The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “So you went ahead with your building projects and your plans, and now you’re asking Yahweh to bless them? Now, when you’re in trouble? You’re not asking for God’s will, King Hezekiah. You’re asking Him to choose one of the plans you’ve already initiated.”

  “No . . . but . . .” Hezekiah groaned. “I see what you mean.”

  He had tried to trust in God yet control his own life at the same time, trying to reconcile the two sides of himself: his self-reliance and his faith in God. And he suddenly remembered that his grandfather had once warned him that he could never do both.

  “Yahweh made this present crisis, Your Majesty. He planned it long ago for His own purposes. Your reforms eliminated idolatry from the land, but that’s only half of it. Worship of Yahweh without heartfelt commitment only leads to empty ritual. The Lord says, ‘These people come near to me with their mouth and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. Their worship of me is made up only of rules taught by men.’”

  “So by trying to take the defense of Judah into my own hands I’m working against Yahweh?”

  “Yes—against His plan to chasten His people.”

  Hezekiah sighed. “So what should I do now?”

  “Do you have enough faith to trust Yahweh completely and not rely on your own strength?”

  Hezekiah had to be honest with himself and with God. “No, probably not. But I don’t have much choice, do I? The Assyrian weapons are superior to ours, and even our new walls may not stand up to their battering rams. Our tunnel isn’t finished, either. So my own strength is pitiful, in spite of all my efforts.”

  “The Lord is your strength, King Hezekiah. And Yahweh’s word to you is to wait.”

  Hezekiah stared at him in disbelief. “Wait? And do nothing?”

  “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall soar on wings like eagles. They shall run, and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint.”

  “Then I’m not to take any action in this crisis?”

  “This is what Yahweh says to me: ‘As a lion growls, a great lion over his prey—and though a whole band of shepherds is called together against him, he is not frightened by their shouts or disturbed by their clamor—so the Lord Almighty will come down to do battle. . . . Like birds hovering overhead, the Lord Almighty will shield Jerusalem; he will shield it and deliver it, he will “pass over” it and will rescue it. . . . Assyria will fall by a sword that is not of man; a sword, not of mortals, will devour them.’”

  Yahweh’s word should have reassured Hezekiah, but it didn’t. He paced anxiously in front of the prophet, wondering if he could obey God’s word, wondering if he could sit passively through a crisis of this magnitude without taking action. He had no proof that Isaiah’s words were true, no evidence he could see that told him he could trust God.

  But when we only believe in things we can see with our eyes and touch with our hands, it is idolatry. Faith in God meant believing the unseen.

  “God, give me the faith to believe. . . .” he murmured. In the distance, the shofar summoned Hezekiah to the morning sacrifice. “Will you worship with me at the Temple, Rabbi?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty.”

  Now that he knew God’s answer, Hezekiah would heed the word of the Lord. He wouldn’t send tribute, he wouldn’t marshal his troops, and he wouldn’t seek allies. He would wait and do nothing.

  But it would be the hardest thing he ever did in his life.

  The sun glowed behind the clouds like the golden embers on the altar as Eliakim stumbled up the hill to the Temple with his father. When the shofar had sounded, it seemed to Eliakim as if God himself had summoned him to appear before Him. Eliakim filed through the narrow Temple gates, shoulder to shoulder with the other men, through the Court of the Gentiles and the Court of the Women into the inner courtyard.

  He approached the basin to wash himself, and never before had he felt so filthy. His sins burned a hole in his heart like the heat from a thousand suns: bitterness, unbelief, and—worst of all—pride. He had taken God off His rightful throne and replaced Him with the works of his own hands, making his own decisions, choosing his own paths. Eliakim allowed the water to wash over his hands for a long time, but they still felt unclean. His father had to pull Eliakim’s hands from the water and coax him to move, but he still felt unworthy to approach God’s altar.

  The praises of the Levites crescendoed in the still morning air as the priests slew the sacrifices: “‘Praise the Lord, O my soul. All my inmost being, praise his holy name.’”

