Gods And Kings (38 page)

“I’ve studied our nation’s history,” Hezekiah cut in. He’d hoped to learn something that would help him, but he was growing impatient. “What does Yahweh want?”

The stranger’s tone changed suddenly as he switched roles, pleading the case for the people. He dropped to his knees. “How can we make up to God for what we’ve done? Shall we bow down before Yahweh with burnt offerings and yearling calves? Will Yahweh be pleased with thousands of rams, and with ten thousand rivers of olive oil? Would He forgive my sins if I offered Him the fruit of my body? Shall I sacrifice my firstborn?”

Sacrifice my firstborn
.

Suddenly the floodgate burst open, and the memories poured into Hezekiah’s mind. The rumble of voices and trampling feet.
“Which one is the firstborn?”
The priest’s hand had rested on Eliab’s head.
“This one.”

He remembered the column of smoke in the Valley of Hinnom and the pounding drums. He remembered the heat and the flames; the monster’s open mouth and outstretched arms.

Molech
.

Hezekiah began to tremble. “Yahweh,” he whispered.

Now he remembered—he remembered everything. And above all, he remembered his terror as the nightmare returned. But it wasn’t simply a childhood dream. The sacrifices to Molech had really taken place—his brothers, Eliab and Amariah, had burned to death. And if it hadn’t been for Yahweh, he would have burned to death, too. He felt shaken, unable to speak.

Micah rose from his knees and approached him, his voice quiet and soothing. “He has shown you what is good—and what does Yahweh require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Yahweh is God—Yahweh alone
.

Hezekiah’s heart pounded as he remembered another piece of the puzzle. “My grandfather …” he murmured.

“He’s alive,” Micah said with a nod. “Your grandfather, Zechariah, is still alive.”

“He’s… ?” Hezekiah shook his head to clear his thoughts, then stood. “Take me to him.”

21

I
T WAS NO USE.
Z
ECHARIAH
couldn’t sleep. He threw back the tangled bedcovers and groped in the dark for the oil lamp. Once it was lit, he put on his robe and sandals. There had been many nights like this when he couldn’t sleep, and he’d learned over the years to bring his questions to God. It was the only way to find peace in his heart and soul. Tonight Zechariah couldn’t stop thinking about Hezekiah’s coronation and reliving his bitter disappointment when Uriah had prayed,
“May your reign be blessed by all the gods of Judah.”

Hezekiah never would have allowed such a prayer if he still believed in the one true God. All the long years of waiting, all of Zechariah’s prayers and hopes had been in vain. Hezekiah had turned his back on Yahweh.

Zechariah walked down the deserted corridor to the Temple library. Like Job, he would bring his complaint to God, hoping to find comfort—and answers—in HisWord. Zechariah loved this room and the scrolls that lined its shelves. He loved to pray here, feeling somehow closer to Yahweh when surrounded by His Word. He lit the oil lamps that were mounted on the walls, then scanned the shelves, trying to decide what to read. He finally chose the fifth book of Moses—the scroll he had read from the day he had brought Hezekiah here—and he sat down wearily at one of the tables. But tears blurred his vision. He was too heartbroken to open it.

Hezekiah knew there were no gods except Yahweh. God had helped Zechariah teach him, he knew the truth! Zechariah remembered the day they had walked to the spring and they had recited the Shema together for the first time.
“Louder, Grandpa! Make the goats bellow!”

Zechariah cleared the lump from his throat and recited the words aloud: “‘Hear, O Israel! Yahweh is God—Yahweh alone… .”’

He couldn’t finish.

But from the darkness behind him a voice continued to recite: “Love Yahweh your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”

Zechariah leaped from his seat. Hezekiah stood in the doorway.

At first Zechariah thought he was dreaming, but in the next moment he felt Hezekiah’s arms around him, hugging him fiercely, and he knew it was real. They held each other, without saying a word, for a long time.

Hezekiah had remembered his grandfather as tall and strong, but the man he held in his arms now seemed very different. He finally released his grasp and gazed at him. He saw the familiar kindness and love in his grandfather’s eyes and was ashamed that he could have forgotten this man he had loved so much as a child, the man who had comforted him and assured him of God’s protection.

