Love in a Broken Vessel

by Mesu Andrews

  A vision flashed in his memory, and he fell silent. Gomer, kneeling by the oven, baking barley bread. He felt the lust she’d stirred in him that night, the heat of uncontrolled passion matching the heat of the anointing that washed over him now. Words came again, this time silently seared into his being. “On the day of the king’s celebration, the officials become drunk from wine, and the king joins his mockers. They all become hot like an oven and then lie in ambush. All night long their anger smolders, but in the morning it becomes a raging fire. They are all as hot as an oven. They consume their judges like a fire. All their kings die in battle, and none of them calls on Yahweh.”

  Hosea was perspiring, his whole body felt like a flame. He covered his face and wept. Gomer. That night of their passion—Hosea had known something was different. He’d allowed lust to drive him instead of love, and he’d treated his wife like a harlot. But she is a harlot! His heart cried out to the God who understood his pain. Why did he still love her? Why couldn’t he stop loving her as God had stopped loving Israel?

  Micah’s hand rested on his shoulder, startling him. “Did you receive another message from the Lord?” he whispered.

  Hosea nodded but delayed, considering what—how much—to disclose to his young student. He shrugged off his robe and used it like a towel to wipe away the sweat, then sat in the summer night, covered only by a loincloth. “I believe the advisors will kill Zechariah in the morning.” His heart thudded in his chest. Should he ask one so young about the struggle of his heart?

  Micah stared at him. “Does Yahweh always visit you that way—with such heat?”

  “It’s different every time.”

  They sat in silence then, listening to the revelry in the king’s camp, watching as women were passed from one drunken official to the next.

  Hosea’s stomach rolled. “I want to hate Gomer, Micah.” He pointed to one of the harlots. “That is what she was—what she has chosen to become again. If Yahweh no longer loves Israel and no longer forgives them, can I refuse to love and forgive?”

  Micah pulled his knobby knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, brow furrowed in the moonlight. “Can a man’s heart be as pure as Yahweh’s? Can you refuse to love without sinning? Can you refuse to forgive without becoming bitter?”

  It wasn’t the answer Hosea wanted. “Hmm.” Perhaps the boy had been paying attention in class.

  “So, what do we do now?” Micah asked.

  “We watch Israel’s king die in the morning.”

  Gomer’s hands trembled as she wrapped Rahmy’s sling over her shoulder and around her waist. Thank the gods, her daughter had entered the world easier than Jezzy, but Gomer was still a bit weak. Yuval had attended her, of course, and this time Aya helped. Isaiah came later to pronounce the baby’s name: Lo-Ruhamah—Unloved.

  Gomer leaned down to nuzzle her soft cheek. “But Ima loves you, so we’re calling you Rahmy, aren’t we, precious one?”

  She heard a crash in the other room. “Jezzy, what are you doing?”

  No answer. She secured Rahmy’s sling and then wrapped her linen veil around her head and shoulders. Was there no end to all a woman must wear? Today was her first day out of the house since the birth, and she thought it more trouble than it was worth, but when the king calls . . .

  What could Uzziah want? She was two days from being declared clean by the priests. Perhaps he simply wanted to hold her hand or feel the touch of another who was unclean. She couldn’t blame him. The ridiculous ritual had nearly driven her mad in less than two Sabbaths. She couldn’t imagine what Uzziah had endured for more than two years. No one else had contracted his skin disease, but raw flesh appeared in his sores with each priestly examination, so he remained in his rented prison outside Amos’s farm.

  “I thought I had washed more loincloths for Jezzy,” she murmured while looking through a pile of clean linens. She hurried into the main room and found her son chasing the cat. Sampson jumped onto the table, knocking over a jar of barley flour.

  “Jezzy, leave the cat alone. Come on, we’re going to visit King Uzziah.” She had no other choice than to take him with her. Yuval had accompanied Amos on another merchant’s trip, and Aya refused to come near her for fear she might become unclean and unable to touch her husband. Gomer rolled her eyes, rushing toward the door, and Rahmy began to cry. She couldn’t be hungry.

  “Uhhhh!”

  Jezzy looked up at her, his eyes round. “M’ ima?” Then he began to cry.