  Eliakim had never heard such magnificent music. It answered a cry from deep within his soul. Yahweh reigned—majestic, awesome, worthy of praise! Eliakim wanted to fall on his face before God.

  “‘Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins . . . and redeems your life from the pit.’”

  Yahweh. The God of Abraham. The Holy One of Israel. His father had used those phrases all of Eliakim’s life, but never before had he fully comprehended their truth. Who was worthy to approach Yahweh? How could a sinner like him even dare to stand in Yahweh’s holy Temple, before His holy presence?

  The priests in their pure white robes came forward, gently swaying in rhythm with the music. Eliakim smelled the sweet perfume of incense and heard the faint tinkle of bells on the hem of the high priest’s garment. The high priest carried a golden bowl, filled with the blood of the sacrifice, the atoning blood. Through it Eliakim could be forgiven, all his sins paid for. He didn’t wait for the other men, but threw himself before God, pleading for mercy and forgiveness as the Levite choir sang.

  “‘The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. . . . he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.’”

  All glory and honor belonged to God, not man, yet Eliakim had sought glory for his own works. Vengeance was God’s to repay, yet Eliakim had sought revenge against the Assyrians. He deserved to die for his sin, and he waited, prostrate, for God’s judgment to fall on him. He welcomed it, longed for it. But as the magnificent words of the psalm touched his soul, Eliakim’s heart overflowed with love and praise for God.

  “‘For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.’”

  In all the years he had come to the Temple, Eliakim could never remember a service like this one. But had he ever come with his heart surrendered to God before? He had believed that the services were meant to satisfy his needs, and when his first sacrifice had been disrupted long ago, Eliakim had been outraged because he felt cheated, not because God had been cheated. He wanted to stay prostrate with shame, but his father gently nudged him to his feet.

  “‘As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust. . . . From everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear him.’”

  The priest laid the offering on the altar, and as the pillar of flame soared into the air, Yahweh suddenly revealed himself to Eliakim. He staggered backward, overwhelmed, as he felt the tender, all-powerful presence of God. Like a blind man recovering his sight, Eliakim recognized that Yahweh, Creator of the universe, was a Father—a gentle, loving Father. Like Hilkiah, Yahweh would lovingly welcome Eliakim back into His arms, forgiving him, even though he had grievously wounded Him. Like Jerimoth, Yahweh had patiently waited for His child all these years, longing for him to return. Yahweh was a Father who would lay down His own life for His children, even as Jerimoth had laid down his life for his children.

  God’s presence had been with Eliakim all his life, just as surely as Hilkiah had been with him, but he had been blind to Him.

  “Abba!” Eliakim cried as the tears flowed down his face. “Abba! Father God!”

  The praise cry resounded, as if
coming from heaven itself, and Eliakim lifted his hands high in surrender to God.

  “‘Praise the Lord, you his angels. . . . Praise the Lord, all his heavenly hosts. . . . Praise the Lord, all his works everywhere in his dominion. Praise the Lord, O my soul.’”

  When the morning sacrifice ended, Hezekiah waited in his private chambers for his advisors to assemble in the throne room. The long purple robe he had worn to the Temple felt hot and very heavy on his shoulders as it dragged across the floor behind him. At last Shebna came to summon him.

  “They are ready for you in the throne room, Your Majesty.” He looked as if he hadn’t slept.

  “Shebna, wait. I want to thank you for finding Rabbi Isaiah last night.” Shebna nodded slightly. “Listen, I know I don’t always take the time to tell you how grateful I am for all that you do, but I’m very grateful. You’ve been more than my right-hand man—you’ve been a true friend to me.”

  Shebna looked away as if unable to meet Hezekiah’s gaze. “Then I trust Rabbi Isaiah has told you what you wanted to know?”

  “Yes, and I want you to hear it first before I tell the others. I’m not going to send tribute . . . or mobilize our troops and allies.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Isaiah told me to wait and to trust in God.”

