Gods And Kings (19 page)
Ahaz moaned. He didn’t want to journey to the spiritual world. If he could journey anywhere, he would like it to be home. He covered his face with his hands, trying to envision Jerusalem’s familiar sights: his palace, Yahweh’s Temple, the terraced hillsides surrounding the city. But Isaiah appeared before him, instead:
“You will be devoured by the sword!”
Ahaz uncovered his eyes, and the prophet vanished. He reached for the new glass of wine that the servants had brought him, and took another drink. “I’m losing my mind!” he told Jephia.
“It’s useless to fight the power of the drugs, King Ahaz. Let the spirits carry you away.”
Ahaz knew Jephia was right. He was too sick and exhausted to fight, and so he yielded to the control of the drugged wine. As he did, his mind suddenly came into focus, and it seemed as if he could think more clearly than he ever had before. In a blinding flash of revelation, he realized what Isaiah’s words really meant: the wealth of Judah would be devoured as Ahaz struggled to meet the Assyrian tribute demands, tribute that would fund the Assyrian sword.
He closed his eyes and the prophet reappeared in a swirl of flashing lights.
“The understanding of this message will bring sheer terror,”
Isaiah warned.
“The bed will be too short to stretch out on, the blanket too narrow to wrap around you.”
Ahaz knew what that prophecy meant, too. He had faced the truth about himself today, and he could no longer blanket it with lies. He opened his eyes, seeking to escape from the prophet’s words in the only way he could: he drank the remaining contents of his cup.
For several minutes—or maybe it was hours—the room spun in circles around Ahaz as the potent mixture took effect. Then the motion gradually slowed, and all the horrible events of the day began to fade and blur into a past that he could scarcely remember. His fears shrank and then dissolved entirely, as a wonderful feeling of euphoria overwhelmed him. Ahaz wanted that feeling to last forever. He wanted more wine.
As the servants refilled his glass again and again, the only fear that troubled Ahaz was the fear that his cup might run dry.
Z
ECHARIAH AWOKE FROM A DEEP
sleep to find Hezekiah standing over him, shaking him. “Grandpa … Grandpa, wake up.”
He blinked his eyes, trying to focus them. “What is it, son?”
“What’s that noise? Listen …” The sound of hammers ringing against stone drifted into the room from the courtyard below the bedroom window.
“It sounds like they’re building something,” Zechariah replied. “It sounds nearby, too.” He yawned, his mind still fuzzy with sleep, and swung his feet to the floor. He saw Hezekiah eyeing his slow movements with the impatience of youth. “You don’t have to wait for me, child. Go on—open the window and have a look. Tell me what you see.”
Hezekiah darted across the room and tugged on the heavy curtains until they opened. He stood on his tiptoes peering down into the courtyard.
“Grandpa, you’re right. They’re building something down there. Come and see.” Zechariah shuffled to the window and boosted Hezekiah for a better view. “What are they making, Grandpa?”
“I have no idea.”
They watched as workers removed paving stones from the center of the palace courtyard to dig a foundation. More workers labored to haul huge limestone blocks to the site. The base of the cleared area was small, but judging from the number of stones, the finished building was going to be tall. A tower, perhaps? Was Ahaz preparing to worship the heavenly bodies in addition to all the other gods he worshiped?
Zechariah suddenly realized how bright the room was. “Oh, my—look how high the sun is already,” he said, pointing toward the Mount of Olives. “We’ll have to hurry, or we’ll be late for the morning sacrifice.” He put on his robe and smoothed down his hair and beard, then helped Hezekiah finish dressing.
“Can we go see what the men are building, first?” Hezekiah asked.
“There’s not enough time. We’re late as it is.”
“Don’t forget this,” Hezekiah said as he handed him his prayer shawl. Zechariah smiled.
“You’re learning, aren’t you, son? You’ll make a fine man of God, one day, just like King David.” Zechariah draped his prayer shawl over his shoulders, and they hurried through the palace hallways and out to the street.
The sound of ringing hammers should have receded in the distance behind them, but as they climbed the hill, Zechariah was surprised to hear hammers pounding in the Temple courtyard, as well. It was a sound that definitely didn’t belong there. He began to walk faster, a trickle of fear running like sweat down his spine. As soon as he passed through the Temple gates, it was as if the earth had shifted from under him and the familiar landscape of the Temple’s inner court had tilted askew.