  She knelt down beside him, trying to console. He was such a sensitive little man—a trait he’d inherited from his abba. He wouldn’t stop crying, so she grabbed his hand and started walking. “That’s enough, Jezreel. No more crying. Quiet!” Her final word ended his sobbing, and gentle sniffing wafted on the wind as they walked the rocky path in the afternoon sun.

  King Uzziah awaited them in his open doorway, his son Jotham at his side, and the well-muscled commander stood guard behind them. This was the first she’d seen Jotham since Isaiah’s wedding. Her stomach twisted. Did he know about Rahmy’s parentage? Was she just another harlot to him, an object of Yahweh’s prophecy? Or did he understand the friendship between his abba, Hosea, and her?

  She hid a wry grin as she neared the house. Even she wasn’t certain she understood the friendship between the three of them.

  “Unclean! Unc—” Uzziah’s pronouncement was interrupted by Gomer’s.

  “Unclean! Unclean!” She approached the house, holding Jezzy’s hand, and bowed before both of Judah’s kings. “It is an honor to see you again, King Uzziah.” She ruffled Jezzy’s black curls and leaned over to instruct him. “We must bow to our new king as well. It is an honor, King Jotham.”

  Uzziah offered a warm smile. “It is we who are honored, Gomer, by the service of your husband in Israel.”

  All blood drained from her face. “Hosea?”

  “Jotham, will you take the boy back to camp and play with him within the security of the walls? We don’t want any accidents with beasts or vipers.” He pointed to one of the small houses in his encampment.

  “No, wait.” Gomer shielded Jezzy behind her. “My son has touched me, so his uncleanness will make King Jotham unclean as well.”

  Uzziah reached up and squeezed his son’s shoulder, his eyes welling with tears. “Jotham hasn’t believed my sores to be infectious for some time, and he has chosen to make the sacrifice of uncleanness to have physical contact with me. When he visits, he understands that he is unclean until evening.”

  Uzziah’s voice broke, and he was unable to go on. Jotham turned to Gomer, his expression so warm she nearly melted. “I would be happy to play with Jezreel.”

  She stared at him, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. A son who willingly made himself unclean to embrace his abba? “Thank you,” she said. The words were barely a whisper. His reply, barely a nod.

  He swept Jezreel into the air and caught him above his shoulders. “Whee!”

  Jezzy giggled and squealed with delight.

  “My little boy likes that too.”

  Jotham planted him back on the path, and Gomer watched them walk away, feeling a fresh ache of loneliness. When a hand rested on her shoulder, she didn’t even mind that it was leprous. She turned and found herself staring instead at the handsome face of Judah’s commander.

  He nudged her onto the stool he’d placed beside the king. “Please, sit here.” The concern on his features suddenly registered, and Gomer looked to Uzziah with a questioning glance.

  “We have news from Hosea that you need to hear.” The king’s voice was forced calm.

  “No. I don’t want to hear news of Hosea.” She alternated glances between the two men. When they hesitated, she leapt to her feet, cradling Rahmy in the sling. “Hosea wants nothing to do with me, and my life is quite fulfilling without him.” She took one step and heard Uzziah’s voice.

  “Hosea was captured near Kabal Am.”

  The sun dimmed, and a terrible roar sounded in her h
ead.

  “Hananiah! Grab her!”

  Gomer felt strong arms embrace her, and then she was weightless. Rahmy! In an instant, she clutched the babe around her middle, and the roar inside her head faded.

  “I’ve got you and your little one.” A deep voice wrapped around her, and she looked up into caring eyes. She felt small in Hananiah’s arms—but safe.

  “Get a tapestry,” he shouted at a guard. Then, settling her on the rug, he said, “Let’s keep you and the little one closer to the floor.” His kind smile breached the walls around her heart, and tears began to fall.

  Uzziah sat beside her, consoling her as best he could. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Hosea more delicately.”

  Hosea. “You said he’d been captured. Where is he now? Is he dea—”

  “No, oh no! He’s not dead. Hosea was captured in King Zechariah’s camp. But he’s safe now.”

  A thousand thoughts raced through Gomer’s mind, but one overshadowed them all. Why do I care when Hosea doesn’t love me? “That’s good news, but . . .” She folded her knees beneath her and started to rise.