  “No!” Shebna lunged at Hezekiah, losing control for the first time in all their years together. He clung to the front of Hezekiah’s robes, shaking him, pleading desperately with him. “Do not be a fool, Hezekiah! Please! Send the tribute—I beg you! They will kill you! As a friend, I am telling you that your very life is at stake! Please!”

  Shebna’s sudden outburst shook Hezekiah deeply. “They will kill you!” He remembered Jerusha’s vivid description of what the Assyrians would do to a conquered king, and he felt his knees go weak. But in the next moment he grew angry with Shebna for his lack of faith in God’s word. He pried Shebna’s hands off his robes.

  “No. I won’t become an Assyrian vassal again. Our nation is in Yahweh’s hands. Now pull yourself together, Shebna. I expect you to stand behind my decision. I need your support.”

  Shebna covered his face. “They will kill you,” he moaned.

  “Shebna, stop it! It’s time to go.”

  More than anything else, Hezekiah wanted to get this meeting over with. He walked briskly down the hall to the throne room, with Shebna trailing miserably behind him, and sat down on his throne feeling tense and overwrought. He studied the anxious faces of his advisors for a moment. Like Shebna, most of them would probably never understand his decision. He wasn’t certain he could explain it to them, but he had to try.

  “Rabbi Isaiah has returned to Jerusalem,” he began with more confidence than he felt. “I met with him earlier this morning, and as a result I’ve decided not to send tribute to Assyria.”

  General Jonadab stood. “I’ll mobilize our forces, Your Majesty.”

  Hezekiah shook his head. “Our weapons will stay in the armory. We won’t need them.” A few of his army commanders muttered their objections, but Hezekiah ignored them. “Nor will we seek an alliance with a foreign power because—”

  “That’s insane!” Gedaliah leaped to his feet, cutting off Hezekiah’s words. “Why do you even listen to a fanatic like Isaiah? You’re going to destroy us all. We’ll be annihilated, like Israel was!”

  His brother’s outburst unnerved Hezekiah. He paused as elders from various Judean cities rose to their feet and clustered around Gedaliah, shouting at Hezekiah and voicing their support for his brother. Hezekiah wasn’t prepared for such a strong show of opposition, and it staggered him.

  “Don’t just sit there, Shebna—tell him!” Gedaliah shouted above the noise.

  “Tell me what?” Hezekiah turned to Shebna, certain that he could count on his friend’s support, even if he disagreed with the decision. But Shebna’s face was ashen, and his hand trembled as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Tell me what?” Hezekiah repeated.

  For a long moment Shebna was silent, but when he finally spoke, his answer startled Hezekiah. “Your Majesty, your brother is right. You must take some course of action. To sit and wait for the Assyrians is suicidal.”

  Hezekiah felt his anger rising dangerously. “This is my course of action! God promised to deliver us from the Assyrians, and I’ve chosen to wait and trust in that promise!”

  “Let my troops march to defend our borders,” Jonadab begged. “Remember how Yahweh helped us defeat the Philistines? They were stronger than us, too.”

  “No troops, Jonadab. Yahweh can deliver us without the sword of man. The Torah says—”

  “Those are foolish tales!” Gedaliah shouted, his face flushed with rage. “You’re governing a real nation, with real people!”

  Shebna clutched Hezekiah’s sleeve, pleading with him. “Surely you are not putting your trust in the mythical accounts of your ancestors.”

  “Those are bedtime stories for children!” Gedaliah shouted. “But this is not a child’s game!”

  The throne room erupted into chaos as nearly all of Hezekiah’s advisors shouted their objections at once. Their reaction shocked him. Everyone was joining the mutiny, even his close friends Shebna and Jonadab. Anger choked off Hezekiah’s reply.

  Shebna continued to plead with him in a low voice. “The opposition to your decision is overwhelming. Please, before they kill you—I beg you to reconsider!”

  Suddenly Hezekiah realized what Shebna’s words had meant. They were going to kill him—not the Assyrians, but his own officials. If he didn’t give in to them, he risked a revolution. But if he changed his mind now, he would forfeit his sovereignty forever—and God’s sovereignty, as well.

