But with two guards outside his door, there was no way Zechariah could go to Hezekiah. He picked up the empty wineskin and hurled it against the door in frustration. It burst at the seams, splattering the remaining dregs of crimson wine across the floor and walls. Then Zechariah sank to his knees and buried his head in his hands.
“Why, Yahweh?” he cried. “You told me to teach Hezekiah and that’s what I’m trying to do. How have I failed you?”
Zechariah was still praying hours later when he heard the door open. He looked up to see his friend Hilkiah standing in the doorway, his jovial face furrowed with concern. The guards loomed behind him in the passageway.
“Zechariah? How are you feeling, my friend?”
Zechariah scrambled to his feet. “Hilkiah, please come in, come in.”
Hilkiah eyed the guards briefly. “All right—but they told me I can only stay for a minute.” He closed the door and glanced around uncomfortably at the disheveled room and the puddle of splattered wine. “Zechariah, I think you should know … Uriah has told everyone that you’ve gone insane.”
Zechariah was stunned. “Insane? Is that what he’s saying? Because I dared to speak out against his idolatry? You don’t believe him, do you?”
“No, no, no. Of course not. You’re my friend. I should believe Uriah? May the Holy One strike me dead! All my life I’ve been faithful to Yahweh—blessed be His name. I hate what they’ve done to His Holy Temple, and I’m proud of you for speaking out. I’m just sorry that you’re being held here. Such a place! I’ve come to ask how I can help you. Is there anything you need?”
“Yes, please!” Zechariah clutched Hilkiah’s arm in desperation.Then, forcing himself to stay calm, he loosened his grasp. “Please—my grandson Hezekiah is waiting for me at the palace. I told him I’d come back, but I don’t know how long Uriah is going to keep me here. Can you deliver a message for me?”
“You want me to go to the palace? Ah, my friend, I don’t know how I can do that. I don’t have the right to speak to the prince. And who can I trust there to deliver your message? I could end up getting you into even worse trouble. Please, I can’t promise something like that.”
Zechariah sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. Never mind.” He would have to wait a while longer and hope that Abijah would be allowed to come and see him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Hilkiah murmured.
“No, it was an impossible request. I guess there’s nothing else you can do for me. Go home, my friend, before they lock you up, too.”
“Are you sure?” As Hilkiah reached to open the door, Zechariah suddenly remembered what else Uriah had threatened to do.
“Hilkiah, wait a minute!” He quickly crossed the room and leaned against the door to close it. “Listen,” he whispered urgently. “You must get a message to Isaiah. He’s in danger, as well. Have they arrested him yet?”
“I don’t think so. He disappeared before they could.”
“Then you must reach him and warn him. He has to leave Jerusalem. They’ll silence him the next time he tries to prophesy.”
Hilkiah looked doubtful. “Well, I’ll try—”
“Hilkiah, please! Swear to me that you’ll do it!”
“Very well, my friend. With the Holy One’s help, I will go to Isaiah and warn him—somehow.”
“Thank you, Hilkiah. May God go with you.”
“And also with you. Shalom, my friend.”
They quickly embraced, then the door closed behind Hilkiah with a hollow thud. Once again, Zechariah was alone with his doubts.
“Why, Yahweh?” he whispered. “Why?”
H
ILKIAH ROLLED OVER ON
his bed, changing positions for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. His body craved sleep, but his mind refused to be silent. The night air felt as hot as noontime and both his tunic and his bedding were soaked with sweat. But it wasn’t the heat that kept him awake. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his friend Zechariah pleading with him to warn Isaiah. Hilkiah had promised to do it, and he knew he would never get to sleep until he did. Yet how could he?
At last he gave up trying to sleep and crept up to the roof of his house, hoping for a breeze. Hilkiah’s house stood high on the city mount among the wealthiest homes, just below the king’s palace. It clung to the hillside, and from his rooftop he could look down on the roofs of the other houses from a dizzying height. A full moon shone above the surrounding mountains, and as Hilkiah slowly turned to view them, he saw the outline of the Temple wall on the hill above him. He groaned and looked away, pulling his beard in frustration.
“Ah, God of Abraham, how I can I do it?” he whispered.
