Song of Redemption

by Lynn Austin

  Minutes passed as every muscle and fiber in his body tensed with the strain of listening. The signaling must be finished by now. He had heard nothing. Then in the distance the shofar announced that it had ended.

  Hezekiah sat up beside him. "Could you hear anything, Eliakim?"

  "No, Your Majesty."

  "Me neither. Now what?"

  "They'll sound the shofar again and it'll be our turn to signal."

  Eliakim had to grip the hammer with two hands to control it, pounding the rhythm on the wall in front of him with jerky motions. He repeated the signal ten times, then crawled out to the higher part of the tunnel to wait with the king. His ears rang and his arms ached from the exertion. Sweat poured from his brow, but Eliakim's breathing was almost normal again, and except for his lingering nausea, the anxiety attack had nearly subsided. Before long he heard footsteps coming toward them.

  "Your Majesty-my lord," the foreman said, "I'm sorry, but the men on the other side couldn't hear your signal."

  "And we didn't hear theirs, either," Eliakim said.

  Bitter disappointment overwhelmed him. He had been so sure that God would answer his prayers. Now he didn't know what to do. Should the men keep digging anyway? Should he measure everything again? What did it matter if the Assyrians were marching toward them? Eliakim's hopelessness edged toward despair. He wanted to get out of this claustrophobic tunnel before it closed in on him again. He picked up his lamp.

  "Would you like to go down to the other tunnel now, Your Majesty?"

  In the flickering lamplight, Eliakim saw Hezekiah's expression change. The king froze, staring intently at him.

  "Say that again, Eliakim!"

  "Uh ... do you want to go down to-?"

  "Down!" Hezekiah cried. "You said doom to the other tunnel!"

  Eliakini had no idea what the king was talking about. "Yes, Your Majesty, I-"

  Hezekiah grabbed him by the shoulders. His fingers dug painfully into Eliakim's arms. "Eliakim, listen! Is it possible that this tunnel is higher in elevation than the other one-that the reason they haven't met is because the other one is underneath us somewhere? Down there?" He pointed to the floor.

  "Yes," Eliakim murmured. "Yes-of course! That's it!"

  It was so simple. Eliakim had been too distraught to think of it, but traveling between the two tunnels day after day he had intuitively felt that the valley tunnel was lower.

  "That has to be the answer, Your Majesty!" Eliakim turned to his foreman. "Tell them to repeat the signaling process again. But this time, tell them to hammer on the ceiling! Hurry!"

  Eliakim dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to the end of the tunnel again with the king following behind. He set his lamp on the floor and crouched beside Hezekiah to wait. He imagined the messenger running through the streets to the lower gate, then down the Kidron Valley to the spring. The men would go back inside the other tunnel. They would probably think that Eliakim was crazy, but they would pound on the ceiling this time.

  The shofar sounded, and Eliakim and Hezekiah pressed their ears to the floor of the tunnel to listen. God of Abraham, please ...

  Then dimly, faintly, Eliakim heard a sound. He held his breath. Almost imperceptibly at first, he heard a distant ringing. Clang-clang. Then again, clang-clang. He moved his ear to another spot and heard the rhythmical tapping more clearly now. Eight times, nine times, ten times. Then silence. He raised his head from the floor and looked at the king, almost afraid that he had imagined it.

  "Did you hear it, Your Majesty?"

  "Yes, Eliakim! Praise God!"

  Hezekiah grabbed him in a bear hug and slapped his back. Then the king hurried down the tunnel ahead of Eliakim, shouting the good news. Outside, the shofar began to blow, and a cheer went up from the workers that could probably be heard throughout the city.

  But Eliakim sat slumped inside the tunnel, weeping and praising God.

  Jerusha sat on Hilkiah's rooftop that same morning and watched the sunrise as if seeing it for the first time. Eliakim's humility and brokenness the night before had moved her deeply, and she was aware that she also had much to confess before God.

