Lions of Judah, Book Three
The Gate of Heaven
Gilbert Morris
© 2004 by Gilbert Morris
Published by Bethany House Publishers
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Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Ebook edition created 2012
Bethany House Publishers is a Division of
Baker Book House Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
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Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
eISBN 978-1-4412-6238-7
To Moody Adams, Evangelist
In one of his lyrics Shakespeare asked the question: “Tell me, where is fancy bred, or in the heart or in the head?”
In other words, does genius come from the intellect or from the emotions?
We all know the penalty of a sermon that is all “head,” for all of us have been bored to tears by sterile intellectualism untouched by passion, just as we have been exposed to teachings that are totally emotional, devoid of serious thought.
Moody Adams is one of those rare servants of God who is blessed with both a burning heart and a penetrating intellect. Whether on the printed page or by means of the spoken word, this man speaks the truths we desperately need to hear with compassion, zeal, and bare-handed honesty.
In a day when some have lost their integrity and set their sails to catch the prevailing wind of popular opinion, Evangelist Moody Adams proclaims fearlessly the Good News that our world is starving to hear.
Our poor world needs men and woman who sound the trumpet with the courage of the Old Testament prophet and with the burning heart and clear vision of the New Testament apostle.
Brother Moody, you are an evangelist in the richest and purest sense of that word. May God continue to use you in the work He has given you to do.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One: The Brothers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two: The Sisters
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part Three: The Family
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part Four: The Stranger
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part Five: The Daughter
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Part Six: The Lion
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
About the Author
Books By Gilbert Morris
Back Cover
Chapter 1
A war chariot cut a path between low-lying hills, its wheels swirling up a pillar of dust and crushing the delicate wild flowers that dotted the land. The horses’ hooves thundered across the valley, breaking the silence of late afternoon. With reins in one hand, a whip in the other, and a fierce- looking sword dangling from his belt, a dark-skinned man wearing a bronze helmet drove the animals without mercy. Beside him lay a double-convex war bow, flanked by newly sharpened arrows, their bronze tips gleaming in the sunshine.
The driver yanked the horses to a halt and turned to the two men behind him who were clinging to the sides of the chariot.
“Magon, what’s that camp up ahead?” he demanded as he sliced the air with his whip, indicating the tents and flocks they were approaching.
“I don’t know, sir, but I hope they’ve got food. My stomach thinks I’ve been dead for hours!” The speaker was the shorter and stockier of the two men in the back of the chariot. A scar distorted his features, dragging his right eye downward into a squint and pulling the right side of his mouth up into a perpetual sneer. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight and peered toward the camp. “Oh, they’re nothing but a bunch of Hebrews, Captain Ahad. They won’t have any food fit for real men.”
“Magon, you’d eat a dead buzzard,” Ahad snorted.
The soldier shook his head. “They eat lentils and milk, sir. A man needs meat.” He laughed. “We’ll take one of those fat sheep over there—and the best wine they’ve got, eh, Remez?”
The third man in the chariot was tall and lean, with sharp, hawklike features. He wore a bronze helmet like his two companions, but his face was not as marked by cruelty. He gave the camp a quick examination and shook his head slowly. “I know this tribe,” he said. “This is the camp I tried to tell you about, Captain Ahad. From what I hear, their leader is a man with strange powers.”
Ahad stared disdainfully at Remez. “You told me, but it made no sense.”
“Of course it didn’t,” Magon retorted. “The Hebrews are all crazy!”
“These Hebrews are a strange people,” Remez said thoughtfully, ignoring his companion. “I know a little something about them.”
“What do you need to know?” Ahad shrugged. “They’re like those stupid sheep out there. Which gods do they worship?”
“Well,” Remez said slowly, “they say there’s only one god.”
The two men stared at Remez and then Ahad guffawed. “They probably can’t afford more than one.”
Magon joined in with the joke, but Remez made no reply; he simply shrugged as the three men surveyed the scene again. Black tents sprawled across the landscape, and a line of donkeys waited patiently for their masters to finish loading them for a trip. Farther on, a boy drove six white goats into a shed built of saplings. Nearby, a woman was churning cream in a goatskin suspended over a wooden frame. As she rocked it back and forth her eyes turned toward the strangers, as did the eyes of others throughout the busy camp, until gradually everyone was staring at the war chariot.
“We’ll take whatever goods we want,” Ahad sneered, winking lewdly and adding, “We may even borrow some of their women for a while.”
Magon smiled broadly. “I’ll take that one over there.” He indicated a young woman with glossy black hair who was grinding grain with a round stone. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go take what we want. If they don’t like it, we’ll cut their throats.” He pulled a wicked-looking dagger from his belt, licked the blade, and laughed.