“I’m so sorry, Grandpa—” “No, son. It’s not your fault. Everything happens according to Yahweh’s will.”

“I haven’t thought about Yahweh for many, many years,” he said softly. He felt the need to apologize and to explain himself to his grandfather. He groped for words. “My father insisted that I have the very finest education, the very best tutor. And I loved learning. I couldn’t get enough of it—languages, history, literature. But my tutor didn’t believe in any gods, and my father worshiped hundreds of them.”

Hezekiah hadn’t realized until now why he’d always hated his father. But that memory was coming back, too. Ahaz had sacrificed Hezekiah’s two brothers—and he had intended to kill Hezekiah, as well.

“I hated my father,” he said. “And I hated his idolatry. I didn’t want any part in it. When he moved his idols into Yahweh’s Temple—and when you didn’t come back—I guess I discarded Yahweh, as well. In time, I forgot all about the things you taught me. After a while, even the sacrifices to Molech seemed like only a fairy tale or a bad dream I once had as a child. I haven’t thought about Yahweh in years—until His prophet spoke at the banquet tonight.”

“Forgive me, Yahweh,” Zechariah whispered, leaning against the table. “Forgive my unbelief.”

Hezekiah reached out to support him. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?” He helped Zechariah sit down, then pulled up another bench facing him.

“Tell me about the prophet. Was it Isaiah?”

“No, his name is Micah, from Moresheth.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me that Yahweh had a case to plead against Judah, and he reminded me of our history and everything that Yahweh has done for the nation. When I asked what Yahweh required in return, he said, ‘Shall I offer my firstborn?’ And I suddenly realized why he looked so familiar to me. He reminded me of the prophet I met in the Valley of Hinnom. And that’s when I realized that it wasn’t a dream.” Hezekiah closed his eyes for a moment as the memories returned after all these years.

“I remember being so afraid—the sacrifice of the firstborn—and I was the firstborn after Eliab died. I knew I was going to die, just like he did. And then, when it seemed there was no escape, the prophet spoke: ‘When you pass through the fire, you won’t be burned … for Yahweh is your God.’ And they sacrificed Amariah instead of me.”

It was a few moments before he could continue. “I remember being so afraid that it would happen again, that my father would order a third sacrifice. Then you came, and you promised that Yahweh would protect me from Molech.” He stared at Zechariah for a moment. “But one thing you never told me … I guess I never asked you …
Why?
Why did Yahweh save me?”

Zechariah could barely speak. “Because He loves you, Hezekiah.”

He shook his head. “But why?”

“King David wondered the same thing: ‘When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him?’ I don’t know the answer, son, but I do know that He loves us.”

“But I haven’t done anything to deserve His love. Why would He save me?”

“Whether we deserve His love or not is irrelevant. Of all men, I’m proof of that. I sinned so greatly against Him… . but He forgave me, and I know that He loves me.”

Hezekiah still couldn’t comprehend what Zechariah was saying. “But why me? Why didn’t he save Eliab or Amariah?”

“Because Yahweh has chosen you,” Micah said, interrupting. He had been waiting in the hallway with Hilkiah, but he suddenly stepped into the library to join them. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but Yahweh is urging me to speak, and I can’t keep silent any longer. Yahweh has chosen
you
to lead this nation back to Him.”

Another memory stirred in Hezekiah’s mind. The other prophetd told him the same thing a long time ago, in the Valley of Hinnom:
“Yahweh has ransomed you. He has called you by name. You belong to Yahweh.”

“God still loves His people,” Micah continued. “And He remem-bers the covenant He made with them. But we’ve broken that covenant and disobeyed all His commandments and worshiped idols. So, like a loving father, Yahweh punishes us, giving us over to our enemies until we turn back to Him again. Everything has happened just as the Torah said—if your heart turns away and you bow down to worship other gods, you will certainly be destroyed.”

Hezekiah stared at Micah. “Wait a minute. Are you saying that our nation has been conquered and impoverished because we broke our covenant with Yahweh?”

“Yes.”

Hezekiah expected a lengthy debate from the prophet, but he had replied with bold conviction. Hezekiah exhaled slowly.