  After Hilkiah and Eliakim left for work, Jerusha descended the outside stairs from the rooftop and walked slowly through the streets, up the hill to the Temple. She had never been there before, and she felt like a stranger as she wandered past the people who were milling around in the Court of the Gentiles. A Levite stood in a corner of the courtyard teaching his students. Men passed through the gates with their offerings, and she envisioned her father coming with a lamb from his flock to pray for her.

  She slipped through one of the gates that led into the Women's Court and found it deserted. She crossed to the low wall that separated the women's from the men's courtyard. Beyond that wall the morning sacrifice lay on the huge altar, its aroma slowly drifting toward heaven. The smell of the roasting meat reminded Jerusha of weddings and festivals when her family and their neighbors would roast a whole calf or lamb.

  Jerusha gazed at the lamb lying on the altar, and it seemed too small to cover her sins. She sank to her knees and closed her eyes, silently confessing her guilt, her hatred and bitterness, her harlotry and unbelief. One by one she offered up her sins to God, and like the day Maacah chopped off her hair, she felt lighter, freer, as the weight of them fell away.

  "Do you wish to make an offering?"

  Jerusha opened her eyes and looked up. A tall, white-robed priest stood on the other side of the wall. She hastily swiped at her tears.

  "What did you say?"

  "I asked if you'd like to make an offering." His face, creased with fine wrinkles, looked kind.

  "Yes-yes, I've sinned. How ... what should I do?"

  "You'll need to bring a goat or a lamb for a sin offering."

  "But I don't have anything. I ... I have no money."

  "The poor may bring a dove or a pigeon."

  She shook her head. "I can't ... I don't even have ..

  "If you're very poor, you may bring a tenth of an ephah of fine flour."

  Jerusha knew that Hilkiah would gladly give her money for an offering, yet she didn't want to ask him. An offering that didn't cost her anything wasn't a true sacrifice at all. God had given everything to Jerusha. What could she possibly sacrifice to Him in return?

  The priest smiled. "I'll come back later, when you decide."

  As Jerusha watched him walk away, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, God. But this is the only thing I really own." She reached into the fold of her dress and pulled out the torn fragment of blanket that had once swaddled her baby. It was her only link to her daughterand to her past. Tears rolled down Jerusha's face as she held it out to God.

  "It's all I have, Lord. But I'll offer it to you. Please accept my sacrifice. Please forgive me and make me whole again." She held the blanket to her face and wiped her tears with it, smelling its woolly fragrance for the last time. Then Jerusha folded it up and tenderly stuffed it between the stones of the Temple wall.

  When she returned home, Jerusha sat in the garden courtyard for a long time, listening to the sound of the birds, feeling the gentle breeze caress her face, savoring the sticky fragrance of Hilkiah's fig tree. She remembered the feeling of being reborn after the Assyrians had set her free, but this was a thousand times better. This time she was really free. God had forgiven her, and now she could begin to forgive herself.

  Suddenly Jerusha heard a door slam. She jumped up, and a moment later Eliakim burst into the courtyard. His clothes were dusty, his face streaked and smudged with dirt, but his smile was radiant. He swept her off her feet and into his arms.

  "Jerusha! God answered our prayers! They're going to meet! The two tunnels are going to meet!"

  Jerusha began to laugh and cry at the same time. "Oh, thank God!"

  "We finally heard the signals through the rock! One tunnel is higher than the other, but they're going to meet! It will only take another day or so." He danced in circles with her, clu
tching her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. "God answered our prayers, Jerusha!"

  "I'm so happy for you, Eliakim! I'm so happy!"

  Suddenly Eliakim stiffened and practically dropped Jerusha to the ground, shrinking away from her in horror. "Oh, Jerusha, I'm sorry! I didn't realize what I was doing! I'm sorry!"

  She looked at his tired, dirt-streaked face and saw the fear and guilt in his eyes. "It's okay, Eliakim." She reached for his hand and held it between both of hers. He was trembling.

  "Jerusha, you were wrong," he said quietly. "It isn't you who's unworthy-it's me. I'm a sinner. I put pride and ambition and revenge before the God of the universe. I'm not worthy of you."

