by Mesu Andrews
Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed to the LORD, “Remember, LORD, how I have walked before you faithfully.”…And Hezekiah wept bitterly.
—2 Kings 20:2–3
Hezi watched the man who had been his friend and teacher walk away. He wasn’t sure which hurt worse—the confusion of Yahweh’s judgment or leaving Zibah childless. Hezi had believed Yahweh would empower him to rule Judah with honor and that Zibah would give birth to another in the line of David’s descendants. How had he sinned so grievously, bearing now the judgment of sin in his body, and not known it? With a low groan, he turned his face toward the wall.
“Your majesty, are you in pain?” The physician hovered like a vulture.
“Leave me alone.”
Zibah appeared and sat on the edge of his bed. “Please prepare some poppy-seed tea for the king.” She leaned over his shoulder and whispered, “Perhaps this was Abba’s opinion, Hezi. We’ve seen Yahweh bless the good work you’ve done.”
“His opinion, Zibah?” He turned slightly to look at her and choked out a cynical laugh. “I will die, Zibah. Death is judgment, not opinion.”
She had no reply, only eyes full of tears and pain.
“Leave me.” He turned to face the wall again. She tried to lay her head on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. “I said leave me.”
Eyes closed, he heard her retreating footsteps, and in that moment Hezekiah ben Ahaz felt utterly bereft. Weeping bitterly, his words were heard only by the One who formed him. “Please, Yahweh, remember me. Remember that I have walked faithfully before You with my whole heart. I’ve done everything I thought was right in Your eyes. Everything.”
How could God leave him? His whole life had been focused on doing right. When Abba had done evil, when Ima had schemed, Hezi had followed God’s Law and meditated on His Word. When Zibah had remained childless, Hezi had remained steadfast, certain Yahweh would give them an heir.
Was he a fool? Was Yahweh a figment of his imagination like the idols of wood and stone? No. Yahweh was real. He must be real. What about all the prophecies that had come to pass?
What about those that hadn’t? Would Assyria march through Jerusalem’s gates?
He reached for his hair but couldn’t tear it out because his hands were rotting away. “Yahweh, why?” he sobbed. Everything within him believed there was a God listening to his questions, sharing his sorrow, and deciding Judah’s future. Why had He suddenly grown distant?
Weary to the bone, Hezi closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. Few spoke of death’s mysteries. How long before the mystery became his reality? How long before he met Abraham in paradise? Would he see Saba Jotham and Great-Saba Uzziah there? “Perhaps even King David,” he whispered, a tentative smile working at the corners of his mouth. The pain would end. The shivering would stop. If he could have provided an heir to his throne—a son to care for Zibah—perhaps he could even look forward to paradise.
A commotion in the hallway interrupted his brooding. He didn’t dare open his eyes for fear of pain at the slightest light.
“No, Abba. You can’t see him again.” Zibah’s voice, panicked.
“But…see him…another word…Lord.”
Hezi groaned again. Was it part of a prophet’s training to be relentless? Heartless?
“Hezekiah!” Isaiah’s booming voice startled him. He was laughing, almost giddy. “This is what the LORD, the God of your forefather David, says: I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears; and I will heal you. On the third day you will be clean of your disease and go up to the Temple to worship; and I will add fifteen years to your life. I will deliver you and this city from the king of Assyria, and I will defend this city for My own sake and for My servant David’s sake.”
Hezi opened his eyes barely a slit, just enough to see the crazy old prophet. “You never change a prophecy.”
Isaiah’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I’ve never known God to change a prophecy either, but I’m glad He did.” He looked at Zibah. “I’d barely made it out of the Middle Court when I felt the hand of the Lord press me to the ground with the new message.”
Hezi could feel his strength ebbing. “Please, Isaiah. I need a sign that I’ll go to the Temple in three days.”
Isaiah stood silent and staring for several heartbeats, and Hezi wondered if he’d offended the old man again. As it turned out, the prophet was listening. “Here is your sign, Hezekiah, that you, yourself will choose. Will the shadow on your sundial go forward ten degrees or backward ten degrees?”