He wondered if Zechariah realized what a dangerous thing he had asked him to do. Visiting Zechariah at the Temple had been a risk in itself, but if he was seen with Isaiah now, he could be accused of conspiracy. His own life would be in danger.
Hilkiah truly believed that Zechariah and Isaiah were right. The heathen altar didn’t belong in Yahweh’s Temple. And he knew that he should have the courage to fight idolatry the way those two men did. But how would his young son Eliakim survive if his father were imprisoned in the Temple—or executed as a traitor to the king?
A year ago during the sultry summer months, a fever had crept through the city from house to house, stealing away Hilkiah’s wife and two youngest children. All that he and Eliakim had left were each other.
He looked up at the Temple again. In a few hours it would be time for the morning sacrifice on the new altar. Imprisoned in the Temple, Zechariah couldn’t stop the ceremony this time or prevent King Ahaz from presenting his own offering. But Isaiah would probably try to intervene, and the guards would be waiting for him when he did. He wouldn’t slip away this time. Hilkiah thought of his son sleeping peacefully in the house below and shuddered. Then he had another thought. Isaiah had a family as well—two small sons with strange prophetic names. What would become of them if Isaiah was arrested? Hilkiah took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“God of Abraham, help me.” He turned to descend the stairs that led from the roof to the street, determined to warn Isaiah.
“Where are you going, Abba?”
“Oh, Eliakim!” he gasped. “What are you doing up here in the middle of the night?”
“I couldn’t get to sleep.” Eliakim’s thick black hair was tousled and damp with sweat. He was a slender, handsome boy, nearly as tall as Hilkiah was. Hilkiah rested his hand on his son’s shoulder, and his heart swelled with love.
“I know. I know. It’s hot, isn’t it? Why don’t you get a mat and come up here to sleep?”
“It’s not because of the heat!” Tears sprang to Eliakim’s dark eyes, and he twisted away to hide them.
“What’s wrong, son?”
Eliakim exhaled angrily. “I’m mad about what happened yesterday. They ruined my birthday and it wasn’t fair. I’m finally a man, finally old enough to watch the sacrifices in the men’s court with the others, and everything got ruined.”
“I’m sorry, son. I didn’t realize you were so upset.” Hilkiah tried to draw him into his arms, but Eliakim pulled away.
“Those two crazy men who stopped the sacrifice ruined everything.
” “Now wait just a minute,” Hilkiah said. “Those two men did the right thing. They
should
have stopped the sacrifice. What the king was about to do was
wrong
. He’s not supposed to offer his own sacrifice. According to the Torah, only the priests can do that.”
Eliakim looked skeptical. “Well, none of the other priests tried to stop him—not even the high priest.”
“Grown-ups don’t always do the right thing, Eliakim—even when they know what the Torah says.” Hilkiah recalled his own indecision a few moments ago and winced. “Anyway, I was going to tell you in the morning, but I may as well tell you now. We won’t be going to the sacrifices at the Temple anymore.”
“Abba, no! Why not?”
“I’m sorry, Eliakim. I know how much you looked forward to being old enough to go, but they’ve brought idols into the Temple and we won’t take part in idolatry.”
“But aren’t the sacrifices important? Aren’t we supposed to go?”
“Of course they’re important. But we’re supposed to go out of love for the Eternal One—blessed be His name—and to worship Him as the one true God. Otherwise, it’s just an empty ritual. When they put that pagan altar in His Temple, the Holy One of Israel had to withdraw His presence from that place. It’s a heathen ritual now, a meaningless ceremony to false gods. We have no reason to go anymore.
” “But I want to go! It’s not fair!”
Hilkiah knew how much his son longed to be a man, but at the moment he was acting like a disappointed child. “We will continue to say our morning and evening prayers,” Hilkiah soothed, “but we’ll say them at home from now on—just you and me.”
“It’s not the same thing. Can’t we please go once in a while? Just so I can see what it’s like?”
“No, son. We can’t,” Hilkiah said sternly. “Don’t even ask such a thing.” Eliakim’s reaction crushed him. He had tried to teach him what the Torah said, had tried to instill in him a love for God, but Eliakim seemed interested only in the outward rituals at the Temple. Hilkiah wondered where he had failed.