A troubled look crossed Remez’s face. “I don’t know how wise that would be. As I told you, their leader is an unusual man—and one not to be trifled with. I’ve heard my grandfather tell about him.”
“Humph!” Ahad snorted. “I’d fight their chief any day.” Then as if doubting his own hubris, he asked Remez, “What else do you know about this chief of theirs?”
“Well, I
know his name is Abraham and that he’s very old now, but my grandfather told me he came up against him in a war once.”
“What kind of a war?” Ahad grunted with disdain, gesturing toward the Hebrew men who stood watching, armed only with shepherds’ staves. “They’re obviously not fighters.”
“My grandfather said the army he was with thought that too. They captured one of Abraham’s relatives—some fellow named Lot. Abraham came tearing after them with a small army of Hebrews and rescued him.”
“Your grandfather must not have had much of an army, then.” Ahad shrugged.
“On the contrary, sir. My grandfather said the fighters he was with were the best. But this Hebrew leader—this Abraham—he’s got some magical powers, or so my grandfather believed.”
Ahad slapped the backs of the horses with his whip and laughed coarsely. “A magician, eh? Well, we’ll make him do some tricks for us, then!” His white teeth gleamed as he grinned. “Mind you, the prettiest woman belongs to me!”
“Isaac, look! A war chariot with three soldiers in it.”
Isaac turned to look in the direction Rebekah indicated. “Those are Hittite warriors,” he said uneasily. “They’re always causing trouble.”
“Don’t worry about them. We’ll feed them and they won’t bother us.”
Isaac looked carefully at Rebekah, who was sitting on a wooden chest, holding her belly. He noticed the pained expression on her face and asked, concerned, “Are you hurting, dear?”
Even this late in her pregnancy, Rebekah was a beautiful woman, with skin like alabaster, dark, lustrous eyes, and coal black hair. But the pain she felt now was clearly etched in the lines of her face. “It’s like a…a war going on inside me, Isaac,” she whispered. “Feel.”
Isaac leaned forward and put his hand on Rebekah’s swollen abdomen. His eyes opened with astonishment as he felt the movement. “That’s not natural, Rebekah!”
“I know it. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Have you talked with the midwife?”
“Bethez insists that having twins is just harder,” Rebekah said, shaking her head.
“But even so, they shouldn’t be giving you such pain already.” Isaac would have said more, but he saw that the chariot had drawn up to the center of the camp. The three warriors got out, and one of them pulled the horses and chariot to a nearby scrub tree to tie up the animals. “I wish they had gone on,” Isaac murmured.
The trio wandered brazenly around the camp, making crude comments about the women. Isaac kept his eyes on the largest soldier, taking him for the leader. The shortest of the three grabbed a girl, who kicked and screamed for help. Isaac stepped forward and spoke to the leader. “Sir, my name is Isaac. Tell your man to release the girl.”
“My name is Ahad,” the captain announced boldly, ignoring Isaac’s demand. “We require food and wine.”
Isaac kept his eye on the big man but was most concerned about the girl. The short, swarthy soldier was laughing at her attempts to escape. “Have him turn the young woman loose,” Isaac implored. “Then we’ll sell you some food.”
“Sell! Nothing was said about selling! We’re your guests.” Ahad put his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes mocking the smaller man. “I advise you to keep us happy. It’ll be safer for you, shepherd!”
Unarmed, Isaac hesitated. He knew the soldiers would take whatever they wanted, and he feared for the safety of the women. “You must not molest our young women,” he said firmly but quietly. “Tell your man to release the girl, and I’ll have a meal prepared.”
Ahad paid no attention to Isaac’s words or the young woman’s cries. “Where is this magician I’ve been told about?”
“Magician? We have no magician.”
“Oh no? What about the old man called Abraham? Bring him out.”
“That is my father, but he is no magician.”
Ahad marched forward and stared down at Rebekah, who was wearing a dark blue dress and a scarf over her head. The warrior put his hand under her chin. “Well, now, she’s a pretty one! Is this your wife?”
“Yes,” Isaac said, his heart racing. He wanted to lash out and knock the man backward, but he hesitated.
“Well, you’ve been doing your duty, I see. I don’t blame you with such a pretty bauble as this.”
Isaac stepped forward despite his fear. “Take your hands off of her!” he ordered, but his voice sounded thin.
Ahad easily pushed him backward. “Why, you puny little shepherd! Keep your mouth shut or I’ll slit your throat!”
The short man laughed and drew the girl he was holding closer. Her eyes were large with fear, and she begged, “Sir, don’t let him do this to me!”
“That’s right, shepherd.” Ahad grinned cruelly. “Don’t let him do that. Get yourself a sword. Do some magic for us. Maybe you can beat him.”
“That’ll be enough!”