  “The prophecy of Jezreel’s name was fulfilled a few nights ago,” he said, ignoring her attempt to leave. “King Zechariah, the fourth and last of Jehu’s descendants, was killed in a town in the valley of Jezreel. The valley for which Yahweh named your son. And if my spies are accurate—and my spies at Shiloh are always accurate—it happened the night of your daughter’s birth.” He paused, locking eyes with Gomer.

  A cold chill raced up her spine. “So Hosea’s god is using my children as omens for His amusement?” Anger bubbled up in her maternal soul. “Why do the gods think they can use humans for their sick games?”

  Horror stretched across the king’s face. “Gomer, no! Yahweh does not play games. He loves His people, and . . .” His protests died into silence.

  Her cynical chuckle rumbled low. “You see? Even the righteous Uzziah must admit—”

  “I admit nothing.” He seemed indignant at her accusation. “I fell silent because I have only now realized the depth of Yahweh’s love.”

  Her jaw dropped open. How could he see love in death and capture and judgment?

  “I started to tell you how Yahweh loves Israel and has warned them repeatedly. And then it occurred to me—He loves Judah and has warned me and my nation as often.” He grasped his head covering with oozing hands, seemingly stunned at his slowness of mind. “My arrogance not only caused my suffering but has almost led Judah to destruction.”

  “No!” she shouted, startling the king, his guards, and her sleeping baby. Rahmy began to cry, but Gomer spoke over the noise. “I will not let you take the blame that Hosea and his god try to place on you. You are a good and righteous man. You don’t deserve this illness, and your god made a mistake when He cursed you.”

  Uzziah gave no thunderous reply. Instead, a slight grin creased his lips. “Yahweh is not like the false gods of Canaan you were told about as a child. He isn’t the benign one, El, who watches powerlessly as Baal and Anat squabble with Mot over who gets to send rain. He isn’t seduced into submission by his conniving wife, Asherah.”

  “What?” Gomer had never heard anyone from Judah recite the stories of her gods. “How do you know—”

  “How do I know of the Canaanite gods? I choose to worship Yahweh because He is the one true God, Gomer—not because I am ignorant of other choices.” He paused a moment, then shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t call you here to give you a lesson on Yahweh. I know how Amoz hates it when I repeat things he’s heard a thousand times. I simply wanted to tell you about your husband.”

  As he began to relate more details about her husband’s mission, Gomer was a little disappointed he didn’t continue his explanation of Yahweh. She was curious to hear the testimony of a man who had been cursed by a god but remained faithful in spite of it.

  “As I was saying, it seems Hosea and Micah were hidden near Zechariah’s encampment and discovered by the royal guard in the middle of the night. Micah escaped, but Hosea was bound and taken into custody to await a morning trial. Evidently, before the king and judges awoke to convene court, Shallum, one of King Jeroboam’s dearest friends, slipped into Zechariah’s tent and murdered him.”

  Gomer saw the agony on Uzziah’s face. “Did you know King Zechariah?”

  “No. I didn’t know the young man, but my heart aches at the thought that a dear friend of his abba’s could so heartlessly turn against Zechariah. It makes me fear for my own son. I trust all the men on my council, but I’m sure Jeroboam trusted Shallum too.”

  Gomer stole a glance at Uzziah’s commander.

  “I’ve told King Uzziah I am willing to maintain my position as commander or step down. Whichever he feels is most beneficial to young Jotham’s reign.” He slammed his fist against his leather chest armor. “I am loyal to the king of Judah—unto death.”

  Gomer nodded and laid her hand on Uzziah’s shoulder. He winced. “I’m sorry,” she said, starting to pull away, but he steadied her hand there.

  “No, please. Don’t move it. It’s painful, but I need to feel someone’s touch once in a while just to remember I’m human.” Tears spilled onto his cheeks, traveling over the uneven tracks of the pockmarks. “I trust Hananiah with my life—and with my son’s life.” He nodded at his commander and received a bow in return. “I pray Judah never faces a conspiracy like the one your husband witnessed. It seems Micah was watching the camp from a distance and rescued Hosea when it fell into chaos. My spies have hidden Hosea and Micah at the old prophets’ house in Shiloh—where the ark of the covenant was once housed. If Yahweh can protect His presence there, He can guard Hosea and Micah until it’s safe for them to travel again.”

