Song of Redemption (9 page)

She was small and delicate, the top of her head barely reaching his chin, and her skin was a golden, tawny color that matched the highlights in her hair. Her deep brown eyes were flecked with gold and fringed with thick dark lashes that brushed against her cheeks as she stood before him. She seemed so young to him, with a vulnerability that made him want to shelter and protect her. She was his wife, yet the only thing he knew about her was her name. He took her hand and led her to a cushioned couch, then sat facing her. Her hand felt icy, and he cupped it between his own.

“How old are you, Hephzibah?” he asked, trying to shake the disturbing awkwardness he felt.

“Nearly twenty, Your Majesty.”

He reached out to hold her other hand. It was icy, as well. “Is it too cold in here? You’re shaking. Shall I have the servants light a fire?”

“No, Your Majesty. Thank you … I’m fine.”

He should have warned her that he was coming. She seemed nervous, and he wondered if that was what made it so difficult for him to relax with her. He raised her chin to make her look at him, and when their eyes met he was startled to read in them the depth of her love, a love he knew he didn’t return. And he also realized that she wasn’t shaking from cold, but from fear.

“Hephzibah, why are you afraid? Is it because I’m the king now?”

“Yes … a little.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“And why else? You can tell me.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

Hezekiah guessed that he was probably to blame but he couldn’t imagine what he had done to make her cry. Nor did he know how to make her stop. “Have I made you unhappy somehow?”

“No, my lord! I’m the one who hasn’t pleased you!”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you never come to see me like all the others.”

“Is that what you think?” Hezekiah was horrified to learn that she had interpreted his lack of interest as her own fault. “It’s not that way at all, Hephzibah.”

She looked down at her hands, still in his, and her tears continued to fall. “And I’ve failed to give you an heir.”

Hezekiah sighed in frustration and let her hands drop. He felt angry with himself and guilty for allowing his hatred for Ahaz to hurt this beautiful woman. He wanted to make things right with her, but he didn’t know where to begin. He stroked his beard, trying to think, and remembered Zechariah’s words:
“Yahweh dwells amid married couples.”

He placed his hands on Hephzibah’s shoulders. “Listen—I know we haven’t gotten our marriage off to a very good start, but it hasn’t been your fault. You’ve never done anything to displease me. Maybe we should start over again. Do you think we could give each other another chance?”

“Oh yes! I want that with all my heart!” She gazed up at him with a mixture of hope and joy, and once again her deep love for him shone clearly in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms and felt her tears, warm and wet on his chest, as she clung to him with surprising strength.

“I want our marriage to be happy,” he said. “I want to know all about you. After all, you’ll be the mother of my heir.”

She lifted her head and stared up at him. “But suppose one of your concubines has a son first?”

Again, he thought of Zechariah’s words:
“When it comes to obeying
the Law, you can’t pick and choose.”
The Torah instructed him to be faithful to one wife, and if he had to decide between Hephzibah and one of his concubines, there was no contest. None of the others could match her elegance and grace—or her astonishing beauty.

He took a deep breath. “It won’t happen. From now on I’ll have only one wife, as the Torah commands.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“It’s true. You’ll be my only wife.”

Hephzibah gave a cry of joy and threw herself into his arms, clinging to him as if she would never let go. He had surprised himself, as well. He certainly hadn’t made this decision ahead of time. And as he held Hephzibah close and stroked her soft, fragrant hair, he was equally surprised to discover that he no longer cared about the rest of his harem. How could he have forgotten how beautiful Hephzibah was?

“I know that in time we’ll have a son,” he said, “maybe by this time next year. But there’s really no hurry. I plan to live a long time, so I won’t be needing an heir right away.”

She looked up at him, smiling through her tears, and Hezekiah was overcome again by her loveliness. “I will give you an heir—I promise! If I bring regular offerings to Asherah, she—” “Oh no,” Hezekiah groaned. Hephzibah worshiped idols. He released her from his arms.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Hezekiah saw the look of horror on her face as she realized she had lost him again, and in spite of the revulsion he felt toward her idolatry, Hezekiah couldn’t bear to hurt her. He studied her delicate face for a moment, the perfect slope of her nose, the slant of her eyes, the flush of her smooth, tawny skin.

