Love In A Broken Vessel (10 page)

• E
XODUS
20:3–6 •

Never have any other god. Never make your own carved idols or statues. . . . Never worship them or serve them, because I, Yahweh your Elohim, am El Kanna [Jealous God]. I punish children for their parents’ sins to the third and fourth generations of those who hate me. But I show mercy to thousands of generations of those who love me and obey my commandments.

H
osea felt as if his heart twisted in his chest. Why would this faithful king do such a foolish thing? He knew only Aaron’s descendants were allowed to burn incense before the Lord’s altar. The priests continued their discussion with Jonah, but Hosea stole a glance at his wife. Isaiah stood with Gomer, talking quietly halfway between the priests’ huddle and the lonesome king. For once, Isaiah seemed to be calming her. The fury in her eyes at the mention of God’s judgment had been staggering. Would she always be so quick to accuse the righteous and defend the condemned?

“Hosea, what do you think?”

Hosea returned his attention to the priests and found Jonah waiting for his answer.

“Hosea? Yahweh has gifted you with administrative skills. How should we proceed?”

“I’m sorry, what exactly are you asking?”

After a silent reprimand, Jonah summed up their questions. “Can we travel to Tekoa after nightfall with both Gomer and the king in wheeled carts?”

In the span of a lightning flash, Hosea considered a thousand problems. “Uzziah’s condition is worsening before our eyes. The distance between here and Tekoa is normally covered in a morning walk but becomes a half-day journey with two carts on the rocky terrain. And we all know the folly of traveling at night in the wilderness. If we’re not attacked by wild beasts, bandits will try to lighten our load.” Hosea watched the priests’ eyes grow larger with each potential problem. He’d better give them solutions or they’d shed their vestments and pray for the mountains to fall on them. “One of you will need to follow Jonah to the palace to inform the king’s officials of our plan. Prince Jotham will also need to be told about his abba’s illness.” He glanced at Jonah. “Perhaps Isaiah would be the best one to speak to the prince.”

Jonah nodded, hurrying to where Isaiah and Gomer stood.

Hosea recited the list of remaining considerations, and the priests divided the responsibilities. He left them with a final instruction. “Remember, we’ll need to wash any wood and break any pottery that King Uzziah touches on the journey.” He hesitated, emphasizing his next words. “We will follow Yahweh’s Law to the letter—both to remain holy and to be safe. We don’t know if the king’s condition is contagious. Make sure you apprise all the guards who might have direct contact with the king of that risk.”

“His two primary bodyguards are built like stone watchtowers,” one priest offered. “I’m sure they’d carry the king on their shoulders if necessary.”

“Let’s hope no one has to touch our good king,” Hosea said, remembering his wife’s hand extended to Uzziah. “To
knowingly make oneself unclean is to willingly separate oneself from Yahweh. It’s not to be taken lightly.”

Gomer watched Jonah lead Isaiah away from the looming gold temple of Yahweh. Hosea’s young friend was shaken. He’d even deigned to speak a civil word to her. “Thank you for your kindness to Uzziah,” he’d said.

She was startled that he hadn’t come over to chastise her for humiliating herself and Judah’s king, but something in his demeanor told her Isaiah’s world had been turned upside down in the moments of chaos she’d just witnessed.

“Are you all right?” Hosea’s hand cupped her cheek, and she turned to meet his warm brown eyes.

She looked past him, noticing the priests clearing a wide path through the crowd, directing the stunned and wobbly king to follow Jonah and Isaiah. “Are they all going to the palace?”

With his hand still warm on her face, he said, “Yes, and I must go with them.”

Startled, she met his gaze. “And me?”

“I thought you might like to barter for that vase we saw in the market.” A weary smile turned up one corner of his lips. “I’m sure Amoz would be pleased to know you appreciated his work.”

“You’d trust me to walk the market alone?”

He pulled a pouch from his belt. When she held out her hand, he dropped it, and she felt the weight of a few silver pieces, heard the familiar jingle. “I trust you,” he said. “It’s important that you meet me back here before the sun reaches the top of the palace roof.” He pointed to a tall building west of where they stood. “Do you see it? You must be here before the sun touches that roof.”

“I understand.” She felt wicked for the little grin she couldn’t suppress. King Uzziah had been stricken. Isaiah was hurting. But the thought that Hosea trusted her and she was free to walk in the market . . .

Hosea turned to go, but she grabbed his arm. “I’ll need your dagger,” she said, tucking the silver into her belt.

“What? No!” Hosea stared, seemingly amused. “How do you know I have a dagger?”

“I saw it strapped above your left sandal the night you took me from the brothel. Now give it to me so I can protect myself in the market.” She held out her hand and waited.

Hosea measured the remaining crowd and led Gomer toward a more private place near the sheepfold. “First of all, it’s not common knowledge that God’s prophet carries a dagger. Secondly, are you sure you know how to use this? I don’t want you to get killed over a silly vase.” Hosea glanced side to side, knelt down as if adjusting his sandal strap, and then transferred the blade into Gomer’s hand.

