Love’s Sacred Song
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When Jehoshaphat stood at the altar at twilight on the fourteenth night of the first new moon, he offered his Passover lamb to the priest. Lord Jehovah, he prayed, let the death angel pass over your people Israel once more. Let the blood of the lamb save us from ourselves.
The sobering night gave way to the seven-day Feast of Unleavened Bread, drawing families together from Dan to Beersheba. At the end of the celebration, faithful pilgrims loaded their beasts of burden and prepared for their journeys home.
But not Jehoshaphat. Waving good-bye to friends new and old, he loaded his small donkey and mounted a second mule he’d borrowed from one of the Shulammites. Though his heart longed for Shunem, his future waited in Jerusalem—a future for his nation and his daughter.
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• 1 KINGS 3:16, 28 •
Now two prostitutes came to the king and stood before him. . . . When all Israel heard the verdict the king had given, they held the king in awe, because they saw that he had wisdom from God to administer justice.
The short but harsh wilderness between Gibeon and Jerusalem was a sea of rocks and hills. “I don’t know which is worse,” he said to his mule. “The fact that you’re the only one I have to talk to, or the torture of riding your bony back.” The forlorn creature replied by swishing a fly with its tail.
Rounding a large boulder and cresting the final rise, Jehoshaphat saw Jerusalem perched high on Mount Zion. “Ah, David’s crown,” he breathed. He’d first glimpsed the city as a boy of twelve just after David’s army conquered the impregnable fortress of the Jebusites. Then a shabby town with dirt streets and one-room dwellings, Jerusalem had become God’s crown of blessing on David’s reign.
Jehoshaphat dug his heels into the mule’s sides and began the slow ascent up the narrow road to the unwalled new Jerusalem. He noted King Solomon was indeed continuing many changes that King David had begun. Construction on the northern wall was under way and would expand Jerusalem to more than twice the size of the current City of David, which lay south of the palace. Stakes driven into the ground proved progressing plans for God’s temple in the open space north of the palace. No doubt the City of David on the south side of the fortress remained a haven for the ferociously devoted tribe of Judah.
“My lord, fine silk from the East,” a merchant said, sidling up to Jehoshaphat’s heavily loaded donkey. Jehoshaphat tightened his grip on the reins, tugging the pack animal closer so he didn’t lose anything to shifty fingers.
Vendors from all over the world lined both sides of the road, offering spices, pottery, and more. When Jehoshaphat finally entered the city through the new northern gate, he dismounted his mule and pulled the second beast alongside, scanning the open expanse. God’s temple would rest on this very spot.
Leaving both animals with a stable boy, Jehoshaphat approached the north side of the palace. He discovered more street vendors, the finer artisans of Israel, whose place of honor was secured by their talent, the quality of their goods, and their political finesse. Their bangles and baubles held no interest for Shunem’s judge, but the casual conversation of two merchants snagged his interest.
“I’ve never been so happy to be Judean,” one man said, sampling a raisin cake from his own supplies.
A merchant in the neighboring stall raked his fingers through his overgrown beard and reached for a clay lamp from his shelves. “I too am thankful that my back won’t be broken to fill the stomachs of the king’s household. When the northern tribes discover King Solomon’s redistricting plan and the monthly tax for his household, we may finally see war in Israel.” The merchant examined his lamps as though inspecting rare Cushite gems and looked at the baker with a sly grin. “My clay lamps will be much more valuable than your raisin cakes.”
“Shalom, and forgive my intrusion, brothers,” Jehoshaphat said, “but I thought I heard you say the king is going to redistrict the tribes of Israel.”
“We are not your brothers, Galilean,” the baker growled, throwing his suddenly devalued raisin cakes in a basket. “Your northern accent tells me you should go back home and tell your friends that the winds are changing in Israel, and they won’t like the way the winds blow.” The man spit on the ground, barely missing the fresh basket of raisin cakes.