Hezi opened his eyes wider, anticipation growing, and noticed a crowd had gathered in his chamber. Zibah and the physician, of course. Ima and Rizpah had come down from the harem. Yaira and Samuel were also there. Jashub and several guards must have followed the excited prophet into the chamber.
“It’s an easy thing for the shadow to lengthen,” Hezi said. “Let the God of Creation make the shadow drop back instead.”
Isaiah hurried to the balcony and threw back the tapestries, inviting the blinding light of a new day into Hezi’s dark world. The king growled and buried his face in his lamb’s wool. “My apologies, King Hezekiah.” Isaiah’s tone betrayed a smile. “Will you brave the light to see God’s miracle?”
Hezi squinted at the man who’d been more of an abba than his own. “I’m ready for a miracle, Isaiah.”
“As am I, Hezekiah.”
All eyes shifted to the Babylonian sundial on the king’s balcony—the piece Hezi and Zibah had carefully inspected and approved when all of Judah was cleansed before the first Passover. Too weak to stand, Hezi was grateful when Zibah and Ima rushed to his bed and helped him sit up to see the towering sundial. Waiting was excruciating. In the silence, Hezi wondered repeatedly if his eyes were playing tricks or if he was really seeing the shadow descend on the stepped-stone markers of the dial.
Zibah gasped. Ima too. “It’s happening!” Ima whispered.
Hezi, unable to look at the sun, could only shield his eyes and watch the shadow on the dial. Just as Isaiah said—just as Yahweh promised—the shadow slowly moved back ten degrees.
Hezi’s fever still raged. His fingers were still painful and blackened. But his healing had begun—inside and out.
Isaiah walked toward the door but spoke to the physician on his way. “Lay a fig poultice on the boil, and he’ll recover.”
“Wait!” The king’s shout garnered everyone’s attention. “Isaiah, did you suggest my physician should actively ‘help’ Yahweh’s healing process? Should we not trust the Lord completely instead of trying to help—as I did with a tunnel and a treaty?”
His father-in-law paused, glancing at the anxious faces around the room. Finally, he looked back to Hezi. “The LORD has this to say concerning the king of Assyria: ‘Sennacherib will not enter our gates. He will not shoot an arrow here or lift a shield or build a siege mound against us. He will return to Assyria the same way he came. For I, the LORD, will defend this city and save it for My own sake and for the sake of My servant David.’ ” Isaiah bowed and hurried from the room, leaving a wake of holy anticipation.
The royal physician turned toward the king, brows raised and waiting.
“The man said to use a fig poultice.” Hezi grinned and broke the tension. Still shivering, he could hardly believe in three days he’d be healed, but the moving shadow was hard to ignore. Thank You, Yahweh, for a sign I can’t explain away—and a prophet who is faithful to Your voice.
58
Surely, he took up our pain
and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
stricken by him, and afflicted….
The punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
—Isaiah 53:4–5
I’d been awake most of the night. Staring at my husband in the light of a single lamp as he slept. That big nose I teased him about was still as black as the night sky.
At least he slept
. His chest rose and fell. Thank You, Yahweh.
Amram sat across from me, awake for the night watch, while Samuel slept on a goatskin rug on the floor. Samuel hadn’t left Hezi’s side. He was a good friend. They were both good friends. How could we repay their kindness?
We. Hezi and I had always been we. There was no me. No Ishma or Hephzibah. “I am yours, Hezekiah, son of David, king of Judah.” Even my whisper sounded like an echo in the darkened chamber. “Don’t leave. I cannot be we without you.”
I heard the rumble of horses’ hooves outside our balcony. Samuel stirred and was on his feet, racing to the balcony with sword drawn, before I could stand. “What’s happening?”
At the same time, Amram bolted to answer the pounding of a spear on our chamber door. Dagger at the ready, he opened the door only a slit and then admitted one of the guards. “My queen,” the guard said, breathless, “the commander needs to speak with King Hezekiah immediately.”
