by Lynn Austin
“If you believe that Yahweh saved you as a child,” Zechariah said, “why is it so difficult to believe that Yahweh could save our nation?”
“I don’t know,” Hezekiah said, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve been reviewing our nation’s history trying to see how Judah got into this mess and looking for a way out of it. But I haven’t found one. Now you’re saying that Yahweh is the missing key?”
“Yes,” Micah replied. “Didn’t our nation achieve great power and prosperity under King David? And David loved Yahweh with all his heart.”
“Judah hasn’t seen peace or prosperity since King Uzziah’s days,” Zechariah said quietly. “And Uzziah also worshiped Yahweh—until his pride destroyed him. When Uzziah died, the people slowly turned away from God, and Judah has declined, as well.”
“My father was the worst idolater of them all,” Hezekiah said, remembering Molech’s blazing image. “And Judah has been reduced to poverty and slavery under his rule.” Micah and Zechariah were offering him the solution he had struggled to find. Yet he hesitated, his rational mind refusing to believe in a supernatural answer.
“Can you prove any of this?” he asked. “Perhaps some kings were better equipped to rule than others. Or maybe it was the era in which they lived. I can’t rest the fate of our nation on a superstition. I have to believe in things that can be proven in a tangible way. Can you show me proof that this link between idolatry and poverty isn’t just a coincidence?”
Micah shrugged. “I don’t have the kind of proof you’re asking for. I believe it by faith.”
Hezekiah sighed. “I wish it could be true. I wish I could renew this covenant with Yahweh and see my kingdom miraculously restored, but—” He shook his head. His mind refused to believe it. He felt torn between his seeds of faith in Yahweh and his sense of reason. He turned to his grandfather, pleading wordlessly for help.
“Belief in Yahweh doesn’t come with your mind, Hezekiah. It comes with your heart. When you only believe in things you can see with your eyes and touch with your hands, it is idolatry.”
Zechariah’s words stunned him. “Then I’m an idolater, too?”
“To have faith in Yahweh is to know that there is a realm of the spirit beyond the comprehension of our minds,” Zechariah said. “Trusting in Molech, as Ahaz did, or trusting in your own wisdom and intellect—there’s no difference in God’s eyes. It’s all idolatry.”
Hezekiah stared at him. “Then in God’s eyes I’m as guilty as my father?”
Zechariah nodded.
“But I hate idolatry—the ridiculous statues, the orgies in the sacred groves, the innocent children burned to death. It’s repulsive!” He felt shaken to discover his own guilt, that in God’s sight he was as much a sinner as Ahaz.
“What does Yahweh want me to do?” he asked quietly.
“The Torah says that if you seek Yahweh your God you will find Him if you look for Him with all your heart and soul. When you are in distress and you return to God and obey Him, He will be merciful. He won’t abandon you or forget the covenant He made with our forefathers.”
The room fell silent as Hezekiah struggled. His grandfather told him to accept it by faith, but nothing Shebna had taught him prepared him to do that. The one certainty in his life was that Yahweh had saved him as a child. Nothing could change that conviction. His belief seemed small compared to Micah’s unshakable confidence, but perhaps it was a place to start.
“I want to seek God,” he finally said. “I want to get rid of all the idolatry and renew our nation’s covenant with Him. I want to ask Him to heal this land.”
“Who is a God like you?” Micah cried, lifting his uninjured arm in praise. “You pardon sin and forgive the transgressions of your people. You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy. You will have compassion on us once again. You will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea!”
Uriah sat with the banquet guests in stunned silence for a long time. The king had left with the prophet so abruptly that most of the people had no idea what had happened. But Uriah knew. He had seen Hezekiah’s face when the prophet spoke of the sacrifice of the firstborn. It was only a matter of time before he remembered that Uriah had presided over that sacrifice.
He had expected to be arrested then and there, but instead Hezekiah had asked to see Zechariah. Uriah regretted not having killed him years ago, when Ahaz had first given the order. Now Hezekiah would learn about his grandfather’s long imprisonment. Yes, Uriah knew that his days of power—and probably his life—were over.