Jehoshaphat was stunned by the man’s rudeness and chose to believe his short temper rose from the imminent decrease in raisin cake profit. He nodded a pacifying farewell and continued to the palace.
From the city gates to the palace guard tower, beggars and merchants alike whispered rumors of Solomon’s reforms. Reports varied from proposed calendar changes, building projects, centralized government, and yes—the redistricting of Israel’s tribes. Jehoshaphat pondered the news, sorting through every detail like an old woman pulling straw from her wool. Though dread had been his initial response, he pondered a subtle outcome. Perhaps tearing down those ancient tribal boundaries could unite their nation.
As Shunem’s judge rounded the northwest corner of the palace, he quickened his pace. Maybe the rebirth of Israel that he’d lauded at Passover was truer than he had imagined. But with these changes in the works, the treaty bride proposal was more important than ever.
“What business have you with the king?” An imposing palace guard startled Jehoshaphat from his thoughts. The leather armor the man wore distinguished him as a leader in the king’s army. However, the grotesque scar where one eye used to dwell revealed a soldier whose military career had abruptly ended.
“I come as a representative of the northern tribes to seek a hearing before King Solomon.”
A timid scribe appeared from behind the large guard and made sounds but formed no intelligible words. His tongue was as absent as the guard’s left eye. However, he motioned to the soldier, and the two men seemed to understand each other completely.
“What is your name?” the guard asked impatiently. “The high steward’s scribe needs your name for the court proceedings.”
“Jehoshaphat, son of Paruah, from Shunem.” He glanced to the right and left, noting additional watchmen stationed around the square palace perimeter. “It would seem you’ve added extra security since the last time I visited Jerusalem.”
The one-eyed guard glared. “We have closed every other entrance to the palace and are on high alert.” He didn’t explain further. He didn’t need to.
Jehoshaphat understood that more to lose meant more to protect. The testimony of Israel’s rising power and wealth marched around the palace perimeter wearing javelins and bows strapped to their backs. The palace’s grand pillars, intricately engraved with pomegranates, grapes, and palms, were a lovely façade for the prison of prosperity Jerusalem was becoming.
“You may enter.” The guard nodded, and Jehoshaphat crossed the threshold into the entrance hall, its stone walls cold and unyielding. He lingered there with other afternoon petitioners while the king undoubtedly enjoyed his midday meal and respite.
Listening intently, Jehoshaphat heard the one-eyed soldier repeat, “What business have you with the king?” And each time, another supplicant was admitted to the entrance hall, waiting for the cedar doors to release the tide of petitioners into the throne hall. The crowd grew until it became a living thing, buzzing and shoving, squeezed into the shrinking space of the entrance hall.
None too soon, a shofar sounded, and a voice resounded from inside the hall of justice. “Come all who have matters of judgment for the king of Israel, King Solomon!”
The massive cedar doors opened, and Jehoshaphat gaped like a child. On his previous trips to Jerusalem, he’d never visited the famed courtroom. He’d met with King David in the fortress of Zion or walked around the wall of the southern City of David. Now his eyes devoured every detail of the majestic spectacle. Nearly a hundred people jostled for position near the railing on a second-story boardwalk from which extraordinary tapestries hung. Another two hundred stood on both sides of a long center aisle that split the lower level. The air swelled with the pungent odor of Phoenician cedar.
The crowd noise swelled, and Jehoshaphat tuned his ear to those around him. Petitioners from bordering nations spoke in foreign phrases, but the waiting Israelites chatted about Solomon’s insightful rulings during the seven-day interval after his return from Gibeon and before Jerusalem’s Passover Feast.
Interestingly, their conversations had nothing to do with the matters of state Jehoshaphat had heard rumored in the marketplace. Instead they talked of his treaties, his brides, and his profound judgments. In fact, the king’s most famous ruling involved a babe and two prostitutes.
