Song of Redemption (3 page)

“Yes, I’m sure. Don’t forget—once the Temple is purified, we’ll be praying outside every morning in all sorts of weather. Even the rare snowstorm.”

“I guess that’s true dedication,” Hezekiah said, laughing. He acknowledged the guards who bowed to him as he passed through the gate, then he and his grandfather started down the steep ramp that led out of the city.

Zechariah seemed unchanged to Hezekiah. Of course he had aged, his movements slowing, his hair and beard changing from gray to white. And now Hezekiah stood almost a head taller than his grandfather. But Zechariah had the same noble, dignified features Hezekiah had loved so much, the same gentle green eyes full of wisdom and humor. He smiled to himself, remembering how he had once thought that Yahweh must look like Zechariah.

“How’s this?” Hezekiah asked when they reached a terraced olive grove near the Gihon Spring. The trees offered welcome shelter from the cold gusts of wind.

“It’s perfect.” Zechariah sighed with contentment as he sat down to rest on the low wall surrounding the garden. He gazed all around, as if seeing trees for the first time in his life, and Hezekiah winced at this reminder of Zechariah’s long imprisonment. He was glad they had come, in spite of the damp air.

“You know, son, there’s a reason I wanted to come outside to pray,” Zechariah said. “It’s too easy to believe in our own importance when we’re surrounded by our own creations all day.” He reached to pluck a silvery green leaf from an olive tree and twirled it between his fingers. “But look at this. Can we fashion anything as fragile and perfect as this leaf—or as solid and enduring as those mountains?”

“‘As the mountains surround Jerusalem,’ ” Hezekiah recited, “ ‘so Yahweh surrounds his people, both now and forevermore.’ ” “Ah … you still remember.”

“How could I forget? You recited that verse to me every morning when you first opened the shutters. And I was thinking about it just this morning when I saw how foggy it was. The mountains were nowhere in sight.”

“Yet you know they’re still there, just as Yahweh is still faithfully surrounding our nation, even though our sin and idolatry have hidden Him from sight.”

Hezekiah bent to pick up one of the dozens of stones that lay scattered on the ground and absently tossed it from one hand to the other. “I love this sad little nation, rocks and all. I wish it still resembled the land of milk and honey our ancestors knew.”

“God will answer your prayers, in time, if you’re faithful to Him.”

“Your trust in God seems so … so limitless compared to my own tiny seed of faith. I’m afraid that it’ll be insufficient, especially for the overwhelming task I’m facing. Besides getting rid of the idolatry, I want to win back all the land that’s rightfully mine, the land my father lost to the Philistines and Ammonites. We need the farmland of the Shephelah and cities like Beth Shemesh to guard the mountain passes into Jerusalem and give access to the coastal trade route. We need the fortified cities in the Negev and Arabah. And Elath, our seaport on the Red Sea. These territories once belonged to my ancestors,” he finished, tossing the stone he was holding toward the Gihon Spring. “And they’re rightfully mine.”

“You remind me of King Uzziah, son. His reign prospered, not only because he dreamed big dreams, like you—but because he loved God. With God you can do anything—anything at all.”

“Then why did King Uzziah’s reign end so badly? What happened?”

“Uzziah’s success resulted in pride, instead of gratitude. Foreign kings honored him for his accomplishments, and Uzziah took the credit for himself instead of giving the glory to God.” Zechariah was silent for a moment before continuing. “I’ve watched all three kings before you as they were tested by God—and failed. I pray that you’ll remain strong when you’re tested. Pride destroyed Uzziah. His son Jotham was destroyed by bitterness and your own father by fear. If they had placed their trust in Yahweh, how different things might have been for you.”

Hezekiah felt a restless urgency to begin, to make the changes his country needed as quickly as possible. “I need your wisdom and experience,” he told Zechariah. “I’d like you to fill Uriah’s position as—”

“No. I won’t serve as palace administrator.”