She tucked it into her pocket. “I’ve been a street harlot since I was twelve, Hosea. I could cut you from nose to navel before you realized it.” A quick peck on his cheek. “Thank you, Husband. I’ll meet you back here shortly.”

As she melted into the crowded Jerusalem market, Gomer stole a glance over her shoulder. Hosea was watching her, his lips moving in silent prayer. She giggled, wondering,
Is he praying for me or a foolish merchant who might try to cheat me?

Gomer hurried through the crowded streets. People everywhere were talking about the king’s affliction. Some spoke unkindly of Uzziah, of course, as even the best of leaders have enemies. But the overall consensus was one of bewilderment. If Yahweh would strike out at faithful Uzziah, who was safe from His wrath?

One voice rose above the rest, and Gomer was drawn to a large crowd near a canopied booth on the east side of the upper city. A woman stood on crates to be seen above the gathering. Her clear, smooth voice ran over Gomer’s soul like spring water. “Our Lady Asherah offers life to her worshipers, not sickness and death as Yahweh gives.” She presented a
gleaming replica of the carved poles in the groves. “Asherah’s alabaster altar can accompany you to your home, bless your household with life and health. Why travel to one of the groves in Judah or to Yahweh’s temple to offer sacrifices when Asherah lives here, and Baal here?” She picked up other carved items, lifting them above the crowd to display the quality of her workmanship. “And here I have Anat and Mot.” She stepped off the crates in order to meet the demands of the worshipers at her feet. “Yes, yes, I have plenty of gods for you. Wait your turn, and I’ll help you decide which god or goddess will meet your needs.”

Gomer watched in awe. These people had allowed themselves to be bullied into worshiping one god. The Asherah pole she and Hosea had passed on the high place looked forgotten and unkempt, but Yahweh’s tantrum with Uzziah had awakened their need for the real gods of Canaan.

As she watched, a terrifying thought occurred to her. She would soon be whisked away to a small farm in the Tekoan wilderness with a leprous king—without any god of her own. To what god would she pray for protection?

Driven by fear, Gomer forced her way to the front of the crowd and inspected the woman’s carvings. She chose a small alabaster Asherah and reached into the pouch for a piece of Hosea’s silver. “I’ll take this one.”

“A fine choice, my lady.”

Gomer nodded, took the goddess, wrapped it in a cloth, and placed it in her pocket beside the dagger.

Hosea stood by the sheepfolds in front of the temple while Jonah and Isaiah waited with the king and his men.
Where is she?
He was trying not to worry, but why was she late? What if she was arrested again? What if . . .
Yahweh, what if she gave herself to another man?
His chest ached as he imagined her in the arms of another, when she’d never let him love her as a husband.

He pressed balled fists into his eyes. “Stop this,” he whispered, chastising himself.

“Hosea?”

He spun around at the sound of Gomer’s voice and embraced her as if he were drowning.

Looking shocked, she nearly dropped the cloth she was carrying. “Hosea, what’s wrong?”

He released her and realized his explanation must include a confession. “I was worried about you. Where have you been?” The words sounded more accusatory than he’d intended.

Instead of the anger he expected, his wife seemed distracted, picking at some lint on a piece of cloth she’d purchased. She seemed nervous, fidgety. “Are the others waiting at the cart? We should hurry. I decided on cloth instead of the vase. It seemed more practical.”

“Gomer.” He watched her fraying the edges, smoothing the folds, avoiding his gaze.

“Do you think someone could teach me how to sew? The servants made all our robes at the brothel.” She still hadn’t looked at him.

“Gomer.” He cupped her cheeks and held her gaze. “What happened in the market? Why are you upset?”

She turned away. “Let’s go, Hosea. Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dread returned like hot iron in the pit of his stomach. Which of his imaginings had come true? “I need to know.”

Her chin rose, and her back straightened like a rod. Anger lit her eyes. “Why? Why must you know? Must I count out each piece of silver to prove I didn’t cheat you?”

“I don’t care about the silver. I want to know why you’re upset.” He suddenly remembered the dagger. He stepped forward and reached for the pocket of her robe. “Give me the dag—”

She backed away, eyes wide with panic, and covered her pocket. “Why must you see the dagger?”

“Because if you had to use my dagger, I placed my wife in
danger sending her to the market alone. Please, Gomer.” He held out his hand. “The dagger.”

She fumbled in her robe pocket and produced the dagger, slapping it into his hand. “Here.”

The blade was clean. No blood.

“But why were you upset? Why . . .”

Tears welled on her bottom lashes, but she seemed desperate to hold them captive. “So much for your trust, Hosea.” With a sneer, she walked toward the two-wheeled cart and the king’s escort that awaited them. She looked over her shoulder and added, “I bought a gift for you that I have hidden in my pocket. That’s why I didn’t want you fishing for your dagger.”

Hosea dropped his head, defeated. The scent of cloves still lingered in her wake. She was constantly sucking on the little morsels. Her breath, her hair, her clothes were steeped in the aroma. Perhaps it wasn’t important to know the details of her market excursion. She was safe and in his arms, and no blood on the knife meant no damage done.