“The two harlots both claimed parentage of a baby boy,” the old man shouted over the din. “King Solomon resolved it by asking for a sword to cut the baby in half.” Those around the old man gasped, and his cloudy eyes twinkled. “Ah, yes, exactly the reaction of the crowd that day, but when the rightful ima gave up her petition so as to save the babe’s life, the wise young king’s ploy proved her parentage.” The toothless old man grinned wide at the oohs and aahs he’d expected and received, and Jehoshaphat pondered the young king whose name meant “peace.” Solomon had donned the robe of authority through a mantle of wisdom.
Studying the sea of expectant faces around him, Jehoshaphat wondered how long he would have to wait to gain an audience. Lord Jehovah, each person in this room desires a moment of the king’s time. He had barely formed the thought when trumpets announced the royal arrival.
A reverent hush fell over the crowd, and Jehoshaphat recognized Ahishar, the palace high steward, pushing aside the heavy tapestries behind the king’s throne. His heart plummeted. When they’d met in Shunem almost a year ago, Jehoshaphat suspected Ahishar’s deception and tried to stop him from taking Abishag to Jerusalem. He and the steward had parted on less than cordial terms, and now Ahishar, as gatekeeper to the king, would determine when—or if—Jehoshaphat spoke to Israel’s new regent. Please, Jehovah. Work in Ahishar’s heart to give me an audience with the king—soon.
As Jehoshaphat prayed, King Solomon ascended the dais to his throne. He was dressed in royal robes with a gold-leafed crown settled atop shoulder-length, raven hair. His well-trimmed beard bespoke a lifetime of palace privilege, and he bore the striking masculine features that made his abba David the desire of every Israelite maiden. His dark eyes and complexion, however, reflected Queen Bathsheba’s beauty, and the regal grace with which she moved translated into a powerful stride in this confident young king.
Jehoshaphat watched the high steward and two formidable soldiers take up their positions as the king assumed his place on his gilded throne. Solomon laid his hands atop the lions’ heads carved into the sides of his perch. Jehoshaphat had heard the armrests were inlaid with jewels from David’s military conquests: onyx, carnelian, topaz, amethyst, and more.
Ahishar leaned over to whisper something to the king, and Jehoshaphat wondered if Solomon’s reported gift of wisdom was accompanied by discernment. Of course, David’s son hadn’t the years of experience necessary to develop an intuitive judge of character, but perhaps Jehovah had warned him that his steward couldn’t be trusted. He wondered if—
“Let all who have come to King Solomon’s court draw near to hear the wisdom of the Lord,” Ahishar boomed, interrupting Jehoshaphat’s surveillance.
Shunem’s judge glanced at those around him, measuring the response to the steward’s claim. Dare Solomon equate his rulings to God’s own wisdom? But the expectant faces shone with anticipation. Not one seemed to question the declaration of divine understanding.
“Come now to be heard, Jehoshaphat, the righteous judge of Shunem!” Ahishar’s voice echoed off the walls, and Jehoshaphat’s feet became molten lead on the marble floor.
The buzz of the crowd rose to fever pitch as everyone waited on the supplicant to present himself before the king. Ahishar’s black eyes found Jehoshaphat and challenged him to step forward.
Jehoshaphat’s mind reeled. What is this sly fox up to? Though he had prayed for a chance to speak with the king, he hadn’t expected it quite so soon. But the confidence of his righteous cause unbound his feet, and he shouldered his way through the crowd to bow before Israel’s king.
“I bring you greetings, my king, from the people of the north.” Lifting his head ever so slightly, he met the king’s gaze. “Indeed, I represent the northern districts that will benefit by our nation’s new design.” In a crucial moment of decision, Jehoshaphat purposely avoided any mention of the condolences that led him to Jerusalem. Instead, he would focus solely on the king’s new plan and how it could complement the treaty bride proposal.
Solomon’s previously ho-hum demeanor burst into attentive interest. “Greetings, faithful Jehoshaphat. Please rise. My abba spoke highly of you many times.”