“Do you believe in Yahweh, Hephzibah?” he asked.

“Yes; my family taught me to offer sacrifices to him.”

“Other gods, too?”

“Yes.”

“Which ones?”

“The lord Baal … the goddess Asherah …”

“And Molech?” He felt his stomach turn.

“No, my lord. Not Molech.”

Hezekiah sighed. Once again he remembered that Hephzibah had been a gift from Ahaz, and her idolatry didn’t surprise him. He knew he was free to divorce a wife who worshiped idols and to choose his own wife, but he was amazed to realize that he didn’t want to. Maybe it was because he recognized her deep love for him. Or maybe because she was so very beautiful. Hezekiah didn’t fully understand why, but he knew he wanted to give Hephzibah another chance. He felt irresistibly drawn to her, like the proverbial moth to the flame.

“There is only one God,” he said gently. “Yahweh. He is the only God we will ever worship in this nation and in this household as long as I am king. The others are only wood and stone. If you want to remain married to me, you must give up Baal and Asherah and worship only Him.” He wondered if he was asking for too much too soon.

“I will do anything for you,” she said, and again he saw the love in her eyes. He believed her.

Hezekiah wondered what would happen if he opened his heart to her in love. He hadn’t really loved any of his concubines.
“Confide in
her. Listen to her. Win her loyalty and her love, and you’ll be the happiest
man alive,”
Zechariah had assured him. But how would he begin to build a life with her? Hezekiah didn’t even know her. He gazed around the room, searching for a place to start, and spotted a small lyre.

“Is that little harp yours, Hephzibah? Can you play it?”

“Yes.” Her smile was both shy and radiant.

“Would you play a song for me? I love music, but I don’t play an instrument myself. My grandfather is a Levite singer, and of course my ancestor David was a musician, but I didn’t inherit any of their talent.”

“Shall I sing for you, too?”

“Yes, I’d like that.” He watched as she picked up the lyre and began strumming it softly. He could tell by the way her delicate fingers caressed the strings that she was an accomplished player. But when she began to sing, her voice was the most beautiful sound Hezekiah had ever heard. It flowed so sweetly and effortlessly that she made singing seem easy. He sat entranced, feeling the tension and strain of his day melt away. He was sorry when the song ended.

He sat in silence for several moments, enjoying her beauty, basking in it. Then he said, “Please … sing another one.”

She smiled. “All right. I’ll play one that was written by another ancestor of yours.” She strummed a few bars of a haunting melody, then began to sing.

“ ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for your love is more delightful than wine… . Take me away with you—let us hurry! Let the king bring me into his chambers… . Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.’ ”

When she finished, Hezekiah gently took the lyre from her hands and gathered her into his arms.

7

K
ING
H
EZEKIAH LEANED BACK
on his throne as another long day of listening to petitions drew to a close. “Are we finished for today, Joah?” he asked the court scribe.

“Almost, Your Majesty. A delegation of priests and Levites from the Temple requests an audience with you.”

“Good. Send them in.” He turned to Shebna, seated by his right hand. “I’ve asked them to report their progress in purifying the Temple. Let’s hope it’s good news for a change.”

Shebna made a face. “More likely it is another internal power struggle for us to solve. We seem to have plenty of those.”

“Yes, well, now we know why King Solomon prayed for wisdom.”

The delegation consisted of Hezekiah’s grandfather, the new high priest, Azariah, and Shimei, the chief Levite. As soon as they entered the throne room, Hezekiah knew by the expressions on their faces that they brought good news. Azariah, who had served as high priest before Uriah, seemed alarmingly old and frail, and he had difficulty rising to his feet after bowing low before the king. But when he spoke it was with the vigor and enthusiasm of a much younger man, willing to tackle an overwhelming job.

“Your Majesty, we’ve finished cleansing the Temple,” he said simply.

It took Hezekiah a moment to realize the importance of his words. “You mean everything is finished?” he asked in astonishment.

