disrupt their lives again? Ammi wouldn’t even remember the ima who had abandoned him. Why bring her back now, Yahweh?

  No answer.

  He kept walking in a haze of disillusion, murmuring the reasons he’d surely misunderstood Yahweh’s call. Finally, he arrived at the burial site, a projection of rocks in which a natural cave would be sealed with a large boulder. Hosea took his place between Isaiah and his abba Amoz.

  Ready to begin his benediction, the high priest raised the sacred Nehushtan, the bronze snake Moses had crafted in the wilderness to heal those bitten by vipers. But instead of the droning voice of the old priest, Isaiah’s resonant tone carried on the breeze. “King Jotham, you know that I loved your abba deeply, and that my love for Judah flows from David’s royal blood—the same as yours.”

  Jotham’s single nod gave tentative permission to continue.

  “I’ve been given a message from Yahweh for Judah. May I speak?” He bowed humbly, awaiting his cousin’s approval.

  “Abba, no!” Prince Ahaz shouted, wagging his knobby arm. “Tell him no, Abba. He shouldn’t be allowed to speak at my saba’s burial.” The boy, very near Jezreel’s age, already displayed the arrogant entitlement of royalty.

  “Ahaz.” Jotham placed a quieting hand on his son’s shoulder, returning his attention to Isaiah. “I’m always willing to hear Yahweh’s message. Speak, Isaiah.”

  Hosea watched a silent exchange between Jotham and Isaiah before the first-time prophet closed his eyes and opened his mouth. “I saw Adonay sitting on a high and lofty throne. The bottom of His robe filled His temple. Angels were standing above Him. Each had six wings. With two they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. They called to each other and said, ‘Holy, holy, holy is Yahweh Tsebaoth! The whole earth is filled with His glory.’ Their voices shook the foundation of the doorposts, and the temple filled with smoke.”

  “Isaiah,” King Jotham interrupted, “did the temple in your vision appear to be the same as Yahweh’s temple here in Jerusalem?”

  “Yes, my lord—except it was well maintained and gleaming with heavenly light.”

  The king furrowed his brow, clearly displeased at the reminder of the temple’s neglect. “Proceed.”

  “So I said, ‘Oh no! I’m doomed. Every word that passes through my lips is sinful. I live among people with sinful lips. I have seen Yahweh Tsebaoth!’

  “Then one of the angels flew to me. In his hand was a burning coal that he had taken from the altar with tongs. He touched my mouth with it and said, ‘This has touched your lips. Your guilt has been taken away, and your sin has been forgiven.’

  “Then I heard the voice of Adonay, saying, ‘Whom will I send? Who will go for us?’

  “I said, ‘Here I am. Send me!’”

  The gathering had fallen silent, caught up in the heavenly scene of Isaiah’s vision. Hosea, too, imagined himself in the very throne room of God, cleansed by holy fire, offering himself anew. What an incredible rendering of God’s power and mercy working in concert. Yahweh’s majesty—so infinite that only the bottom of His robe fit inside the once-grand temple in their golden city. Yet the purpose of His holy fire was always to cleanse, not to destroy.

  Hosea fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. Send me! Yahweh, send me! I will show my love to Gomer and buy her back. I will obey You, though I am a man of unclean lips among a people of unclean lips. Cleanse us, Adonay, and send me.

  King Jotham’s voice interrupted Hosea’s holy moment. “Can you interpret your vision for us, Isaiah? Tell us what you believe Yahweh intends me to do with such a vague vision.”

  Hosea lifted his face from behind trembling hands, dumbstruck. Vague vision? He expected to see disappointment on Isaiah’s face—the same disillusionment he was feeling. Instead, a confident glow lit his friend’s expression.

  “Yahweh said to me, ‘Go and tell these people: No matter how closely you listen, you’ll never understand. No matter how closely you look, you’ll never see.’ King Jotham, you have been warned repeatedly to destroy the high places and return to Yahweh’s temple to worship. Until you become obedient to your current revelation, no further understanding will be given.”

  And with those words still heavy on Hosea’s heart, Isaiah held out his hand to Aya, who willingly joined him. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  “Wait!” Amoz stood like a deer caught in a hunter’s bow sight, looking first at Jotham and then at Isaiah. The battle of his heart raged on his features. “Your abba was a good man,” he said to the young king. “Yahweh’s power didn’t destroy him. The suffering made him stronger in the end.”

  Still seeming to struggle with words left unspoken, Amoz’s eyes rested on Aya. His features softened, the battle won. “I’ve wasted years being angry and frightened.” He returned his attention to Jotham and added, “Don’t make my mistakes. Don’t let your sins hurt your son.”

  Jotham made no reply, simply watched as the prophets followed Isaiah and his
family away from the burial site. The gathered crowd remained silent. Hosea heard only the sound of Amoz’s weeping—and Isaiah’s comforting whisper as he walked arm in arm with his abba.