At first he felt resigned to his fate. But as the banquet guests shook off their surprise and slowly began to leave, Uriah began shrugging off his resignation. Anger replaced it. He had ruled the nation of Judah for King Ahaz for years. Why should Uriah give that power to Hezekiah simply because he was born to the house of David? What did that matter? A descendant of King David hadn’t ruled the northern tribes of Israel for centuries. The throne belonged to anyone who had the power and strength to grab it.
Uriah rose from his seat, determined to fight to the death for what he deserved. Many government officials hated Ahaz as much as he did, and they owed more loyalty to Uriah than to Ahaz’s son. With his persuasive power, Uriah could easily convince them to revolt. And Hezekiah had no sons yet. Once Uriah got rid of him, there would be no heir to replace him. But he would have to act quickly.
He strode across the banquet room, fighting the urge to run. Two palace guards stood outside the main doors, and he ordered them to follow him. They hurried to keep pace as he strode down the hall.
Uriah knew that he couldn’t remain in the palace, but he needed to get a few things from his private chambers first. He hadn’t decided where he would go or exactly how he would start the rebellion against King Hezekiah, but he knew that he had worked too long and too hard to give up now.
When he reached his rooms, Uriah ordered the guards to remain outside. In spite of his nation’s poverty, he had carefully saved a small sum of gold for himself, stolen over the years from the tribute he had gathered for Assyria. He would use it to buy the support of his nation’s top officials, including Jonadab, captain of the palace guard. The guards would serve as Uriah’s army. Hezekiah would be defenseless.
Uriah quickly gathered the stolen gold and tied it in a bundle. He didn’t bother to pack many personal things, assuming he would return to the palace again as king, if everything went according to his plan.
With his bundle tied securely, Uriah scanned the room to see if he had forgotten anything. He spotted the short, sharp dagger he had used to slay the sacrifices when he was a priest, and he tucked it securely into the belt of his tunic, hidden beneath his outer robe—just in case.
Spotting the knife had helped him decide where he should go first. He was still the high priest, and he knew that most of his fellow priests and Levites would support him. He would go to the Temple and gather as many loyalists as he could find. He tucked his bundle inside his robes and strode from the room.
“Find Captain Jonadab,” he commanded the two guards. “Tell him to meet me in the Temple council chamber at once.”
For the first time since Ahaz had died, Hezekiah was eager to begin his reign. Zechariah and Micah had offered him hope that his nation’s staggering problems could be solved.
“I’ll need your help,” he told Zechariah. “Tell me where to begin.”
“We’ll begin here,” he said, motioning to the shelves of scrolls. “With the Torah, Yahweh’s divine law. Let it guide you in everything you do.”
Hezekiah liked the prospect of studying under Zechariah again, but at the same time he was puzzled. “Why did you stop coming to the palace to teach me?” he asked.
“I wanted to come, but I was held prisoner here.”
“By my father?”
“Your father wanted to kill me because I spoke out against his idolatry. Instead, Uriah kept me here.”
“All these years?” Hezekiah shud
dered when he realized how much time had passed since he’d last seen his grandfather. Then, as he thought about his father and Uriah, he suddenly recalled something else: it was Uriah, dressed in the high priest’s robes, who had placed his hand on his brother’s head, marking him as the firstborn.
“Uriah led that sacrifice to Molech!” Hezekiah said. “He was the one who came for my brothers and me!”
“Uriah’s sins against Yahweh are very great. His life was consecrated to God, and he was in a position of leadership, but he led many, many people into idolatry.”
“What’s the punishment for that? What does Yahweh’s Law say?”
Zechariah slowly walked to the shelves of scrolls and pulled one down from its place. He searched for the passage he wanted, then began reading in a quiet voice: “‘If a man or woman living among you . . . has worshiped other gods . . . take the man or woman who has done this evil deed to your city gate and stone that person to death.’” He paused and looked up at Hezekiah.
“Is there more?” Hezekiah asked. “I need to hear it all.”