  “No! I will not reconsider!” he shouted. The hall gradually grew quiet as everyone stared at him. “Listen to me! When my father faced an invasion twenty years ago, Isaiah told him to wait and to trust God for deliverance. But Ahaz refused to listen. Instead of waiting for the crisis to pass, he sent tribute to Assyria and turned us all into slaves. Once again, God has told us to wait. I have sworn a covenant to the Lord, and I’m going to obey Him, no matter how dangerous it seems.”

  The discontented murmuring started up again as the angry men rallied around Gedaliah.

  Shebna slowly shook his head. “There is no god to save us,” Hezekiah heard him murmur, and those words made Hezekiah angrier than anything else did.

  “Silence!” he shouted. Instantly the hall grew still. “Shebna, if you and these others say there is no God, then I ask you—what’s the point of life? Why govern the nation at all or live our lives by any rules and laws? Why not live in anarchy? Why should we make rational decisions if life is chaotic and irrational, if there’s no order to the universe?”

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  “Or . . . if there is a God but He isn’t strong enough to deliver us, then who can? Our meager military forces, Jonadab? Some neighboring nation? How can the arm of man possibly succeed if God himself fails us?”

  He slowly rose from his throne and stood to face them. “But . . . if there is a God who keeps the heavens and the earth in order and lovingly rules over all His creation, if He truly has intervened in our nation’s past to deliver us from slavery and place us in this land, then how can we do anything but trust and serve Him? How can we ever presume to know more than God knows? All our plans, all our schemes are worthless—foolishness—beside His wisdom and planning.”

  He stared for a moment at their silent, sullen faces. “Yahweh gave me His word to be still and to wait for His deliverance. I have chosen to obey that word, and I will not reconsider! Gedaliah, Shebna—any of the rest of you who can’t support that decision—get out! I don’t need you!”

  He pointed toward the door, staring down at them boldly. A tense silence filled the hall. Anger and discontent showed on many faces, and he wondered if there would be an open rebellion, if any of them still supported him—if even Jonadab and Shebna would turn against him. Then
he remembered that God had chosen him to rule, and a strange peace filled his heart. His life rested in God’s hands. It was enough to know.

  “I have nothing more to say. This meeting is over.” He strode from the room.

  Shebna didn’t move from his seat as Hezekiah left but sat in stunned shock. The king he greatly admired and worked hard to please had just made a fatal mistake. His impassioned speech had convinced no one. It had only sealed his death warrant. Deep sorrow consumed Shebna, and he slumped forward in his seat with his face in his hands, oblivious to the grumbling and arguing of the other advisors as they filed out.

  “Are you with us, Shebna?” He looked up at Gedaliah. “Yes or no? We need your answer now.”

  Shebna closed his eyes, wishing he could hide from the ugly reality of what he was doing. “When?” he whispered.

  “Tonight. When he’s asleep.”

  “Cowards! You would rather murder a man in his bed than fight him face-to-face?”

  “You’ll leave in the morning with the delegation to deliver our tribute to Assyria,” Gedaliah said. Shebna didn’t reply.

  Gedaliah’s eyes traveled to the row of guards standing nearby. “By the way, don’t try to double-cross us. You’re being watched.”

  37

  The morning sacrifice left Eliakim exhausted and broken. He wondered how he would make it through the day. He sat in the foreman’s tent near the empty Pool of Siloam and stared into space. He no longer consulted his drawings and calculations. They couldn’t tell him anything new. All he could do was wait—wait and hope that God would forgive him and answer his prayers.

  Outside the tent door he heard one of the workmen grumbling about digging all the way to Sheol. Then the foreman appeared at the door of the tent.

  “We’re ready for the signals, my lord.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.” Eliakim looked down at the diagrams on the table in front of him and closed his eyes. The warmth of God’s presence filled his soul.

  “Lord God—Father—guide us through the darkness,” he prayed. “Not for my sake, but for your glory.”