  Hosea sat at Amos’s bedside, staring into the stormy features of his friend and teacher. The patriarch prophet had been bedfast for years, but he was no less headstrong than when he tended flocks. “You will not bring that harlot back into this camp!”

  “Will you defy Yahweh’s command and force me to live as a liar before my students?” Hosea matched his tone. “I teach my classes that they must obey whatever the Lord speaks to them—whenever, wherever, and to whomever they’re called to prophesy.”

  “But what about your children?” Yuval’s whisper assaulted him from behind, and he turned to find her waiting with a cup of watered wine. “They’re finally settled, and what if something happens to you when you try to find Gomer? They’ve already lost one parent.”

  He declined the drink, wishing he could take both the cup and the sadness from her. She set the wine aside and knelt at her husband’s shoulder, stroking his brow.

  “I’d rather be bitten by a viper than bring Gomer back into the children’s lives—or mine—but I must obey Yahweh’s command. The Lord said to buy her back and show her my love again.” He squeezed Amos’s hand and released a frustrated sigh. “But first I must find her. Yahweh has been silent since we returned from Uzziah’s burial. I have no idea where to look.”

  Hosea glimpsed the silent exchange between his friends. Yuval began picking at a seam, and Amos folded and smoothed his blankets—repeatedly. The silence screamed conspiracy.

  “What are you two hiding?”

  Yuval raised one eyebrow, insisting Amos bear the explanation. “Gomer is in Samaria,” the old prophet whispered. “The Lord woke me last night and told me.”

  “And you’re just now mentioning it?” Hosea shouted, standing so quickly his stool toppled over.

  “Sit down, young man!” Yuval’s eyes flashed, and she pointed at the errant stool.

  Duly chastised, Hosea took a deep breath and regained his calm. “What else did the Lord say?” he asked, settling onto the stool beside his teacher and facing Yuval.

  Amos’s expression resembled a child’s pout. Glancing here and there, he seemed perturbed at the forced confession. “Yahweh said nothing else, but I remain in contact with Judean spies, and they tell me that Samaria is a boiling pot ready to spill out destruction.”

  “I know the danger, but at least I no longer have to fear the two men trying to kill me.” Hosea had felt a measure of relief when he’d heard of Menahem’s death, but when his son King Pekahiah replaced Eitan with a new commander named Pekah, Israel churned in turmoil.

  Amos’s eyes misted, his jaw flexed. “The danger reaches beyond personal matters, my son. Jotham is sending Judean spies to stir the pot, supporting a coup in Ephraim while Menahem’s son is still vulnerable in Samaria.”

  Hosea paused, considering the complication of imminent war within Israel. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “You must travel through the wilderness and stay at the safe house in Shiloh,” Amos said, finally seemingly resigned to Hosea’s decision. “As far as we know, it remains a haven for Judean spies.”

  “But you won’t know it’s not safe until it’s not safe!” Yuval’s argument was more emotion than reason, but her tears held more sway than a thousand facts.

  “If Yahweh revealed that Gomer is in Samaria”—Hosea reached for Yuval’s hand, cradling the weathered, wrinkled treasure—“don’t you suppose He’ll protect me on this journey?”

  He watched thoughts form behind her eyes. Fear turned to questions, and her questions birthed something new. “I’m going with you!” she gasped, seemingly as surprised as the men.

  “Oh, Yuval.” Hosea readied his immediate objection. “I don’t think—”

  “Absolutely not! I forbid it!” Amos’s shout instigated a coughing spell. “You’ll stay . . . right there . . . on that rug,” he said, pointing to the curly goatskin beside him.

  Yuval waited for Amos’s coughing to still, and Hosea watched quietly, his cheeks flushed with holy fire. He sensed Yahweh calling Yuval to accompany him, but he dared not interfere in matters of husband and wife.

  As Amos’s cough abated, his brow remained furrowed, and Yuval kissed the furrow away. Rather than address her husband, however, she turned to Hosea. “Have you considered Gomer’s reaction to your arrival? From your report at Arpad, she’s determined to remain a harlot. Though Yahweh commanded you to show your love and buy her back, He didn’t say she’d gladly return to Tekoa with you.” Her cloudy eyes bore through his soul, and confusion settled like a rock in his stomach.

  “But Yahweh promised at Arpad that He would ‘cure them of their unfaithfulness.’” Hosea wondered if he’d mistaken both Yahweh’s and Yuval’s messages. “I thought you wanted to come with me.”

  “I want you to think as Gomer might think—consider Yahweh as one who doesn’t know and believe His words.” She squeezed Hosea’s hand and spoke the hard truth. “The Lord said Israel was an incurable harlot and that he’d given up on Gomer. But now He tells you to buy her back. Gomer might see these as inconsistencies and capricious ranting from a distant god, but we know Yahweh to be true and faultless in His ways.” She hesitated, searching the windows of his soul. “So what’s the answer, Hosea? How can Yahweh say He’s given up on a woman He commands you to buy back?”

