Love In A Broken Vessel (8 page)

Jonah appeared at the doorway and nudged the young men apart. “I’ll wait here while both of you search for Gomer. Everything is ready to leave in the morning, so go.”

Hosea kept his head bowed, unable to look at his teacher. “What if . . .”

“Hosea, my son. Look at me.”

Grudgingly, he lifted his gaze and saw the man’s soft heart in his eyes. “Go find your bride. I’ll stay here and pray for Yahweh’s favor. We’ll set out for Tekoa tomorrow as we planned.”

Isaiah rested his hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “Come on. We must find her before dark.”

They hurried out of the courtyard, turning west toward the temple.
Surely she wouldn’t walk right into the lions’ den.
Hosea’s logic warred with his emotions. Gomer knew the danger of being seen by anyone who could report to Menahem’s captain. And if anyone discovered she’d married the Yahweh prophet, King Jeroboam would humiliate all of them as he’d been humiliated when Hosea challenged him at the sacrifice.

As they approached the temple, Hosea noticed a steady stream of people hurrying inside. He stopped one of the men and asked, “What’s happening? Is there another sacrifice?”

“No, this is just the quickest way to the king’s audience chamber.” The man leaned close, whispering as if they were old friends sharing a secret. “I heard the elders at the gate passed judgment on a prostitute, but when King Jeroboam found out
which
prostitute was on trial, he wanted a piece of the action.” The man nudged Hosea with his elbow. “Know what I mean?” He hurried away, clearly amused.

Hosea lost all sense of time and space. He needn’t take another step or hear a witness to know it was Gomer. “The elders at the gate passed judgment on a prostitute,” the man had said. Hosea knew she’d been wearing her veil when she left, which meant she must have returned to prostitution and been accused as a married woman committing the crime. His stomach lurched, and he bent over to steady himself. He felt Isaiah’s hand on his back.

“What is it?”

Hosea took deep breaths until he could stand and then met Isaiah’s gaze. Cowardice overtook him. He turned without a word, starting back to their house. He would tell Jonah—and
leave for Tekoa. Isaiah didn’t need to know Gomer had returned to her harlotry. He’d hate her forever.
But why do I care? I hate her too!
He let one foot fall in front of the other, plodding aimlessly. Hopelessly.

“Hosea! Stop!” A strong hand gripped his shoulder, nearly pulling him to the ground.

Staggering, he caught himself, and his anger erupted. “Get your hands off me, Isaiah! We’re going back to get Jonah, and we’re leaving Samaria tonight! I’m done. Finished.”

All color drained from his friend’s face. “So Yahweh didn’t speak to you? He didn’t tell you to marry this prostitute and have children with her? This whole journey has been a lie?” The accusation in his voice slapped Hosea from his self-pity.

“Yahweh did speak to me. I mean . . .” But how could it be true if Gomer had returned to prostitution? Perhaps he’d been mistaken and Yahweh didn’t mean Gomer.

In that moment, a gentle wind blew on Hosea’s spirit:
Let’s learn about Yahweh. Let’s get to know Yahweh. He will come to us as sure as the morning comes. He will come to us like the autumn rains and the spring rains that water the ground.

Isaiah’s face lit with wonder. “I felt a cool breeze, and you grew still. Did you hear Yahweh’s voice?”

Hosea nodded, unable to speak while the balm of God’s voice soothed his wounded heart. Could knowing more of Yahweh really satisfy the emptiness he felt at Gomer’s betrayal?

Isaiah assaulted him with questions. “How does it feel? Do you hear a
real
voice, like a human sound? Is He—”

“Isaiah,” Hosea interrupted, “all I know for now is that we must find Gomer. She’s been arrested.”

With a resolute slap on Hosea’s shoulder, Isaiah grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd toward the king’s hall.

Hosea prayed urgently as they shoved their way through the temple and into the king’s audience chamber.
Oh my Elohim, I need to know You more just as Gomer needs to
learn of You. I’ve been taught Your Law, but in order to teach Gomer who You are, we must learn of You together in moments like this—through sunrise and rainfall. Thank You for making Your calling clear again. Give me wisdom to reveal Your steady heart through my enduring love.

They arrived at the royal hall, and Isaiah stood on tiptoes to see over the crowd. Hosea knew his friend wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “Isaiah, I need you to go back to the house, get Jonah, and wait with the cart outside the city gates before they close for the night. I have a feeling we’ll need to leave quickly if we’re to save Gomer and get out of Samaria alive.”

• H
OSEA
6:1 •

Let’s return to Yahweh. Even though he has torn us to pieces, he will heal us.