“‘Any Israelite . . . who gives any of his children to Molech must be put to death. The people of the community are to stone him.’” Zechariah looked up again, and his eyes were filled with sorrow. “You can’t stone every man in Judah who is guilty of idolatry. We’d all be guilty—even me.”
“Maybe so. But Uriah was the high priest of Yahweh. When he led the sacrifice to Molech, the people blindly followed him. And he also silenced the truth. It’s more than a matter of revenge. Before I can start any reforms, I have to get rid of the evil. Uriah has to die.”
Hezekiah didn’t know how much time had passed since he left the banquet with Micah, but he suddenly realized that he had given Uriah more than enough time to appreciate the danger he was in and make his escape. “I have to find him,” he told Zechariah.
He strode from the room and hurried through the unlit hallways, anxious to return to the palace. But he forgot to take an oil lamp, and he could barely see where he was going as he tried to retrace his steps to the outside. He traveled a considerable distance through the maze of hallways before realizing that in his blind haste to capture Uriah, he had lost his way. Frustrated, he decided to turn around and find someone who could lead him out.
When Hezekiah came to the end of one hallway, he heard the faint mutter of voices and saw a shaft of light glowing in the darkness under a closed door. He was about to knock on it and ask for help when he recognized Uriah’s voice. The high priest was shouting, arguing, and someone seemed to be answering him in a low mumble. Hezekiah couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He realized the frustrating dilemma he faced. He had found Uriah, but he didn’t have any guards to help him make an arrest. He knew there were men in the room with Uriah, but he had no idea how many there were or if they were Uriah’s supporters. Hezekiah couldn’t even go for help because he was lost in the maze of Temple passageways. A trickle of sweat rolled down his neck. He wished he had worn his sword to the banquet.
All at once the door burst open, and he stood face-to-face with Uriah. The priest seemed as startled as Hezekiah was, and they stood motionless for a moment, staring at each other. Then Hezekiah said, “You’re under arrest, Uriah. You sacrificed my brother to Molech. The Torah condemns you to die.”
Uriah stared at him coldly. “And the Torah also says that this Temple is a place of refuge. No one can touch me here.”
Hezekiah had no idea if Uriah was telling the truth or not. He hesitated, reluctant to violate the Torah. While Hezekiah paused, Uriah thrust his hand inside his robe and drew out a dagger.
Hezekiah saw the glint of metal and reacted swiftly, his reflexes trained by years of military instruction with Captain Jonadab. He grabbed Uriah’s right arm with both hands to stop him from plunging his dagger and threw all his weight at the high priest, knocking him off balance. But Uriah recovered quickly and locked his other arm around Hezekiah’s neck, slowly squeezing off his air supply.
Hezekiah twisted around, trying to break Uriah’s hold and using his legs to kick him, but his efforts were useless. Uriah seemed rooted to the ground. The priest’s grip tightened with each of Hezekiah’s movements.
Moments passed as Hezekiah struggled to break free, prying with one hand at Uriah’s arm, to keep from choking to death, and holding the knife at bay with the other. As his air supply decreased, darkness circled around the edge of his vision. He needed air! He had never imagined that Uriah was so strong.
Hezekiah’s arms quivered from exertion. The dagger, only inches away, was slowly moving closer to his heart. If Uriah found a reserve of strength, Hezekiah’s life would be over. Uriah only needed to close the circle of his arm and plunge his dagger.
Stars of light appeared as Hezekiah’s vision shrank. He strained to pull air into his lungs. Why wasn’t the priest showing signs of fatigue? Instead, Uriah was slowly tightening his death hold as he brought the dagger closer. Hezekiah’s lungs felt as if they were about to explode. Why didn’t someone help him?
In a few more seconds his air supply and his strength would give out. Uriah was going to kill him. And Hezekiah didn’t want to die. He wanted a chance to reign, a chance to renew his nation’s covenant with Yahweh. In his last moment before darkness closed in, Hezekiah prayed, Yahweh—help me!
Suddenly Uriah cried out in pain and released his grip. The dagger fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. The priest staggered forward and fell against Hezekiah, knocking him down and pinning him to the floor.