“What are they doing, Grandpa?” Hezekiah asked, but Zechariah was too shocked to reply. Overnight, the altar of Yahweh had been moved from the middle of the courtyard using sledges and pulleys and
teams of oxen. A huge new altar was being constructed in its place.
Zechariah hoped he was dreaming. But as he moved closer, Zechariah was horrified to see that the changes were much worse than he’d imagined. The brass side panels for the new altar were covered with graven images.
“No …” he murmured. “No, that can’t be—not here in Yahweh’s Temple!” But in the center of each panel, the Assyrian god, Assur, stood astride a winged sun. Zechariah stared in horrified disbelief. The presiding Levites and priests emerged from the Temple’s side door in a frightened huddle, as if fearful of the wrath of God. They gathered around the altar of Yahweh that now stood on the north side of the courtyard.
Zechariah felt Hezekiah tugging on his sleeve. “Grandpa, why is it all changed?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. Wait right here.” He left Hezekiah standing by the gate to the inner court and hurried over to speak with the priest who was preparing for the morning sacrifice.
“What is that abomination doing here in Yahweh’s Temple?” Zechariah asked, pointing to the new altar that was being built. “It’s idolatry! What’s it doing here? Who ordered this?”
The priest glanced around before answering in a hushed whisper. “King Ahaz ordered it. He sent the plans for it from Damascus and told Uriah to have it built before he returns.”
“And Uriah agreed to this?” Zechariah asked in astonishment.
The priest gestured helplessly. “What could he do? It was the king’s command. We’re supposed to offer all of the sacrifices on the new altar when it’s finished. Yahweh’s altar will only be used for seeking guidance.”
“He can’t do that!” Zechariah shouted. The handful of men who were gathering to worship turned to stare at him. “Where’s Uriah?” he demanded.
“Probably still at the palace. He doesn’t come here every day—”
Zechariah strode back across the courtyard, through the gates, and down the hill to the palace. With every step he took, his shock transformed into anger. He was only vaguely aware of Hezekiah trotting behind him.
“Grandpa … Grandpa, wait. What about the sacrifice?”
“Not now, son. Go back to your room.” He hurried through the palace hallways to Uriah’s chambers, his anger burning hotter every minute. But when he stopped to catch his breath, he noticed Hezekiah staring up at him. “Go upstairs and wait for me,” he said again, as he pounded on Uriah’s door. It opened a crack and a servant peered out. Zechariah barged past him.
“Where’s Uriah? I need to speak with him. Where is he?” He was trembling with rage.
Uriah emerged from an inner chamber, followed by another servant. “What are you doing here, Rabbi?” he asked.
“You can’t let Ahaz do this!” Zechariah shouted. “You must put a stop to it!”
Uriah looked him over then muttered to his servants, “He’s probably drunk. Take him back up to the Temple.” The two men moved toward Zechariah.
“I’m not drunk, Uriah! Call them off,” he said as he tried to free himself.
The high priest stared gravely at Zechariah, then motioned to his servants. “All right—let him go. Give us a few minutes alone.”
Zechariah waited until the servants disappeared, his gaze never wavering from Uriah’s. “You have no right to do this!” he shouted.
“And neither does King Ahaz! Make them stop!”
“You’ll have to calm down, Rabbi, and tell me what you’re talking about.” Uriah spoke to him as if he was a child. Zechariah struggled to contain his anger.
“I’m talking about that … that … abomination you’re building!”
“That ‘abomination,’ as you call it, is actually quite ingenious,” Uriah replied. He gestured to the construction in the palace court-yard, just visible outside his window. “The Babylonians invented it to keep track of time. The tower will have stairs that spiral down the side, and as the sun moves higher or lower in the sky, the tower will cast a shadow on the stairs. Each stair represents an increment of time—”
“I don’t care about that! I’m talking about the heathen altar you’re building in Yahweh’s Temple!”
“I don’t need to explain my decisions to you,” Uriah said coldly.
“Yes, you do! I’m still a Levite, Uriah. And what you do in Yahweh’s Temple is still my concern.” He stared up at the tall priest and saw Uriah’s expression soften slightly, with respect.
“Listen,” he sighed. “I’m trying to centralize our national religion at the Temple. The king has altars all over the city, and it confuses people. This new altar will draw everyone back to the Temple—” “Draw them back? You want people to come to Yahweh’s Temple to worship idols? That’s insane! This time you’ve gone too far. You’re bringing idolatry right into God’s house!”