His abrupt refusal disappointed Hezekiah—and confused him. He had assumed that Zechariah would be willing to help in any way that he could. “But … but why not? I need you. You’ve served as palace administrator before, and you’re experienced—”

“I’m a Levite and a teacher of the Torah. I’ll help you with your religious reforms, but I won’t serve in your government.”

“But I need you. How can I convince you to change your mind?”

“You can’t. I’ll never hold a government position again.”

Hezekiah exhaled in frustration. “I don’t know anyone who’s as qualified as you are. You know more about running the kingdom than all the members of my court added together.”

“That’s flattering, but an exaggeration, I’m sure.”

“But you’re still going to serve in the Temple, aren’t you?”

“I’m much too old for that. Levites retire at age fifty. I’m close to seventy.”

“Grandpa, please—there aren’t enough Levites to do all the work, and there are even fewer priests. I’m hoping that some of the younger ones will return to service once all the reforms are complete, but the men will need to be trained and—”

“And so you want to call a wrinkled old Levite like me back into service for a while?”

“Yes. Would you? At least do that much to help me … please.”

Zechariah sighed and gazed up at the Temple walls, high above them. “The last time I wore my Levitical robes was the day I stopped your father from offering his sacrifice on the Assyrian altar, the day I became a prisoner. Do you remember what I told you when you saw me dressed in my robes that day?”

“No … I’m sorry.”

“You begged me to come back as soon as I was finished at the Temple so I could teach you more about Yahweh. I told you that I might be a little late, but I would be back. Well, I’m much later than I ever dreamed I’d be,” he said, resting his hand on Hezekiah’s shoulder, “but I’ll keep my promise and teach you Yahweh’s laws. And I’ll assist in the Temple until some younger men can be trained to replace me.”

“Where should we start? The Temple looked to me like it was in pretty bad condition.”

“It is, and we’ve already begun cleansing it as you asked us to. The next step is to assign the priests and Levites to their divisions the way King David established them, then anoint a new high priest. Of course the people will have to tithe the required Temple portion in order to support us.”

“I’ll issue the orders. And I’ll contribute whatever I can from the royal treasuries, too. But what about the Temple structures? Won’t they require restoration?”

“Yes, and I think I know the man to help us. My friend Hilkiah has a son who’s been trained as an engineer. Hilkiah is one of the few righteous men I know, and I’m certain that he has taught his son, Eliakim, to follow God’s laws, too.”

“Good. I’ll send for him to oversee the reconstruction. But that raises another point,” Hezekiah said, stroking his beard. “Right now the hardest part of my job is figuring out who I can trust. Uriah probably wasn’t the only one who would like to take control of my kingdom.”

“That’s true. It’s always a very dangerous time when power suddenly changes hands. You’ll need to take a strong stand until your sovereignty is firmly established.”

“My father’s government was very corrupt—from the highest official to the lowest clerk. It’s little wonder that the prophet Micah condemned the leaders of Judah so strongly. In any event, I’ve called for a meeting later today with all of my father’s former advisors. I’m going to announce my decision to reorganize the kingdom according to the Law of Moses.”

Zechariah’s eyes narrowed. “In that case, you’d better prepare yourself for a bitter power struggle, son. Some people will be eager to return to the laws of God, but most of the men who’ve been in control under Ahaz will surely oppose you—behind your back, if not openly.”

“I understand. But how do I prepare for something like that?”

Zechariah lifted his prayer shawl from around his shoulders and covered his head with it. “You pray. And you allow the Lord to be your strength. Remember—the Lord doesn’t
give
you strength, Hezekiah. He
is
your strength.” He gestured to the city walls on the cliffs above them and said, “When you’re surrounded by enemies, don’t rely on man-made fortifications or military power. Trust God.”

Hezekiah nodded, but he knew he was a long way from understanding and having such strong faith.

“Perhaps we should recite one of King David’s prayers this morning,” Zechariah said as he rose to his feet. “David wrote it when he was hounded by enemies who wanted to destroy him.”