“Yes, everything. We’ve restored and sanctified the altar of burnt offerings and all its equipment, and set up the Table of Shewbread. What’s more, we’ve recovered all the utensils discarded by King Ahaz when he closed the Temple, and they’re beside the altar of the Lord, ready to be used again.”

Hezekiah couldn’t hide his surprise. “You mean everything’s finished already? The Temple is purified?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I can’t believe it. I thought it would take months to restore. How did you accomplish everything so quickly? It’s only been—how long? A little more than two weeks?”

“Sixteen days, Your Majesty,” Shimei said. “But some of us have waited a lifetime for this opportunity.”

“It’s not fancy,” Zechariah added, “and there’s still a lot of repair work to be done, but it’s purified according to the Law. Why don’t you come with us and see for yourself?”

Hezekiah couldn’t resist the invitation. He hadn’t been to the Temple since the night Uriah died. “Lead the way,” he said. Shebna remained behind as Hezekiah followed the three men.

The afternoon was dismal, and a light rain fell as Hezekiah climbed the steps of the royal walkway to the Temple Mount. Rows of rolling gray clouds hung heavily over the valleys, and Jerusalem looked sodden and deserted.

“We’re as surprised as you are it was finished so quickly,” Azariah told him as they ascended, “but we all worked together as one man. The priests took everything that was unclean out of the Temple and carried it into the courtyard. Then the Levites took it down to the Kidron Valley and dumped it. We reached the outer court in about a week and finished everything else this afternoon.”

When they arrived at the entrance to the Temple, Hezekiah stopped to admire the spacious open courtyard and the magnificent view from the highest point in the city. Then he followed the others through the court of women and into the inner courtyard, stopping just inside the gates. The Assyrian altar was gone. Yahweh’s altar was back in its original place. It loomed above them, thirty feet square and fifteen feet high. Hezekiah watched as one of the priests ascended the ramp to fuel the fire, which hissed and steamed in the falling rain.

“How did you ever move this altar back?” he asked. “It’s so huge I imagined it would require hundreds of workers.”

“Your new engineer, Eliakim, figured out a way for a handful of men to move it as if it weighed nothing at all,” Azariah said.

“Amazing.” On Hezekiah’s left, a team of craftsmen was working to construct a new base for the Bronze Sea to rest upon, modeled after the original base of twelve oxen from Solomon’s time. The huge basin still rested crookedly on its old, improvised foundation, and raindrops made spreading circles on the glassy surface of the water. Hezekiah walked over for a closer look, running his fingers across one of the oxen’s shining flanks.

“They’re magnificent,” he said. “I never saw this the way it’s supposed to be. Didn’t you tell me that the original oxen were sent to Assyria?” he asked his grandfather.

“Yes. Such treasures to give away to a heathen king.”

“Not just our treasures—our wealth, our sovereignty… .” Hezekiah felt a surge of anger, but for now he was powerless to change the situation his father had created. Perhaps the rededication of the Temple would bring the return of Yahweh’s blessings.

“Have all the priests and Levites consecrated themselves?” he asked the high priest.

“More Levites than priests have returned to serve with us, but we’ve all performed the ritual of consecration as Yahweh commanded. We’re ready.”

Hezekiah looked around again at everything they had accomplished and remembered his disappointment the first time Zechariah had brought him here. It had seemed like an empty ritual, with none of the splendor and majesty that God deserved.

“How long has it been since the daily sacrifices have been offered?” he asked.

“According to the Law of Moses? I don’t know … many years,” Zechariah said. “Yet Yahweh commanded that a sacrifice be made morning and evening for the sins of the people.”

“Then the account of our sin must be very great by now. When can we begin sacrificing again?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Azariah said, smiling.

“Are the musicians ready, too?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Shimei said. “I’ve organized everything according to the pattern prescribed by King David, just as you commanded. All the Levites from the tribes of Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun are ready. We have singers, harps, lyres, and cymbals. And we’ve been rehearsing.”

Hezekiah rested his hand on Azariah’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe everything is ready so soon. You’ve all worked hard. Thank you.”

He was about to leave when he saw Eliakim hurrying across the courtyard to bow before him. His clothes were drenched, and rain plastered his hair to his head and dripped from his beard.