I looked to Samuel before answering. He returned from the balcony, brows furrowed. “The moon is full, so I was able to see about a thousand horsemen riding due east.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, my queen.”
Hezi rose on one elbow, his voice still weak. “Isaiah’s prophecy said they would return to Assyria without shooting an arrow or lifting a shield. Maybe they’ll leave a thousand at a time.” He fell back onto the bed. “Send in Commander Jokim.”
Amram guided the commander to Hezi’s bed. The towering man staggered back at the sight of his king. “I…I…My king, I…”
“Don’t be alarmed,” Hezi said. “Isaiah said Yahweh will heal me. Now, what have you to report, Commander?”
Spine stiffening, the man pulled a small piece of parchment from his belt. “Our first message from Lachish arrived on a carrier pigeon a few moments ago. It says, ‘Plague rampant. Judeans and Assyrians dying.’ ” He let his hand fall to his side, speechless.
Hezi stared at the ceiling. “Mattaniah,” he whispered. “No word on my brother, the governor?”
I wondered if Mattaniah was lying on a bed with a black nose and hands. Or have You spared his life, Yahweh? I refused to consider he’d followed King Ahaz into Sheol.
Samuel stepped forward. “One thousand Assyrians just abandoned the Jerusalem encampment. If a carrier pigeon got through, it means their archers are sick, gone—or dead.”
The realization was like a breeze of hope blowing through the room. Hezi turned his head toward me slowly. “We’ll need someone to slip out of the city undetected and get close to the Assyrian camp—maybe even sneak into the tents.”
I knew he was suggesting Jashub. Yaira would strangle us both if we sent Jashub into harm’s way again. “I’m sure the commander has a soldier trained for such work.”
“Zibah.” Hezi’s frustration matched his weariness.
I refused to argue with my weakened husband. Turning to the commander, I vented my frustration. “Don’t you have other men who could slip into the camp?”
Yaira stepped into the lamplight and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Jashub would never forgive himself if he could have served but was passed over because of our fear.” She looked down at Hezi, hands on her hips. “I’ll allow you to send my bridegroom into the Assyrian camp if you promise to serve as Friend of the Bridegroom at our wedding.”
Lips trembling, Hezi nodded. “I promise. Thank you, Yaira.”
The commander bowed. “I’ll send a contingent of guards to Jashub’s home.”
“No. I’ll go,” I said. “I’m sure he’s at our parents’ home. Jashub has been living there with the children since responsibilities here at the palace have kept him late most evenings.” I turned to Yaira. “Do you want to come with me?”
Shaking her head, her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll see Jashub when he returns safely.”
Hezi reached for my hand as I stepped away but drew back before touching me with his blackened hand. “Tell Isaiah I’ll see him at the Temple in two days.” A tear slipped from the corner of his eye. “And tell Jashub I would be honored to serve as Friend of the Bridegroom—if he’ll have me.”
I leaned over to kiss my husband’s cheek. “I’ll tell them both and then come back to break my fast with you. I’m sure by then you’ll feel better.” Oh, how I wanted to believe it, but the stench of the fetid flesh on his nose nearly made me retch. The Law required complete healing of all skin lesions before a man could be pronounced clean, and Yahweh’s priests—by Hezi’s own decree—would follow the Law to the letter. How could Yahweh make him fully clean in two days? “Come, Amram.” I fairly ran from the room to hide my tears, the big guard jogging behind me.
The sun barely peeked over the eastern hills. Why did God seem to work best at dawn? Perhaps I only noticed because dawn’s quiet made me more aware. Birdsong buoyed my spirit, reminding me that although Hezi’s sores and swelling remained, he seemed stronger. A thousand Assyrians had ridden away, and Yaira and Jashub would soon be married. It was a good start to the day.
Amram followed close behind, his shadow hovering over me like a giant shield. Perhaps I would speak with Jashub alone. If Abba and Ima heard me ask my perfectly healthy brother to investigate the possibly plague-ridden Assyrian camp, they might disown me. The squeaky gate was only steps away. I squared my shoulders, pushed it open, and found Abba waiting in the courtyard.
