by Mesu Andrews
Yuval rocked her back and forth, removing Gomer’s blue veil, stroking her hair. “There is only one God, child, and He doesn’t hate you. Yahweh chose you as Hosea’s wife.”
“To make me a mockery among the people of Judah!”
“To make you the example of His divine love.” Her words were soft-spoken but firm. She coaxed Gomer to sit up. “Look around you. In what other home do you see such fine pottery? And how many baskets of grain do you count?” When Gomer didn’t answer, Yuval grasped her chin and delved into her eyes. “How many baskets of grain?”
“Three.”
“Yes, three baskets of grain. Do you know how many baskets of grain Hosea purchased last year—for the whole year?”
Gomer shook her head.
“He purchased one basket of grain for himself, and he slept on one of these goatskin rugs. Who do you think he bought all these supplies and that beautiful wool-stuffed mattress for? He was preparing his home for a wife, Gomer.”
“He was preparing for a harlot.”
“Listen to me, little Gomer. Hosea prepared his heart to obey Yahweh and marry a prostitute—yes. But the man I saw return with you in his arms was a man in love. He loves his wife, Gomer.” Yuval released her chin but held her gaze. “Only you can make yourself a harlot in his eyes.” She transferred a kiss from her finger to Gomer’s nose. “Now, I intend to teach you how to cook today, so you’d best find a better spot for whatever you’ve hidden over there by the cooking pot while I go to the well for some water.”
The door clicked shut behind Yuval, and Gomer grabbed the Asherah, hurrying to secure a new hiding place before her perceptive friend returned. She had planned to involve Yuval in securing a gift for Hosea—something to make the lie she’d told him in Jerusalem seem true. But Yuval would almost certainly discern Gomer’s duplicity. Like her old friend Merav, Yuval seemed to have an inner sense about Gomer that was both comforting and frustrating.
Allowing herself one last glance at the Asherah before hiding her under the mattress, Gomer felt renewed anger bubble up. Hosea didn’t deserve a gift. If he asked what happened to the item purchased for him in Jerusalem, she’d tell him she destroyed it—just as he had destroyed any hope of their happiness.
“I’ve been praying all night for King Uzziah,” Jonah said, allowing Hosea and Isaiah to support him as they walked the rocky trail between the king’s rented house and the fenced compound of Amos’s farm. “I’ve had no relief from this wariness in my spirit.”
“I spoke with him this morning,” Isaiah said, “and he seemed in good spirits, though his wounds are worsening.” He shook his head, seeming as puzzled as Jonah. “I left him just after the midday meal as his three chief advisors were arriving.”
Hosea felt a little guilty. He hadn’t given King Uzziah’s troubles much thought since arriving home last night. He’d been consumed with his wife—both her ecstasy and her agony. Sighing, he tried to refocus. How could he be of worth to this struggling king?
“Uzziah knows we’re of little help until the priests examine him again in seven days.” Hosea was so engrossed in guiding Jonah’s footing, he felt the prophet’s nudge before he noticed the changes.
“What’s wrong?” Isaiah glanced from the prophets to his cousin’s makeshift royal city. Surrounding the little stone house was a sea of royal tents, spaced the prescribed ten cubits from the leprous king’s abode. Guards and priests scurried at Uzziah’s command, while he sat on a mat in the doorway of the house. It seemed the king had moved his throne to Tekoa.
“I don’t think King Uzziah is learning Yahweh’s intended lesson on humility.” Jonah’s voice reflected the dread Hosea felt. This would not be an easy meeting. Isaiah’s confusion was evident, but they left his questions unanswered, hoping he’d see the spiritual significance of the meeting through the veil of his family devotion.
“Shalom the house!” Hosea shouted, trudging toward the royal clearing.
“Ah, the prophets have arrived!” Uzziah waved them over like old friends.
“My lord, remember the Law!” the high priest shouted.
“Oh, yes, yes.” Uzziah cleared his throat and belted out, “Unclean! Unclean!” and then checked for the high priest’s approval. Yahweh’s priest nodded, and Uzziah regained his amiable smile. “I’m not used to the regulations of a leper yet. Please, Hosea, Jonah, be seated in my new audience chamber. Isaiah can show you.” He winced when moving his arm to direct them. Isaiah’s report of intensified suffering had not been exaggerated.