T
wo guards paraded Gomer through a courtroom full of Israelites. Women spit on her, men pawed—this time for free. “Kneel before the king,” said one of the guards, pushing her forward. She landed hard on her knees and tipped onto her face, unable to stop her momentum with her hands bound behind her back. Those in the courtroom laughed, and she waited until one of the guards grabbed her arm.

“Kneel!” said the other guard, yanking her upright. She winced but refused to show weakness. Perched on her knees between her captors, she glanced up at King Jeroboam’s specially appointed tribunal. Amaziah, the high priest, joined the king and six advisors to judge a simple harlot. Each of the tribunal members—with the exception of the king—had paid for her services, repeatedly. But she’d never darkened the inner sanctum of the palace. She examined the long, narrow courtroom, etching every detail into her memory. Exquisite ivory and ebony inlaid furniture filled the room, and landscaped wood panels lined the walls.

Of course, she should be concerned about her sentencing. When a prostitute veils herself in public, her punishment is humiliating, costly, painful. But she was beyond humiliation, she owned nothing of value, and pain was no stranger. This was her second trial today and would undoubtedly result in another conviction. Her energy was much better spent remembering this glimpse of glory than brooding over certain defeat.

At her first trial, the guards from the grove had led her to the city gates. The elders had recognized her almost immediately, even without jewelry or cosmetics. They’d been regular customers too, and seemed intrigued—almost sympathetic—when she told them of how Eitan had beaten her the day of the great sacrifice. But their interest turned to rage when she defended veiling herself and mentioned her new husband’s name. It seemed a reformed harlot was less than popular, but one married to a rebel prophet was downright distasteful.

The elders would have carried out their judgment immediately had it not been for General Menahem’s guards, who whisked her to the palace for more questions and this trial. Menahem questioned her personally, seeming overly interested in Hosea’s contacts with Judean spies in Israel. She laughed at the absurdity, which earned her more bruises.
Men will be men.
She was weary of the lot of them.

At least she wouldn’t have to see Hosea again. He was no doubt halfway to Judah by now, or at least he would be when he discovered she’d been found in Asherah’s grove. Yahweh’s fiery prophet would never stomach an idolatrous wife.

“The king’s tribunal will now hear testimony from two witnesses: Asherah’s high priestess and the guard at the grove.” The royal herald howled like a wounded dog, and Gomer wished her hands weren’t bound so she could cover her ears. “They will testify that the harlot Gomer was found veiling herself in public. Should the harlot be found guilty, she will surrender all her jewelry, be stripped naked, and flogged with rods forty times minus one.”

The high priestess stood, offered a perfunctory bow to the
king, and addressed the full courtroom. “I saw this woman enter Asherah’s grove, covered with this veil.” When the woman lifted the blue linen cloth into the air, a wave of regret seized Gomer. Why couldn’t she have been happy with Hosea’s gift?

“The harlot tried to look respectable,” the priestess continued. “She’d covered her copper hair, leaving only her eyes exposed, but when she danced before the goddess, her veil fell away. I recognized her as the filthy harlot Gomer.” She spat the name, her mouth twisted in disgust. “She should reap the full penalty of her crime.”

The herald stepped forward once again and drew a breath to announce the second witness, but he was cut short by a bass voice from the gallery. “This woman is no longer a harlot. She is my wife.”

Gomer’s heart leapt to her throat. She heard the soft swish of leather sandals on the marble floor behind her. Approaching. Then Hosea stopped beside the guard on her left.

Without lifting her gaze, she whispered, “What are you doing here?” But the words echoed in the tomb-like courtroom.

He ignored her and took another step forward, drawing two of the king’s guards off the royal dais. They stood regally like a wall between Hosea and the king. Their spears were poised at an angle, as if their fierce presence wasn’t enough to discourage further advance.

“The charges brought against Gomer are unfounded because she is no longer a street harlot but rather a married woman. And as a married woman, she has the right—actually, the obligation—to veil herself in public.” Hosea’s tone was respectful but direct. He met each council member’s gaze, moving down the line, and finally landed on the king’s icy stare. Hosea’s hands clenched and released the sides of his robe as he awaited the answer.

Moments passed that felt like days. Gomer kept her head bowed, unable to decide whose eyes she wished to avoid most.

“I was wondering if the king has had sufficient time to consider Yahweh’s warning,” Hosea said.

Gomer gasped with the rest of the audience.
Enough, Hosea!
she wanted to scream at him, but she knew he wouldn’t listen. She lifted her head to peek at Jeroboam’s reaction.

A wry grin appeared on the king’s face. “I have thought very little of you or your supposed god, Prophet. As you can see by our budding trees and blooming meadows, the sacrifice you so vehemently condemned has pleased the true gods of Israel.”

Hosea took another step forward and was met by the points of the guards’ spears. He casually looked down at his belly, where the spearheads rested, as if pondering a pesky insect. “I have come to reclaim my rebellious wife, King Jeroboam.”