  She held his rough, bruised hand to her cheek, letting her tears flow over it. Eliakim gazed at her tenderly, and his eyes filled with tears.

  "You're not a harlot, Jerusha. And you never chose to be one. You chose to live. There isn't a person in the world who wouldn't have done the same thing, including your cousins. But they never had a choice. If you had died, Jerusha . . ." He swallowed hard as a tear slipped down his face. "If you had died, I never would have seen the power of God. But you're God's gift to me, to show me that He has the power to answer prayer. That's why you lived. It was God's choice, Jerusha. Not yours."

  His warm brown eyes searched hers for a moment; then he took her face in his hands and kissed her. The touch of his lips on hers was the most beautiful feeling she had ever known. How she loved Eliakim, this gentle man who had tunneled through a mountain of solid rock for her.

  Finally Eliakim drew back. "I love you, Jerusha. I can't imagine living the rest of my life without you. Please marry me."

  His arms encircled her, pulling her close. As she rested her cheek against his dusty chest, Jerusha couldn't imagine living without him, either.

  "I love you, Eliakim," she whispered. "And yes-I will marry you.

  38

  THE DAY SEEMED ENDLESS to Hezekiah as he tried to govern his nation as if a crisis didn't exist. Shebna's seat beside his throne stood empty, and the dozens of noblemen who usually hovered around the throne room had all disappeared, leaving the palace courtyards strangely silent. Hezekiah had never felt so utterly alone and abandoned in his life.

  After the evening sacrifice, he ordered his supper served in his private chambers. He ate alone, toying with his food, wishing Isaiah had told him how long he would have to wait. When a servant announced that Shebna wanted to see him, Hezekiah felt a range of emotions from relief to rage. "Send him in," he said.

  Shebna approached Hezekiah haltingly, unable to meet his gaze, then bowed low. "I have come to resign," he said quietly. "As you know, I do not support your decision or your faith in Yahweh. I am sorry."

  Hezekiah bit his lip, fighting back his anger at Shebna for not supporting him at the meeting, for deserting him now. His closest friend had let him down, and he wanted to lash out at him.

  "Why, Shebna? Why are you abandoning me now, when I need you the most?"

  Shebna didn't look up. His voice was a low mumble. "Because I think you are wrong. I think you are making a disastrous mistake. And my position should be filled by someone who agrees with your deciSion.

  "Who?" Hezekiah asked bitterly. "Is there anyone left who does agree with me?"

  "Rabbi Isaiah does."

  "Well, he's the only one, then. And he doesn't want the job. I asked him seven years ago, remember?" He pushed his plate aside.

  Shebna cleared his throat, then spoke haltingly, as if forcing out the words against his will. "Eliakim shares your faith. Now that his tunnel is a success, I am sure he would be pleased to have my job."

  Hezekiah had seen the enormous stress the tunnel had placed on Eliakim and the heavy toll it had taken on his health. Eliakim needed a long rest before he would be ready for the pressures of Shebna's job. Hezekiah couldn't deny the resentment he felt toward Shebna, but he needed him. There was no one else.

  "I can't stop you from resigning if that's what you want to do, but I won't accept your resignation tonight. I'll give you three days to reconsider. Maybe by that time .. " He paused, admitting only to himself the tremendous fear he felt. "Maybe by that time, this crisis will have passed."

  Shebna didn't reply. He continued to stare miserably at the floor. In spite of his anger, Hezekiah wanted to do something to heal the breach between them. There was no one he trusted as much as Shebna, except Hephzibah. Hezekiah pushed his chair back and stood up. He saw the first few stars shining in the sky through the open window.

  "I'm going up to the north wall to watch for the signal fires. Come with me, Shebna."

  Hezekiah saw sorrow in Shebna's eyes. "Very well, Your Majesty."