The audience chamber, as he called it, was a set of fine tapestries on the ground, two camels’ lengths from the king’s front door. The sun had reached midday, and thankfully, both the tapestries and the king’s entry would be shaded by mighty sycamores.
The two younger men bowed to the king and his officials and then helped lower Jonah on the tapestry between them. Uzziah charged ahead with introductions. “Have you met my officials, Jeiel, Maaseiah, and Hananiah? Jeiel is my chief scribe and Maaseiah my most trusted advisor. Hananiah is the commander of Judah’s army. Gentlemen . . .”
The three officials bowed, and the prophets returned the respectful gesture.
Hosea glanced at Jonah, hoping the more experienced prophet would begin the conversation. He didn’t, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. Hosea noted the advisors’ stony expressions, fueling his apprehension. Isaiah, to his credit, remained silent, waiting for whatever prompted Uzziah’s meeting to unfold.
“As you know,” Uzziah’s voice suddenly echoed off the hills, “Israel and Judah have enjoyed peace since Jeroboam and I have ruled our nations, but you may not know at what price. When Jeroboam’s abba died and released my abba from a Samaritan prison, no formal treaty was signed, but an informal agreement has been understood.”
Hosea sensed Isaiah tense beside him and wondered how much of the privileged political and family information his friend knew.
“I don’t actively scout Jeroboam’s Israel,” Uzziah said, leveling his gaze at Hosea, “and his troops stay out of Judah.”
Uzziah glanced at Commander Hananiah, and the man’s voice boomed as big as his stature. “But we’d all be fools to turn blind eyes to the weapons and war strategies of neighboring nations.”
The king nodded to his scribe, who handed a wax tablet and stylus to his advisor, Maaseiah. The advisor then relayed the writing materials into Jonah’s hands.
“I’ve asked my advisors to attend today’s meeting in order to witness your statements,” Uzziah said, pointing at the items of exchange.
Jonah looked down at the unmarked tablet and returned an empty stare. “We’re not sure what statements you’d like us to make.”
The commander stepped forward, two long strides that placed him midway between the king and the audience tapestries. “You prophets have spent two full moon cycles in Israel, and we need to know how Jeroboam’s troops compare to Judah’s. We have a standing army of over three hundred thousand trained soldiers, but I’d still like to know what we’d be up against if Israel attacked us.”
At this point, Jeiel stepped forward with a partially unrolled scroll, announcing with delight the things that appeal to scribes. “We have shields, spears, helmets, armor, bows, and stones for slings. It would be most helpful if we could compile a similar inventory of Israel’s war supplies, including an accounting of chariots, horses, war machines . . .” He looked up from his scroll and added, “Whatever information you provide would be helpful.”
Hosea sensed Jonah’s tension and felt his own stomach tightening into a knot. Uzziah was a good and godly king. Did he understand so little of Hosea’s calling to Israel? He must find a way to answer respectfully and yet remind the king that he and Jonah had not gone to Israel as spies.
“I would be happy to tell the king everything I witnessed of Israel’s military status.” Hosea’s earnest tone seemed to relax the advisors and shed eager delight on Uzziah’s features. “We entered Samaria’s gates and went to the temple, whe
re we saw King Jeroboam’s general, Menahem, standing next to him at a pagan sacrifice. We then witnessed a contingent of guards escort a battered old woman into the temple while the captain held an infant aloft, marching toward a brazen altar of Molech. We heard later that they tossed the infant into the fire, mirroring the sins of the Canaanite nations before them.”
Uzziah’s mouth dropped open, and Hosea felt a measure of satisfaction that they would see Israel’s perversity through Yahweh’s eyes. Perhaps then they’d better understand Hosea’s role as God’s prophet.
He turned to Hananiah, trying to impress on him the importance of righteous military leadership—and God’s judgment when it was abused. “My wife, Gomer, endured a brutal beating from one of Jeroboam’s top soldiers. She nearly died, but by God’s grace she regained the use of her limbs. Our only other contact with Israel’s military occurred the night we fled Samaria. Gomer was falsely accused and nearly executed.” Hosea eyed each official and finally focused on Judah’s regent. “That, King Uzziah, is our complete knowledge of Jeroboam’s weapons and war strategies.”
