Song of Redemption (46 page)

“Your strength and courage—” he began.

“No. I know that isn’t true. I was a coward. I would have killed myself in another day. That’s not courage. I’m here because my father prayed and God answered his prayers. There’s no other explanation. Do you believe that, Eliakim?”

Eliakim remembered arguing with his father over the impossibility of her return. He knew that the only reason she escaped was because of a miracle of God. He could never deny it.

“What are you trying to say, Jerusha? What does that have to do with—” He stopped, unable to speak about his tunnel again.

“Have you prayed?” she asked. “Have you asked God for help?”

“No.”

It was the simple, honest truth. There was nothing more he could say. He closed his eyes in shame. Yahweh was a living God to Hilkiah and Jerimoth, a God they could turn to for help. But in spite of the fact that Eliakim attended the sacrifices and festivals year after year and had never bowed his knee to a false idol, Yahweh remained a distant, unknown God to him. And it had never occurred to him to call on Yahweh for help. He had shut God out of his life, living his own way, on his own strength. And that was arrogant pride. He looked up at Jerusha again.

“No. I haven’t prayed.”

“I never would have dared to believe God for all this,” she said, gesturing. “But I’m here. Ever since they took me captive, I’ve been bitter against God for allowing it to happen. And my bitterness made me blind to all that He’s given back to me.”

Eliakim remembered the deep bitterness he had felt when his mother died in spite of his fervent prayers. He had felt betrayed, and he had never asked God for anything else, carefully disguising his bitterness and unbelief behind a mask of religious ritual.

“Eliakim, I haven’t prayed since they took my baby from me. But I want to pray now—with you, if you’ll let me.”

She stretched out her hand to him, but Eliakim couldn’t take it. Instead, he covered his face in shame.

“O God!” he cried out.

Then, overwhelmed by his sin and his pride and his unbelief, he fell to the floor on his face. And for the first time since he was a little child, Eliakim wept.

36

H
EZEKIAH AWOKE WHILE THE SKY
was still dark. His sleep had been restless, and he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Worry pushed down on him like the weighted beam of an olive press until his head ached from the strain. He would have to make a decision today, whether they found Isaiah or not. Sending tribute to Assyria seemed to be the only solution. He couldn’t delay any longer.

Hezekiah rose and had just finished dressing by lamplight when he heard a knock on his door. It had to be bad news at this early hour. His servants were still asleep, so he opened the door himself. Immense relief flooded over him when he saw Isaiah.

“Rabbi, come in! I’ve been trying to find you since—”

“Yes, I’ve heard. I’m sorry you had to wait so long for me, Your Majesty. And I’m glad that your palace administrator was finally able to get in touch with me. Shebna tracked me down late last night and sent an urgent message that you needed to see me at once.”

“Yes, Rabbi, I do. Has Yahweh revealed to you what’s going to happen to our nation—to our people?”

The prophet’s expression changed, as if he had glimpsed something wonderful and terrible, awesome and dreadful. “Yes,” Isaiah said. “But who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed? God has shown me things I’m not sure I fully understand yet. I’ve seen the promised seed of Abraham, the righteous Servant of Yahweh, a Light for the Gentiles and a stumbling block to our people—the Messiah, who will reign on the throne forever.”

“Will God send the Messiah now—to deliver us from Assyria?”

The question seemed to annoy Isaiah. “You don’t understand. He will be your offspring, but you and I won’t see Him. And when He does come, many will hear Him but not understand.”

“Rabbi, what about our present crisis? Have you heard that Samaria has fallen to the Assyrians, and that their soldiers have been seen in Judean territory?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Nor did Isaiah seem to care. An aura of otherworldliness surrounded him, as if his vision of the future made him unconcerned with the present. Hezekiah was desperate to make him see the urgency of their current situation.

“I’ve been waiting to talk to you about what I should do. I’ve armed and fortified our nation, and we’re ready to fight the Assyrians if that’s God’s will. Or maybe rebelling was a mistake. Should I appease them with tribute … or seek alliances? I have to make a decision today, but I want it to be what Yahweh wants.”

He waited anxiously for Isaiah to answer, but the prophet remained silent for several long minutes. When he finally spoke, he seemed deeply burdened and sorrowful. “Your Majesty, you’ve earned my deepest respect for seeking the will of the Lord, unlike your forefathers. May God grant you the grace to hear it and understand it.”

Another change took place in Isaiah, and suddenly Hezekiah was afraid to hear what Yahweh had to say. Was it the fulfillment of Isaiah’s earlier vision and the end of his nation? He had to know.

“Tell me, Rabbi.”

Isaiah’s clear blue eyes held Hezekiah’s. “You stockpiled your weapons, and when you saw that the City of David had many breaches in its defenses you tore down houses to strengthen the walls. You built a reservoir between the two walls and a tunnel for the water, but you didn’t look to the One who made you … the One who planned everything long ago.”

Yahweh’s rebuke felt like a sword thrust. “But, Rabbi—does Yahweh expect us to remain defenseless when our nation is threatened? Why was it so wrong to stockpile weapons and strengthen our defenses—or to try to safeguard our water supply?”

“Did you seek God’s will before you did all these things?”

“No, but I saw the condition that my nation was in, and I knew these measures had to be taken. It was common sense.”

“So you went ahead with your building projects and your plans, and now you’re asking Yahweh to bless them? Now, when you’re in trouble? You’re not asking for God’s will, King Hezekiah. You’re asking Him to choose one of the plans you’ve already initiated.”

“No … but …” Hezekiah groaned. “I see what you mean.”