Ahad turned quickly to see a figure that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. The speaker was a tall man wearing a simple shepherd’s costume, a staff in his hand, his silver hair tied back with a leather thong. Though he was quite old, there was still strength to be seen in the cords of his arms and the depth of his chest. His lean and rugged face reminded Ahad of a predatory bird—especially the dark eyes that were now fixed on him.
“Well, is this Abraham, the famous magician?” Ahad laughed and winked at Magon. “Let’s see some magic, sorcerer! Make our swords turn to dust!”
Abraham was unperturbed by the man’s arrogance.
His calmness angered Ahad, who swaggered over to stand before him. “So you’re the big warrior I’ve heard about, are you? Old man, get out of my sight or I’ll gut you like a fish!”
“Take your men and leave,” Abraham ordered quietly. “Your manners are bad.”
“Teach him about manners, Captain!” Magon shouted, waving one of his fists at Abraham.
The captured girl took advantage of the moment and yanked herself free. The burly soldier shouted and took a few steps after her, but she was too fleet. Spewing a stream of expletives, Magon returned to stand beside his captain. Remez stood apart from the others, carefully watching Abraham.
“I don’t think you’re a magician, old man, or a warrior either!” Ahad snapped, drawing his sword.
Abraham did not move.
Then Magon yanked a curved dagger from his belt and waved it at Abraham. “He’s as ancient as the hills, Captain. I’m not afraid of this old man.”
Ahad felt rattled by the old man’s calm yet bold demeanor, but being a captain he could not lose face before his men. He cut the air with his sword and laughed roughly. “I think I’ll just cut off your beard!” As he moved forward, Rebekah uttered a cry of distress.
Ahad reached out to grab Abraham’s beard, raising his sword with the other hand. But Abraham’s staff shot out, catching the Hittite in the pit of the stomach and bringing him to an abrupt halt. The breath gushed out of his mouth as Abraham circled his staff in the air. He struck again, this time catching Ahad on the side of the head. The bronze helmet prevented the warrior’s skull from being crushed, but the force of the blow drove him to the ground.
Magon stared blankly at his captain, who lay motionless, blood seeping out from under the bronze helmet and spreading into the dust. The warrior threw himself forward with a wild yell, his dagger raised, but once again the staff in Abraham’s hands moved swiftly. The butt of it took the soldier right under his chin, striking him in the throat. Magon gagged, dropping his dagger and grabbing wildly at his throat, his eyes rolling upward as he staggered back.
Then Abraham faced the third soldier. “What about you?”
“I’m not in this!” Remez’s voice was high and unsteady, for he could scarcely believe his eyes. His companions were tough, hardened warriors, but Abraham had swept them aside as a man sweeps away troublesome flies. Remez recalled his grandfather’s tales about this fierce old fighter. The sight of his two companions—the one lying lifeless on the ground, th
e other staggering, clutching his throat—kept Remez utterly still.
“You Hittites are a wearisome bunch,” Abraham commented, as untroubled and calm as a man could be. He studied Remez thoughtfully. “I bought a burial cave from a Hittite named Ephron for my wife Sarah after she died. Do you know him?”
“Yes, sir. He…he was a distant relation of mine.” This was a lie, but Remez thought it might pacify the tall man, who held him with a steady gaze.
“You need to learn some manners from your forefathers.”
“Yes, master, that is probably true.”
Abraham signaled to some young men who had gathered. “Put the captain in his chariot and help these fellows get on their way.”
Remez quickly helped the young Hebrews pick up Ahad, who still did not move. They carried him to the chariot and unceremoniously dumped him in. Magon put up no argument as Remez grabbed his arm and piloted him to the chariot. His face was pale, and he could not speak because of the damage to his throat from the fierce blow. Still making gagging noises, he slumped down in the back next to the unconscious captain.
Remez untied the horses and took the helm. He slapped the animals with the reins, and they surged forward. Remez took one backward look and saw Abraham staring at him with a mild expression on his face. Sweat popped out on the soldier’s forehead. “That old man could have killed all three of us!” He glanced at Ahad’s bloody head and grimaced. “I don’t think the captain will want anything more to do with those Hebrews!”
Abraham watched the dust from the chariot grow smaller in the distance. He turned and smiled at his son, who was pale and shaken. “Those Hittites are arrogant at times.”
“I-I’m glad you came along, Father.”
Abraham did not answer, turning his attention toward Rebekah instead. She was trembling and swaying back and forth, her mouth open and a distressed look in her eyes. “Here, Isaac. Let’s get your wife inside the tent where she can lie down.”
“Yes, of course, Father.”
The two got on either side of Rebekah, lifting her by the arms. They half carried her into Isaac’s tent and lowered her gently onto the mat. She lay on her back, holding her stomach and gasping.
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