For a few seconds Hezekiah lay beneath him, stunned, gulping deep breaths of air, amazed to be alive. Then he pushed Uriah off and sat up, looking to see who had saved his life. A knife protruded from Uriah’s back.
Hezekiah’s grandfather stood over him, holding out his hand to help him up.
22
As the morning dawned cold and gray, Hezekiah felt the strength returning to his exhausted muscles. He slowly rose from the bench where he’d been resting and found that his legs would hold him. Except for a dull pain behind his eyes, he felt all right. But he was weary of this stuffy building and needed some fresh air.
Uriah’s body lay in the hallway where he had fallen, covered with a robe. The atmosphere was still tense after the night’s startling events, and the priests and Levites moved about in tight little groups as if afraid of being alone. Everyone seemed dazed, and talked in whispers. Zechariah was the only one who seemed unshaken, as if what he had done had been inevitable.
“Would you do something for me?” Hezekiah asked him. “Gather all of the priests and Levities who are left and meet me outside in the courtyard in a few minutes.”
Hezekiah found the door that led from the building and walked outside into the fresh air of the new day. The cool morning breeze made him shiver. He was still dressed in the clothes he had worn to the banquet, now stained with Uriah’s blood.
The eastern sky was growing light, but clouds hung over the city obscuring the sun. He walked across the courtyard to the east side of the Temple, out of the cold chill of the shadows. The only sounds were the chirping of swallows and the slap of his shoes against the paving stones as he walked.
When Hezekiah reached the middle of the courtyard he stopped and looked around, seeing it as if for the first time. The Assyrian altar that Ahaz had erected dominated the space, covered with images of idolatry. Nearby, the giant Bronze Sea sat on an improvised base, and he remembered Zechariah telling him that Ahaz had sent the original base to Assyria. A tall brass pole stood nearby, with a serpent draped in a coil around it.
No wonder Yahweh had turned His back.
Hezekiah slowly walked to the sanctuary porch and looked through the grating. The doors had been boarded up with planks of wood that appeared to have been in place for many years. The once-beautiful building looked decayed, neglected. He stood between the pillars that flanked the Temple door and remembered Zechariah teaching him their names. Hezekiah strained to recall wha
t they were; it seemed important that he remember. One was Boaz—in Him is strength. And the other was . . .
Hezekiah shook his head and turned away. He tried to recall how the Temple had looked on the day he had watched the sacrifice with Zechariah, but nothing seemed the same.
After several minutes he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The priests and Levites had come out of a side door and were silently crossing the courtyard to meet him. Hezekiah was surprised to see that only about thirty men had come.
“Aren’t there more men than this in the tribe of Levi?” he asked his grandfather.
“All of Uriah’s supporters fled when he died,” Zechariah said. “But the majority of the Levites stopped serving in the Temple years ago, either because they disagreed with Uriah’s changes or because they no longer could support their families on the meager tithes. The handful of us who remained, did so out of loyalty to Yahweh and a desire to preserve the Temple buildings and the sacred books.”
Hezekiah looked at the forbidden images engraved on the Assyrian altar, then surveyed the handful of faithful men standing before him. He felt as if he were beginning a long journey up a steep mountain. He knew the time had come to take the first difficult step.
“Listen to me, Levites. I want you to consecrate yourselves and clean all the trash and idolatry from Yahweh’s Temple. Our forefathers have sinned and have defiled His Temple, turning their backs on God. They boarded up the doors to the Holy Place and put out the flame that was always supposed to burn. The incense hasn’t been lit, and the burnt offerings haven’t been given for many years. Therefore, God’s wrath has fallen on Judah and Jerusalem. He has made us the object of contempt in the eyes of other nations.”
The Levites seemed to come alive at his words, and their faces reflected their amazement and joy. Hezekiah felt a smile slowly spread across his face, as well.
“But now I want to make a covenant with Yahweh so that His anger will turn away from us. Don’t neglect your duties any longer, Levites, for Yahweh has chosen you to minister to Him.”