He had tried to trust in God yet control his own life at the same time, trying to reconcile the two sides of himself: his self-reliance and his faith in God. And he suddenly remembered that his grandfather had once warned him that he could never do both.

“Yahweh made this present crisis, Your Majesty. He planned it long ago for His own purposes. Your reforms eliminated idolatry from the land, but that’s only half of it. Worship of Yahweh without heartfelt commitment only leads to empty ritual. The Lord says, ‘These people come near to me with their mouth and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. Their worship of me is made up only of rules taught by men.’ ”

“So by trying to take the defense of Judah into my own hands I’m working against Yahweh?”

“Yes—against His plan to chasten His people.”

Hezekiah sighed. “So what should I do now?”

“Do you have enough faith to trust Yahweh completely and not rely on your own strength?”

Hezekiah had to be honest with himself and with God. “No, probably not. But I don’t have much choice, do I? The Assyrian weapons are superior to ours, and even our new walls may not stand up to their battering rams. Our tunnel isn’t finished, either. So my own strength is pitiful, in spite of all my efforts.”

“The Lord is your strength, King Hezekiah. And Yahweh’s word to you is to wait.”

Hezekiah stared at him in disbelief. “Wait? And do nothing?”

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall soar on wings like eagles. They shall run, and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint.”

“Then I’m not to take
any
action in this crisis?”

“This is what Yahweh says to me: ‘As a lion growls, a great lion over his prey—and though a whole band of shepherds is called together against him, he is not frightened by their shouts or disturbed by their clamor—so the Lord Almighty will come down to do battle… . Like birds hovering overhead, the Lord Almighty will shield Jerusalem; he will shield it and deliver it, he will “pass over” it and will rescue it… . Assyria will fall by a sword that is not of man; a sword, not of mortals, will devour them.’ ”

Yahweh’s word should have reassured Hezekiah, but it didn’t. He paced anxiously in front of the prophet, wondering if he could obey God’s word, wondering if he could sit passively through a crisis of this magnitude without taking action. He had no proof that Isaiah’s words were true, no evidence he could see that told him he could trust God.

But when we only believe in things we can see with our eyes and touch
with our hands, it is idolatry
. Faith in God meant believing the unseen.

“God, give me the faith to believe… .” he murmured. In the distance, the shofar summoned Hezekiah to the morning sacrifice. “Will you worship with me at the Temple, Rabbi?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty.”

Now that he knew God’s answer, Hezekiah would heed the word of the Lord. He wouldn’t send tribute, he wouldn’t marshal his troops, and he wouldn’t seek allies. He would wait and do nothing.

But it would be the hardest thing he ever did in his life.

The sun glowed behind the clouds like the golden embers on the altar as Eliakim stumbled up the hill to the Temple with his father. When the shofar had sounded, it seemed to Eliakim as if God himself had summoned him to appear before Him. Eliakim filed through the narrow Temple gates, shoulder to shoulder with the other men, through the Court of the Gentiles and the Court of the Women into the inner courtyard.

He approached the basin to wash himself, and never before had he felt so filthy. His sins burned a hole in his heart like the heat from a thousand suns: bitterness, unbelief, and—worst of all—pride. He had taken God off His rightful throne and replaced Him with the works of his own hands, making his own decisions, choosing his own paths. Eliakim allowed the water to wash over his hands for a long time, but they still felt unclean. His father had to pull Eliakim’s hands from the water and coax him to move, but he still felt unworthy to approach God’s altar.

The praises of the Levites crescendoed in the still morning air as the priests slew the sacrifices:
“‘Praise the Lord, O my soul. All my
inmost being, praise his holy name.”’

Eliakim had never heard such magnificent music. It answered a cry from deep within his soul. Yahweh reigned—majestic, awesome, worthy of praise! Eliakim wanted to fall on his face before God.

“‘Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives
all your sins … and redeems your life from the pit.”’

Yahweh. The God of Abraham. The Holy One of Israel. His father had used those phrases all of Eliakim’s life, but never before had he fully comprehended their truth. Who was worthy to approach Yahweh? How could a sinner like him even dare to stand in Yahweh’s holy Temple, before His holy presence?

The priests in their pure white robes came forward, gently swaying in rhythm with the music. Eliakim smelled the sweet perfume of incense and heard the faint tinkle of bells on the hem of the high priest’s garment. The high priest carried a golden bowl, filled with the blood of the sacrifice, the atoning blood. Through it Eliakim could be forgiven, all his sins paid for. He didn’t wait for the other men, but threw himself before God, pleading for mercy and forgiveness as the Levite choir sang.

“‘The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in
love… . he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our
iniquities.”’

All glory and honor belonged to God, not man, yet Eliakim had sought glory for his own works. Vengeance was God’s to repay, yet Eliakim had sought revenge against the Assyrians. He deserved to die for his sin, and he waited, prostrate, for God’s judgment to fall on him. He welcomed it, longed for it. But as the magnificent words of the psalm touched his soul, Eliakim’s heart overflowed with love and praise for God.

“‘For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for
those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed
our transgressions from us.”’

In all the years he had come to the Temple, Eliakim could never remember a service like this one. But had he ever come with his heart surrendered to God before? He had believed that the services were meant to satisfy
his
needs, and when his first sacrifice had been disrupted long ago, Eliakim had been outraged because
he
felt cheated, not because God had been cheated. He wanted to stay prostrate with shame, but his father gently nudged him to his feet.

“‘As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion
on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that
we are dust… . From everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those
who fear him.”’