  Neither of them spoke as they left the palace and walked up the hill to the Temple Mount. Below them, the city seemed unusually quiet and still. Instead of entering the Temple enclosure, they climbed the steep steps to the top of the city wall and followed it along the eastern side of the Temple grounds. They turned at the northeast corner of the wall and continued until they came to the watchtower that Eliakim had constructed. The sheer drop to the Kidron Valley was dizzying, but from the top of it, they would have an unobstructed view of the signal fire on the next watchtower to the north. Three young Judean soldiers, posted at the watch, halted their lively banter and bowed nervously as Hezekiah and Shebna approached.

  "Has there been a signal yet?" Hezekiah asked.

  "No, Your Majesty. It's still too light."

  "Good. We'll wait for it."

  Although the stars hung brightly above the Mount of Olives to the east, Hezekiah could still see the faint glow of the sun behind the mountains to the west.

  "According to the message we received last night, the Assyrians still haven't broken camp," he told Shebna. "But I expect that the first few divisions will begin marching any day now."

  He leaned against the wall, resting his arms on the top of the parapet, and gazed out at the dark silhouette of the mountains to the north. A hushed expectancy fell over the waiting men, a feeling of suspense that was familiar to Hezekiah. He remembered standing on the platform before Molech, waiting, with Isaiah's promise of salvation as his only hope. He had waited, interminably, for the hand to grab him and hurl him to his death. But the hand of Yahweh had rescued him instead.

  Now he stood facing another enemy, and once again Isaiah's promise from God was the only hope he had. He listened to the night sounds in the valley below him, rigid with suspense, as the sunlight gradually faded into darkness.

  Suddenly one of the soldiers leaped to attention. "There it is, Your Majesty!" He pointed to a blinking light on the horizon. Hezekiah's heart felt like a cold stone in his chest. He didn't know how to read the signals. He could only wait tensely for one of the soldiers to decipher them.

  "The first Assyrian divisions have broken camp. They have begun to march...."

  "Which direction?" Hezekiah whispered.

  He waited-an eternity-but the distant mountaintop remained dark. Then the tantalizing light flickered once again.

  "Northeast!" the soldier cried. "They're marching northeast! Back to Nineveh!"

  A cheer went up from the soldiers beside him, but Hezekiah closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, numb with relief. "When you pass through the fire, you won't be burned. The flames will not hurt you. For Yahweh is your God. The Holy One of Israel is your Savior."

  The soldiers were rejoicing, embracing one another and clapping each other on the back. Shebna looked unnaturally pale, as if he might faint.

  Hezekiah's eyes bored into his. "Another coincidence, Shebna?"

  "Perhaps not:' he whispered.

  Shebna found Gedaliah and the elders of Lachish in the palace, planning the government they would soon form. As Shebna burst into the room, the door slammed backward against the wall, nearly rocking it from its stone sockets. The startled men stared at him fearfully. Before he could speak, the shofars began to blast from the Temple walls.

  "That is the s
ound of your defeat, Gedaliah. There will be no Assyrian invasion, just as your brother's God has promised."

  Gedaliah stared at him, too stunned to speak. The triumphant cry of the shofars sounded on and on in the background.

  "Your horse is being saddled. Take your men and get out. Go back to Lachish now-tonight! Or I swear by Hezekiah's God I will kill you myself!"

  Hezekiah stayed on the wall alone after all the others had left, gazing out from the watchtower toward the darkened hills. Only forty miles to the north the land of Israel lay destroyed, and except for the grace of God, the land of Judah would have met the same fate.

  As the Temple shofars blew, announcing the joyful news, Hezekiah watched the city come to life as the people flooded from their homes into the streets to celebrate. In a few minutes he would go down as their king and lead them in worship. But first he knelt beneath the starry sky and bowed with his forehead to the ground before his Heavenly King.

  "We have heard with our ears, 0 God-our fathers have told us what you did in their days, long ago. You drove out the nations with your hand and planted our fathers here. You crushed the peoples and made our fathers flourish. It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them.

  "You are my King and my God, who decrees all our victories. Through you we push back our enemies; through your name we trample our foes. I don't trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory; but you give us victory over our enemies, You put our adversaries to shame. In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever.

  "Hear 0 Israel, Yahweh is our God. Yahweh alone."