Hezekiah stood as well, lifting his own prayer shawl into place. He closed his eyes as he listened to his grandfather recite the unfamiliar words, vowing that they would one day be familiar to him, vowing that he would learn them by memory and believe what they promised.

“ ‘Deliver me from my enemies, O God; protect me from those who rise up against me. Deliver me from evildoers and save me from bloodthirsty men… . But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.’ ”

Hephzibah closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep when her handmaiden, Merab, entered her bedroom. “You’re not up yet?” Merab asked as she parted the filmy curtains that surrounded her bed. “Come, your breakfast is ready.”

Hephzibah didn’t move from where she lay against the pillows. “Bring it to me, Merab. I want to eat it here in my room, alone.”

“No, my lady. You can’t hide in here forever. You’re the king’s wife; the others are only his concubines.”

“But I don’t want to eat with them. And they certainly don’t want to eat with me.”

“It doesn’t matter what they want. Your position is superior to theirs, and they must do whatever you say.”

“They don’t even respect me, Merab. They know Hezekiah hasn’t sent for me since my wedding week. They mock me.”

“Don’t make excuses, my lady. Come.” She nudged Hephzibah out of bed and to her feet. “Face them. Claim your rights. And don’t allow them to make you a captive in your own palace.”

Hephzibah felt sick with dread as Merab helped her get dressed and guided her down the passageway to the dining room. Hezekiah’s concubines were already seated around the low table and had begun to eat without her. She steeled herself for their usual taunts, lifting her chin and pretending to be indifferent as she joined them. When they ignored her completely, she wondered if they had grown tired of their game—or if this was their newest one.

Hephzibah ate quickly, anxious to return to her room. She had nearly finished when the chamberlain of the harem hurried in. He stood with his hands on his hips, appraising the women as if trying to select one. The eunuch was a round, fleshy man whose pale body reminded Hephzibah of bread dough rising in a kneading trough. When the concubines noticed him, their chattering stopped.

“I need one of you to come with me,” he said. “King Ahaz always wanted a concubine to warm up his chambers on a cold, damp day like today, and I’m sure the new king will, too, now that his time of mourning is over.”

One of the concubines waved her hand at him. “Take me—I’ll gladly go.”

Merab nudged Hephzibah. “My lady, you’re his wife,” she whispered. “Tell the eunuch you’ll do it.”

Hephzibah hesitated, reluctant to risk rejection—even though she longed to be with her husband. When she didn’t react, Merab quickly spoke up. “King Hezekiah’s wife will come with you, Lord Chamberlain.”

The eunuch stared at Hephzibah with mocking eyes. “Her? She’s the last woman the king would choose.”

“How dare you!” Merab cried. She struggled to her feet, looking angry enough to strike him. The eunuch ignored her as he turned to appraise the others, deliberating for a moment before pointing to the girl who had already offered to go.

“All right—you. But hurry up. The king could return to the palace any time now.”

Merab’s face was red with fury. “How dare you insult my lady?” she cried. She followed the eunuch as he hustled the concubine from the room, and Hephzibah heard her scolding him loudly, all the way down the hall.

“Oh dear, poor little Hephzibah,” one of the concubines said.

“Now, why do you suppose she wasn’t picked?” another one asked, and they all laughed.

Hephzibah stood and hurried from the room, unwilling to let her enemies witness her grief. But more painful than their jeers, more painful than the knowledge that she was unloved, was the thought that her husband would soon hold the concubine in his arms instead of her. She might never be held or loved again. She ran down the hallway where the others wouldn’t hear, then leaned her forehead against the cold stone wall and sobbed.

“Is something wrong?”

Hephzibah whirled around, shocked at the sound of a man’s voice. Prince Gedaliah stood a few feet away from her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Men were forbidden to enter the king’s harem. But he leaned casually against the wall beside her as if he were a regular visitor.