The king sat silently, his expression unreadable through the sores that covered his forehead, cheeks, and chin. His advisors, however, returned to the stone-cold stares they’d displayed when the prophets arrived.
Uzziah inhaled deeply, seeming to have pondered the deep mysteries of the earth. “You’re telling me that you spent two moon cycles in Israel, but you don’t know how many chariots Jeroboam keeps ready for battle in Samaria?”
Hosea turned to Jonah, bewildered, and watched Isaiah’s head drop to his chest. Unfathomable. How could anyone hear stories of child sacrifice and abuse of women yet still be concerned with chariots?
Hosea squeezed the bridge of his nose. “My lord, we know nothing of King Jeroboam’s military plans or provisions. I don’t know how to say it more plainly.”
“How can you know nothing?” Uzziah pushed himself to his feet and winced in pain. “Are you unaware or simply unwilling to help Judah guard against attack? I realize you’re both Israelite by birth, but we’ve welcomed you into our nation with open arms.”
“Cousin!” Isaiah jumped to his feet, but before he could say more, Jonah grabbed his arm and struggled to his feet.
“We saw no evidence of any imminent Israelite campaign against Judah or any other nation,” Jonah shouted. By this time Hosea had risen and was supporting the old prophet’s waist. “Hosea’s sole mission was to deliver God’s message of judgment, and we—”
Judah’s commander stepped forward, hand on his sword hilt, and Hosea laughed in spite of the tension. What was a frail old prophet going to do to a leprous king?
“His so-called mission was to marry a prostitute!” Uzziah’s angry words echoed in the trees. And silence hung like filthy rags.
A cool breeze stirred the leaves, sending a chill down Hosea’s spine. The guards and advisors tensed, stepping away from the three men on the audience rugs. The priests fell to their knees and covered their faces. Everyone knew—only Yahweh’s presence stirred a chill wind on a sunny desert afternoon.
Speak to the king of Judah, the Lord said to Hosea’s spirit.
Hosea glanced at Jonah and Isaiah, who stood beside him, and then turned to King Uzziah, recognizing fear on his features.
“I’m sorry, Hosea,” the king said, panic quaking his voice. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“The Lord says, ‘Israel’s arrogance testifies against them. Israel and Ephraim stumble because of their sins. And Judah stumbles with them. They go with their sheep and cattle to search for the Lord, but they can’t find Him. He has left them.’”
Hosea fell silent, Yahweh’s message complete.
“No, please.” Uzziah appeared stunned, overwhelmed. “It can’t be.” He turned to the priests, shouting, “Tell him how many bulls I’ve sacrificed, how faithful I’ve been to bring my offerings to the temple every day. Tell him! I have given Yahweh everything! I have been more faithful than Solomon. I’ve built fortresses, invented war machines, conquered the Philistines.”
The priests remained in their penitent posture, silent before the display of God’s presence.
“My lord,” Hosea said, “Yahweh did not question your faithfulness. He condemned your arrogance. And because you refuse to acknowledge your sinful pride, the Lord has left you.”
Uzziah swallowed hard and fell silent. He stared at his leprous hands and then looked back at the prophets. “How long? How long will Yahweh punish me?”
Hosea felt ill. “The Lord has left you, King Uzziah, just as He left Israel. Do you know what that means?” He waited, but the king seemed entranced, studying his hands. Hosea shook his head, uncertain if he was even being heard. “My counsel to you is to humble yourself before Yahweh. Seek Him with all your heart. Perhaps someday He will heal your body after you seek healing for your soul.”
Commander Hananiah stepped toward them, glancing first at his king and then at the prophets. He kept his voice low, addressing Hosea with a new level of respect. “King Uzziah is a man of action, my lord. Please be patient with him.” Tenderness glistened in his eyes. “He is a good man—and a good friend. He’s worked hard to build the nation of Judah.”