  His throat was too tight to speak. He had no answer. Yahweh had always been his unwavering Rock, his constant in life’s storms. When Hosea questioned the Lord, it was from a position of belief, not opposition. And why hadn’t he considered the possibility of another rejection from Gomer? Yahweh’s calling had been so clear, so adamant. Was he naive or ignorant, or both?

  Suddenly yearning to know Yuval’s thoughts, he patted her hand. “What was it you once told me? Women hear more because their mouths are closed when men speak.”

  “Well I don’t know if I said it, but it certainly deserves saying.” A little giggle, and then she continued. “Hosea, my son, Yahweh feels each peak of our emotion, knows every event in a single glimpse. There is no progress in the eternal, only being. Every word that proceeds from the mouth of Elohim is truth. It is beyond human reasoning to arrange it on a timeline.”

  Hosea swallowed, his mouth dry, his heart full. He glanced at Amos and saw a wry smile on his teacher’s face. “Why isn’t she teaching the prophets?”

  The old man patted his wife’s hand. “She’s my personal tutor.”

  Hosea’s heart melted at the love he saw between them. Comfortable. Raw. Real.

  “I’m going to Samaria with you,” Yuval asserted again, shattering the peaceful moment.

  “No you’re not, woman!” Amos’s amiable humor disappeared.

  Yuval took her place on the rug beside her husband—the one he’d indicated in his rant. “Amos, my love, look into my eyes.” When he refused, she leaned over, placing her sweet, round face before him. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel the Spirit nudging your heart. You know I’m supposed to go with the boy.” She stroked his brow again. “You only shout at me when you’re frightened.”

  Hosea watched a single tear slide from the corner of Amos’s eye. “What if Yahweh takes you from me?”

  “Yahweh will protect us, my love.” Yuval turned to Hosea, her calm seeming to permeate the room. “Gomer has always listened to me. From the moment we met, she associated me with an old friend of hers called Merav. I believe you’ll have a better chance of convincing her to return home if I’m with you.”

  Hosea nodded. “Thank you, Yuval. Perhaps we should make our journey appear to be a business venture. I’ll meet you at dawn and gather the newly shorn wool and some of last year’s woven cloth. We’ll pose as an ima and son in Samaria’s market.”

  She winked. “Not much of a stretch for us, is it, dear?”

  Hosea bent to place a kiss on Amos’s forehead. “I�
�ll bring her home safely, my friend. Trust me.”

  Amos grabbed Hosea’s hand and squeezed it with surprising strength. “I’m trusting someone much greater to bring you both back safely. And if Gomer returns—Yahweh will help me welcome her as well.”

  43

  • HOSEA 3:1 •

  Then Yahweh told me, “Love your wife again, even though she is loved by others and has committed adultery. Love her as I, Yahweh, love the Israelites.”

  Ezri sat on a cushion by his ivory inlaid table, the last piece of fine furniture he owned. “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.” He lifted a defeated gaze to Gomer.

  “Is it enough?” she asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway. King Menahem’s decision to pay tribute to Assyria had saved Israel from immediate invasion, but it was bleeding the country dry. When he’d died in his sleep after a ten-year reign, his son, King Pekahiah, inherited an empty palace treasury. Each year, when the Assyrians raised the price of tribute, Pekahiah passed on the burden to Israel’s wealthy merchants. Now the merchants’ coffers were as empty as the palace.

  “No, it’s not enough.” He reached for his wineskin, but it was empty—the second he’d drained today, and it was barely past midday.

  “Maybe if you saved the silver you spent on wine, you wouldn’t have to sell your property to meet the king’s demands.”

  “Maybe if I sell you, I’ll have enough to pay the king and buy more wine!” He slammed his fist on the table, upsetting his neatly stacked piles of silver.

  Gomer turned away so he wouldn’t see her fear. He’d never beaten her. In fact, they’d never even exchanged a cross word until a few moon cycles ago. His drinking had increased as his silver dwindled, and the gentle man she’d known had grown irritable. Gomer knew the signs. The beatings would begin soon. She probably deserved it.

  “I’m sorry I shouted.” His hands glided around her waist, and he nuzzled his favorite place on her neck. “You know I love you, Gomer.”

  “I know. You’re tired. Perhaps you should rest.” He was the only man—besides Hosea—to tell her he loved her. If she hadn’t decided men incapable of it, she might have believed him. Whatever his faults—and he had very few—Ezri had been kind. More like an abba than a husband, he’d showered her with gifts in the beginning. Offering him occasional pleasure had seemed fair since he made her mistress over three house servants. But the others had been sold along with most of the furniture, jewelry, and Gomer’s wardrobe. Only the two of them remained. Ezri spent most of his time apologizing and the rest of his time resting.