“Good morning, Daughter.” His face fairly glowed. “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Is Hezekiah’s healing complete yet?”
He looked so hopeful, I didn’t want to disappoint him. “No, Abba, but we’re eagerly awaiting Yahweh’s restoration.”
“No matter. It will come. Please,” he said, pointing to two stools, “sit down. I have much to tell you.”
Amram questioned me with his eyes, and I nodded for him to sit. “Perhaps you and Amram could talk. I must see Jashub. Commander Jokim needs someone—”
“The Assyrians are dead, Zibah. Sit down.” His matter-of-fact tone directed both Amram and me to our stools. “Yahweh woke me in the night when the angel of the Lord struck down the soldiers in their camp. You’ll find 185,000 dead Assyrians when Hezekiah opens the gates.”
Amram shifted uncomfortably on the small stool. “We can’t open the gates until we’re sure they’re dead, Isaiah. Surely, you understand.”
“Abba, are you saying that God sent a plague to kill all 185,000 Assyrians?”
He looked at me as if I was his slowest student. “Only half the Assyrians went to Libnah, Zibah. Only half the camp was infected, but the whole camp has been destroyed—minus the few needed to spread the word about the miracle.”
Amram glanced at me and back at Abba. “You’re telling us the Assyrians Samuel saw riding away on their horses this morning were spared by God to testify that only half of their comrades who died were killed by plague?”
“That’s right. The other half of the Assyrian army was perfectly healthy when they went to sleep last night.”
Amram looked as stunned as I felt. The immensity of such a miracle slapped me with its practicality. “What will we do with the dead?”
Ima rushed out of the house, tying her robe. “Zibah! You’re here early.” Then, seeing our expressions, her eyes brightened. “Has Hezi been healed?”
Another reality to bring me back to my purpose. “Not yet, Ima. I really must speak with Jashub.”
I started to rise, but Abba grabbed my arm. “There’s no hurry, Daughter. The Assyrians in that valley aren’t going anywhere.”
To my surprise, he wasn’t angry or trying to stop me from involving his eldest son. “I believe you, Abba, but we must still use caution. Even one Assyrian still living could put Jashub at risk.”
Jashub appeared at the door, hair disheveled as if straight out of bed. “I’ll go wherever the king sends me.”
Abba waved both him and Ima over, mild frustration tightening his brow. “Please, shalom everyone—peace. It matters not who checks the Assyrian camp or when. No one in Jerusalem wil
l contract this plague.”
His indifference was wearing on my patience. “We received a message this morning from Lachish. Many Judeans have already died and are dying, Abba. We must use caution.”
“Those in Lachish died because of God’s wrath on the city where Judah’s idolatry began.”
“You heard that from Yahweh?” I needed to be sure before reporting it to Hezi.
“Yes, Daughter.” Taking a deep breath, he focused on me intently. “Listen to me, Zibah. Yahweh’s wrath on all of Jerusalem was spent on the body of one man.”
Gooseflesh lifted the hairs on my arms. “What are you saying, Abba?”
He bowed his head and began speaking as if reading an invisible scroll. “This is what the Holy One of Israel says: ‘He grew like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem. Surely, he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted.”
I stared at him, nausea rising. “Hezi? You said he’s not the chosen King.”
“Listen, Zibah. Listen to the rest of the prophecy.” He closed his eyes again, sending a stream of tears down his cheeks. “He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”
I placed my hand on his arm, and he opened his eyes. “Abba, Hezi wasn’t pierced or crushed.”
“Don’t you see, Zibah?” he said, intense and certain. “Hezekiah isn’t the chosen King, but he is a foreshadowing of the King that will come one day. The anointed Son of David will be a suffering King. Perhaps, like Hezekiah, he’ll grow up with a difficult childhood. Maybe suffer for his strong faith. Hezekiah stepped between Jerusalem and God’s wrath for our sins, saving us from a fate like Lachish, but the anointed King will take on the sins of all Israel—maybe all nations.”