  Gomer felt a flutter in her chest, hope stirred—and she hated herself for it. “So will they be coming home? Since the prophecy was fulfilled?” She tried to hide her excitement, but it slipped out between her quickened breaths.

  Uzziah and Hananiah exchanged an awkward glance. The king studied the rocky ground as if searching for lost words—they were as absent as Gomer’s husband.

  Her hope died another inglorious death. She removed her hand from his shoulder, straightening her posture and raising her chin. “He’s not coming home.” It was a statement, no longer a question.

  Uzziah shook his head.

  She looked down at Rahmy, sound asleep. Lo-Ruhamah—Not Loved. She and her daughter would always share that bond. Gomer stroked her downy-soft hair, her mind reeling. Anger. Bitterness. Yes, but more than that.

  Survival.

  What was she doing? Waiting on Hosea to come back and then leave her again? No. She leaned down to kiss Rahmy’s head, making her decision—hardening her heart. She would find a wet nurse and bind her breasts right away. Gomer was an old maid by many standards, nearly twenty-one years old. Time was running short to find wealthy men willing to care for her. The sooner she faced the inevitable, the quicker she’d be able to leave. Yuval and Aya would take good care of her children. They loved Jezzy and Rahmy—almost as much as she did.

  Standing, she bowed to Uzziah. “Thank you, my lord, for informing me of my husband’s condition.” She leaned over and kissed his pocked cheek. “And thank you for your kindness—to an unclean harlot.”

  She had walked a few steps when she heard an imposing voice.

  “Gomer, wait.”

  She stopped, closing her eyes, hoping she need not turn to face the commander’s kindness again. Abuse me. Cheat me. Even hate me, but my heart cannot bear a man’s tenderness now.

  He stood behind her. She kept her back turned, trying to master her emotions. “What is it, Commander?”

  A moment’s hesitation, and then he said, “If the prophet has left you in need of anything, I can help.”

  Gomer squeezed her eyes shut, releasing a river of tears. “Thank you, Commander,” she said, walking away. She must make herself marketable again—and soon. Perhaps the comm
ander would be her first wealthy customer.

  29

  • 2 KINGS 15:14, 16 •

  Then Menahem . . . came from Tirzah to Samaria, attacked Shallum . . . killed him, and succeeded him as king. . . . Then Menahem attacked Tiphsah. . . . Because the city didn’t open its gates for him, he attacked it and ripped open all its pregnant women.

  Crossing the narrow plain north of the hideaway in Shiloh, Hosea quickened his step. He must reach Tiphsah before Menahem broke through its walls. Judean spies had reported Menahem’s rampage after Zechariah’s death. The general had been King Jeroboam’s most loyal friend and demanded revenge on those responsible for the young king’s death. His first mission—to Samaria, to kill the conspirator, King Shallum—was complete within a month of Zechariah’s death.

  Menahem’s second decision revealed the military genius of a well-experienced general and won him the undying loyalty of his men. He returned to his home in Tirzah and allowed his soldiers to do the same, encouraging them to work their fields and complete the summer harvest. When the olive presses started turning, Menahem’s troops reported back to their commanders, barns and bellies full. Now they were thirsty for vengeance on any who opposed their gracious king.

  Poor Tiphsah was the first city to lock its gates against King Menahem.

  Hosea crested a hill and looked north. Smoke rose in four great columns from the next hilltop. Tiphsah was burning. Yahweh Elohim! What would You have me do? He stood frozen, realizing he was too late to save the souls within the city’s gates.

  His feet moved of their own accord, and a slight breeze lifted the hair from his shoulders. Yahweh whispered to his spirit: How horrible it will be for these people. They have run away from Me rather than to Me. They must be destroyed because they have rebelled against Me. I want to reclaim them, but they don’t pray to Me sincerely. They cry out and make cuts on their bodies while praying for grain and new wine. They have turned against Me though I trained them and made them strong. Yet they don’t return to the Most High.