Seeing the king’s interest piqued, Jehoshaphat was inspired with a new approach to present his plan. “I come with a proposal that must be weighed privately. May I request a personal audience with the king tomorrow morning?”
Solomon smiled wryly, an intriguing sparkle in his eyes. “Yes, Jehoshaphat, I would be delighted to hear your proposal and to break our fast tomorrow morning—privately—in my chamber.” The king seemed about to say more but hesitated and whispered something to Ahishar.
Jehoshaphat waited, heart pounding, watching the interchange. He relaxed a bit when the steward scowled.
“I invite you to remain in the palace tonight,” the king offered. “My high steward will have one of the servants assigned to meet your needs.”
Jehoshaphat deepened his bow. “I am honored beyond words, my king,” he said. “Until tomorrow then, King Solomon.” He backed away, noting the challenge in Ahishar’s eyes. A night in the palace . . . Perhaps he would sleep with his chamber door locked.
The sun was sinking over the western hills, and Arielah took a final count of the flock before leading them home. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine—” Where is Edna’s lamb? The troublesome ewe she’d named after the crotchety matchmaker had birthed a lamb yesterday. “The lamb was here at last count. One, two, three, four . . .” She began again, hoping she’d simply overlooked the babe. But Edna’s bleating had changed from occasional to constant and confirmed the count before Arielah finished. “Twenty-nine. One missing.” She scanned the rocky mountain path above her, considering every step they’d traveled. “Where did we lose you, precious lamb?”
Her mind began to race. Abba had warned her before last Sabbath to be extra alert for bears awakening from their long winter’s hibernation. The western sky was changing to a deeper orange glow. The lions would begin prowling for prey. If she herded the rest of the flock back to Shunem’s sheepfolds, it would be too dark to return and search for the lost lamb. But she couldn’t go search for the lamb and leave the whole flock unprotected—could she?
Jehovah, what should I do? Glancing from the horizon to the rocky path above and behind her, Arielah listened for that silent inward voice. She felt the familiar tingle up her spine, and her palms began to sweat. Jehovah often warned her of danger like this. Some might have said it was her own fear talking; regardless, she must find the lamb.
“Protect your women, Samson,” she said to the ram among the ewes. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” He blinked his liquid black eyes and munched on a new shoot of green grass, calm amid unknown danger.
Retracing her steps up the path of Mount Moreh, she veered right and left, checking behind rocks and searching for any sign of struggle. Blood. Tufts of black wool. A predator would have taken the lamb off the path to feast in a cave or behind a rock. Thankfully, she found no sign of violence but regrettably no si
gns of the lamb either.
The sun had now turned red and kissed the earth. Jehovah, help me find the babe! Frantic, Arielah tugged on her shepherd’s flute, releasing it from the strap on her belt, and trilled the song she often played for the flock at midday. Playing with all her heart, she allowed the evening breeze to carry the sound.
And then she waited.
Even the distant bleating of her flock stilled. A faint little bahaha came from a cluster of rocks below her. She rushed to the ledge and peered over, and there was her precious lamb. His right front leg was misshapen, obviously from a fall. Carefully Arielah climbed down and gathered him into her arms. “Oh, little one,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, “I thought I’d lost you.” His black nose nuzzled into that warm place on her neck. She kissed his muzzle and then lifted him over her head to place him around her shoulders. He bleated when she moved his broken leg. “I know it hurts, but I bet you’ll never get too close to a ledge again.”
With one hand securing her little friend and the other hand helping her climb, she returned to the rocky path and was on her way back to the flock. The sun was now half hidden and the sky darkening fast. “You’ll be spending a lot of time in my arms, little one,” she said to the furry black face bleating in her ear. “Sometimes pain means more comfort from the shepherd.” The words pierced her heart, their truth resonating through her conflicts with her brothers and the comfort she gained from Abba and Jehovah. “I will call you Arieh because, like me, you will be loved through your pain.”
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