“I’m sorry, Micah, but your reasoning is too oversimplified to take seriously. Judah isn’t an isolated nation living quietly with our God. The Assyrian Empire is slowly conquering the entire world—and that’s a reality I can’t ignore.”

“Nevertheless, it’s true, Your Majesty. Yahweh’s wisdom often seems foolish in man’s eyes.”

Hezekiah looked at his grandfather in surprise. “You taught me that once, with the story of David and Goliath.”

Zechariah smiled.

“Your Majesty,” Micah continued, “Yahweh doesn’t simply observe mankind from His heavenly throne. He’s actively involved in the affairs of men—in the affairs of
all
nations. He’s using the Assyrians as an instrument of His wrath, and when He’s through judging our nation, they will be judged also. Yahweh is sovereign over all.”

“If you believe that Yahweh saved you as a child,” Zechariah said, “why is it so difficult to believe that Yahweh could save our nation?”

“I don’t know,” Hezekiah said, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve been reviewing our nation’s history trying to see how Judah got into this mess and looking for a way out of it. But I haven’t found one. Now you’re saying that Yahweh is the missing key?”

“Yes,” Micah replied. “Didn’t our nation achieve great power and prosperity under King David? And David loved Yahweh with all his heart.”

“Judah hasn’t seen peace or prosperity since King Uzziah’s days,” Zechariah said quietly. “And Uzziah also worshiped Yahweh—until his pride destroyed him. When Uzziah died, the people slowly turned away from God, and Judah has declined, as well.”

“My father was the worst idolater of them all,” Hezekiah said, remembering Molech’s blazing image. “And Judah has been reduced to poverty and slavery under his rule.” Micah and Zechariah were offering him the solution he had struggled to find. Yet he hesitated, his rational mind refusing to believe in a supernatural answer.

“Can you prove any of this?” he asked. “Perhaps some kings were better equipped to rule than others. Or maybe it was the era in which they lived. I can’t rest the fate of our nation on a superstition. I have to believe in things that can be proven in a tangible way. Can you show me proof that this link between idolatry and poverty isn’t just a coincidence?”

Micah shrugged. “I don’t have the kind of proof you’re asking for. I believe it by faith.”

Hezekiah sighed. “I wish it could be true. I wish I could renew this covenant with Yahweh and see my kingdom miraculously restored, but—” He shook his head. His mind refused to believe it. He felt torn between his seeds of faith in Yahweh and his sense of reason. He turned to his grandfather, pleading wordlessly for help.

“Belief in Yahweh doesn’t come with your mind, Hezekiah. It comes with your heart. When you only believe in things you can see with your eyes and touch with your hands, it is idolatry.”

Zechariah’s words stunned him. “Then I’m an idolater, too?”

“To have faith in Yahweh is to know that there is a realm of the spirit beyond the comprehension of our minds,” Zechariah said. “Trusting in Molech, as Ahaz did, or trusting in your own wisdom and intellect—there’s no difference in God’s eyes. It’s all idolatry.”

Hezekiah stared at him. “Then in God’s eyes I’m as guilty as my father?”

Zechariah nodded.

“But I hate idolatry—the ridiculous statues, the orgies in the sacred groves, the innocent children burned to death. It’s repulsive!” He felt shaken to discover his own guilt, that in God’s sight he was as much a sinner as Ahaz.

“What does Yahweh want me to do?” he asked quietly.

“The Torah says that if you seek Yahweh your God you will find Him if you look for Him with all your heart and soul. When you are in distress and you return to God and obey Him, He will be merciful. He won’t abandon you or forget the covenant He made with our forefathers.”

The room fell silent as Hezekiah struggled. His grandfather told him to accept it by faith, but nothing Shebna had taught him prepared him to do that. The one certainty in his life was that Yahweh had saved him as a child. Nothing could change that conviction. His belief seemed small compared to Micah’s unshakable confidence, but perhaps it was a place to start.

“I want to seek God,” he finally said. “I want to get rid of all the idolatry and renew our nation’s covenant with Him. I want to ask Him to heal this land.”

“Who is a God like you?” Micah cried, lifting his uninjured arm in praise. “You pardon sin and forgive the transgressions of your people. You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy. You will have compassion on us once again. You will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea!”