“No, listen to me. Only at first.” Uriah spread his huge hands as he attempted to reason with Zechariah. “You know as well as I do that hardly anyone ever comes to the Temple anymore. The morning and evening sacrifices are very poorly attended. But if we can draw people back, eventually they’ll view Yahweh as supreme over all their idols. I’m doing it for the good of the Temple.”
Zechariah slowly shook his head. “Maybe you can convince all the others to believe you, but not me. No, Uriah. You’re lying to them and to yourself.” He glared at Uriah until the younger man finally looked away.
“I can’t tell King Ahaz what to do,” he said quietly. “He ordered me to build the altar, and I have to do what he says.”
“I thought that was why you took this position—so you could teach him Yahweh’s laws?”
“I’m trying to. But I need more time.”
“You’ll never change Ahaz by working
for
him. You have to fight
against
him. Take a stand, Uriah. Show him he’s wrong. You must resign as palace administrator.”
“Resign?” Uriah gave a short laugh as he began pacing in front of Zechariah. “Resign—and then what? He’d make me resign as high priest of the Temple, too. Then maybe I could take up farming? Or serve as a priest in some remote village out in the desert somewhere?No. I’m not going to resign. Not now—”
“Not after you’ve had a taste of power and luxury,” Zechariah finished for him. Uriah stopped pacing and glared at him.
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Doesn’t it? You can’t lie to me, Uriah. I know better than anyone else what temptations you’re facing. I’ve lived here, too—remember?”
Uriah looked away. “Yes, I remember.”
“And we’re very much alike, you know—the same drive, the same burning ambition to succeed. Yes, I understand you very well.You’ve worked long and hard to get where you are, and now that you’re at the top, you sometimes have to do things that compromise your faith. Believe me—I know. But you can’t go back. It’s a long way down to where you’ve crawled up from, isn’t it? A long way down. And when you hit the bottom again, you’re afraid you’ll shatter into a thousand pieces, like I did. So rather than fall, you’ll make a few concessions to your faith. A little here, a little there, and every time you compromise, something inside your spirit dies a little.”
“This is nonsense.” Uriah folded his arms across his broad chest, but he wouldn’t look at Zechariah.
“Is it? Can you honestly stand there and tell me you didn’t die inside when you watched those children burn to death? Because if you can, then it’s already too late. You’re already dead.”
Uriah turned away to stare out the window. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft Zechariah could barely hear him. “Go away and leave me alone.”
“Uriah, resign!” Zechariah begged. “Do it now, before it’s too late. Make them stop building this altar. Help me oppose Ahaz’s idol-atry. Because that’s what I have every intention of doing from now on.”
Uriah swiftly turned to face him. “Are you forgetting that Ahaz is the king? If you oppose him he’ll have you executed.”
“Yahweh dealt with King Uzziah when he sinned, and He’ll deal with Ahaz, too. But you’ll face Yahweh’s judgment along with the king if you cooperate with him. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
As Zechariah gazed at Uriah’s troubled features, he sensed the conflict raging in his heart. But even as he watched, Uriah’s face hardened again. His jaw locked as he thrust his chin forward, and he seemed immovable, as if carved from stone.
“I’m not going to turn into a religious fanatic, Zechariah. Not even for you. I can serve Yahweh much better if I stay here, in a position of authority. I know how to handle Ahaz. That’s where you went wrong. You didn’t know how to control King Uzziah.”
“If you have so much control over him, then put a stop to this altar.”
“I’ve already explained it to you,” he said coldly. “The altar will draw the people back to the Temple, back to Yahweh. I don’t see it as a threat. Why are you so resistant to change?”
It seemed to Zechariah that the high priest’s conscience had also turned to stone. He shook his head. “I thought I could reach you. I thought I could make you see the truth. But I guess it’s too late. All of this has blinded you,” he said, gesturing to the luxurious room. “Power is intoxicating, isn’t it? I’m not sure I would have listened to the truth, either.”
As they stared at each other for several moments, Zechariah knew Uriah would never give in. Zechariah turned to leave and saw Hezekiah standing outside the open door, listening—and his anger at Uriah returned. If he and King Ahaz continued to rebel against the God of their fathers, Hezekiah would have no future, no nation to reign over. Zechariah knew it was up to him to stop Ahaz—for his grandson’s sake. He reached for Hezekiah’s hand, then turned to point an accusing finger at the high priest.