“That’s where you and your king are wrong, Hananiah,” Hosea answered gently. “Yahweh will share His glory with no man. It is not Uzziah who has built Judah into a prosperous nation.”
“Tell my cousin I’ll return this evening to share a few of David’s songs.” Isaiah patted the commander’s shoulder as the three men turned toward camp.
The sound of a sudden crash startled them all. Their eyes were drawn to Judah’s king—slid down the door frame into a heap on the floor. No one dared touch him and become unclean. He lay alone, weeping on the threshold of his exile.
16
• HOSEA 6:4 •
What should I do with you, Ephraim? What should I do with you, Judah? Your love is like fog in the morning. It disappears as quickly as the morning dew.
Gomer waved good-bye to Yuval, feeling a pang of sadness, watching their shadows stretch long in the dusky glow of sunset. “You’re coming back tomorrow, aren’t you?” she called out as the woman entered her courtyard gate next door.
“Of course. You and Hosea would starve without me.” The twinkle in her eyes was as comforting as the stars on a cloudless night.
Gomer stepped back into her own little courtyard and decided to explore the stable. Sampson had become a fast friend and constantly rubbed against her ankles, his soft, lithe body wrapping around one leg and then the other. “You would make a fine dancer.” She leaned over and hoisted the cat into her arms, tucking him under her chin, cuddling him close to her heart.
The stable was a three-sided enclosure, two beams supporting the canopy, open toward the north. “Hello there,” she said, reaching over the wooden fence to scratch the donkey behind its large, pointed ears. “Who takes care of you?” Two curious black heads nudged the donkey aside, their long horns curled behind their ears. Bleating loudly, the goats refused to be ignored.
She giggled and offered them some attention while her eyes adjusted to the darkness behind them. The stable was neat and clean. She saw a large, hollowed-out stone container on her right and lifted the lid, finding it full of grain for the animals. She remembered Yuval’s recounting of Hosea’s extravagant preparations for his harlot wife and wondered if his animals benefited because a woman had arrived.
“You’d better make sure that lid is tight on the grain, or we’ll have rodents, and rodents mean snakes.”
Gomer jumped as if her toes were on fire. Hosea leaned against one of the beams at the entry.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He walked into the shadow of the canopy, looking weary, almost vulnerable. She wondered what had happened with King Uzziah but didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to care.
She replaced the lid tightly and kept her head bowed. She felt him watching her. “So will I be
expected to feed and tend the animals, or do you have servants for that? I hadn’t realized you were the wealthiest prophet this side of Egypt.”
He didn’t answer, and her curiosity forced her to look at him.
“What makes you think I’m wealthy?” he asked, an infuriating grin replacing his weary expression.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yuval said you purchased all sorts of supplies in preparation for your new harlot, and a poor man can’t afford two goats and a donkey.” Sampson wriggled in her arms, and she realized she must have been squeezing him. She eased her grip and tried to hurry past her husband. “Yuval prepared lentil stew for your evening meal.”
Hosea grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop, drawing her close enough to whisper against her blue linen veil. “Who’s this?” he asked, reaching over to scratch behind Sampson’s ear. His fingers brushed her neck. He kissed her cheek and lingered, waiting for her answer.
She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing. “Sampson.”
“Why don’t you and Sampson wait for me inside, and I’ll come in after I take care of the stable animals.” He stepped back and tilted her chin up.
She could only nod. No man had ever held this power over her. She hurried away, crossed the small courtyard to the house, and closed the door behind her. Everywhere he’d touched her still tingled.
She hurriedly unwrapped the Asherah she’d hidden under the mattress, stroking her cool, smooth form. “Hear my prayer, Mother of Abundance, giver of life and health. Make me a fruitful vine to bear children for my old age. May I be pleasing to my husband long enough to bring forth an heir.” She felt calmed by her prayer—until the iron latch of the front door made her heart race again. She rewrapped the goddess, shoved it back under the mattress, and reached for a clove to suck on. Hosea seemed to like the scent of cloves.
“Gomer?”
Seated on the bed, she waited for him to appear in the doorway. The small window aimed a narrow shaft of light across her body. Dust particles danced in its rays. She heard his footsteps approaching and inhaled a calming breath.