Gomer turned away. She couldn’t watch.

But instead of the sickening sounds of death, she heard the king laugh. “I haven’t personally experienced the pleasure of your wife, Prophet, but if retrieving her is worth walking into a spear, perhaps I should add her to my harem!”

The audience erupted, Gomer’s past customers yelling vulgar comments. For the first time, she saw Hosea’s posture grow rigid. And for the first time, she felt the humiliation of a common whore.

“I have come to reclaim Gomer because I love her, King Jeroboam,” Hosea shouted over the raucous crowd. “I said,” he kept shouting, “I. Love. Her.”

And the room fell silent.

Jeroboam’s eyes narrowed, all folly gone. “Then you are an even bigger fool than I imagined.”

“My love tells a story. Serves a purpose.”

Jeroboam lifted a single eyebrow. Gomer was equally intrigued. Who was this warrior-prophet willing to risk his life for her?

“The king’s tribunal has heard enough to rule on the harlot.” Amaziah’s harsh interruption startled Gomer—and the king.

“If you think, Amaziah, that you can raise an army and take
my throne by force, then you may pass judgment in this courtroom.” Jeroboam’s anger was as pointed as the spears aimed at Hosea’s belly, and Gomer wished her hands were unbound so she could applaud. Jeroboam returned his attention to Hosea. “You have one last chance to speak for your wife’s freedom, Prophet. The veiling of a prostitute is punishable by beating. The prostitution of a married woman is punishable by death.”

Gomer swallowed hard and studied Hosea’s silhouette. He hadn’t looked at her since he’d entered the hall, yet he said he loved her. He’d shouted it. She’d lived in his house for two new moons, and he hadn’t once tried to lie with her. Not even a kiss after that impassioned first taste. Why? What game was he playing? She had once known a boy named Hosea. Would she die before knowing the man?

“My love for Gomer is much like Yahweh’s love for Israel,” he began. “I love a woman who knows nothing of the height and depth, width and breadth of my love. She believes love is bought and sold, that it’s a physical act or a fleeting fancy. She blames me when things go wrong and gives other lovers credit for her happiness.”

Jeroboam’s sardonic smile returned. “I can see why you want her back so desperately.”

Oh! And why don’t I get to stand before an audience and talk about Hosea’s faults?
Gomer seethed but knew better than to intervene.

“Now, King Jeroboam”—Hosea’s voice was gentle—“please listen to Yahweh’s heart for your nation, Israel, His bride. He loves Israel with a height and depth, width and breadth that no idol of wood or stone could match. Israel has believed the lie that she must buy the love of false gods with shrine prostitutes, divination, and human sacrifice. But Yahweh is the giver of life, not the taker of infants. He wishes to bless Israel for obedience, not punish her for rebellion. Any punishment given to a beloved wife is meant to heal, not to alienate.” He turned toward Gomer now, pinning her with a stare that sent a cold chill through her. “Let’s return to
Yahweh. Even though He has torn us to pieces, He will heal us. Even though He has wounded us, He will bandage our wounds.” He returned his attention to the king. “Return to me my wife, that we may bandage our wounds.”

Gomer couldn’t breathe, and it seemed everyone waited breathlessly too. Only the heartbeat in her ears convinced her it wasn’t a dream.

The king stared, motionless. “Take your wife and get out of Israel, Prophet.”

Hosea wasted no time. He rushed to Gomer, untied her hands, and the two hurried toward the rear door. Still, no one spoke. No one moved.

“Prophet!” Jeroboam shouted.

Hosea and Gomer stopped short of the inlaid-ivory doors. They turned slowly, bowed, and waited.

“Out of
Israel
, not just out of Samaria.”

Hosea rose to meet the king’s gaze. “We’ll leave immediately.”

“Wait! My veil!” The words were shouted before Gomer realized she’d spoken. A collective gasp filled the room, and she squeezed her eyes shut—certain three impulsive words had ruined Hosea’s fine arguments.

She gathered her courage, opening one eye, and saw Jeroboam point at Asherah’s high priestess and then at her. The priestess rose from her couch and delivered the veil to its rightful owner. Gomer nodded her thanks to the king, whose grin returned momentarily. “Now go.”

Hosea gripped her hand firmly, and Gomer wound the veil around her head as they exited the courtroom and ran through the adjoining temple and past the grand altar. They reached the main street, and Gomer’s legs failed her. She cursed her weakness, but Hosea hoisted her into his arms, racing to the city gates. Jonah and Isaiah waited with the two-wheeled cart. She’d never been so happy to see the two men in her life. Whatever waited in Tekoa couldn’t be worse than what she’d endured in Samaria.