“Eliakim, listen to me. It takes more than a birthday to make you a man. If you always go along with the crowd, even when they’re wrong, then you’re a coward, not a man, no matter how old you are. But if you really believe that something is wrong, that it goes against God’s teachings, then you must have the courage to stand up for what you believe. That’s what those two men did yesterday, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Do you understand?”
Eliakim didn’t reply. He kicked at the packed clay rooftop with his toe. Hilkiah tried again to explain.
“Listen, son, the Levite who spoke out yesterday is my friend Zechariah. Do you know what happened to him after the sacrifice? He’s being held under arrest at the Temple, and they’re telling everyone he’s crazy. Zechariah could probably promise to keep quiet about his beliefs and maybe they’d let him go free. But I know my friend and he won’t do it. That takes courage, son. That’s being a man.”
Eliakim looked up at him. “Are you going to start protesting, too, Abba?” he asked. His voice trembled.
“No. I don’t have the authority and influence that Zechariah has. It would do no good at all for me to protest.” Hilkiah felt ashamed of himself, even though he could justify his reasoning. “But there is something else that I can do to help,” he said, remembering.
“What, Abba?”
“The other man who spoke out yesterday is Isaiah. He was born to the house of David, but I believe he is also an anointed prophet of the Eternal One. His prophecies have been a thorn in the king’s flesh for a long time, but today Ahaz reached the end of his patience. They’re going to arrest him the next time he prophesies. Zechariah begged me to warn Isaiah. He must leave Jerusalem immediately.”
“Let me warn him, Abba.”
“Absolutely not! It’s too dangerous.”
“Then it’s dangerous for you, too.”
“Yes, but I’m an adult—” “So am I!” Eliakim shouted.
Hilkiah felt trapped. If he convinced his son of the risk involved, the boy might beg him not to go. But he couldn’t let Eliakim take such a risk, either. “I’m the one who promised to go,” Hilkiah said at last.
“Abba, I’m not afraid. Please, let me show you that I’m a man. Let me do something as an adult. You said I should have courage, right? Let me warn Isaiah.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m smaller than you, and I can run faster and hide in the shadows better. Besides, they wouldn’t arrest a boy, would they?”
Hilkiah knew that his son had a point. And he knew how badly Eliakim longed to prove he was a man. He hesitated until his son made his final, decisive argument.
“Abba, you taught me that the God of Abraham would always protect me if I did His will. Won’t He protect me now?”
Hilkiah drew his son into his arms. Maybe he hadn’t failed after all. Maybe Eliakim had learned about faith instead of ritual.
Eliakim walked at a brisk pace, afraid that his courage would melt away if he didn’t hurry. He had never walked alone through the city at night, and every strange sound startled him, every familiar landmark looked eerily unfamiliar. He jumped when a dog barked in a nearby courtyard, certain that his pounding heart could be heard. But once he grew used to the sound of his sandals slapping against the paving stones, a sense of pride filled him. He was finally proving that he was a man.
The moon lit the narrow, twisting streets as he followed his father’s directions to the quiet alley where the prophet lived. It didn’t look at all like a street where royalty should live. Eliakim wondered why Isaiah didn’t live in the palace or at least among the noblemen’s houses high on the hill if he was born into the house of King David. Instead, Isaiah lived in a neighborhood where the stone houses were stuffed so tightly against each other that they couldn’t even catch a cool breeze.
Eliakim paused in the shadows to catch his breath, then crept up to Isaiah’s house, the last one on the street. He saw the faint glow of an oil lamp inside and wondered why it had been left to burn all night. He rapped lightly on the gate and waited, hoping someone would answer before his knocking awakened the neighbors. A moment later the door opened, and Eliakim recognized the man who had read from the scroll at the sacrifice.
“I’m Eliakim, son of Hilkiah, the merchant,” he said breathlessly.
“And I have a message for you from Zechariah the Levite.”
Isaiah didn’t seem surprised to see Eliakim. He nodded in greeting and led the way through the gate, crossing a tiny courtyard and entering the one-room house.
A small cooking hearth stood on one side of the room, cluttered with clay pots. Beside it was a homemade table littered with scrolls and the dimly burning oil lamp. Isaiah’s wife slept on a straw mat across the room with a baby nestled close to her. Another child slept on a mat by her feet. Eliakim thought of his own mother and two younger brothers who had all died, and he swallowed hard.
“Please sit down,” Isaiah said. He motioned to a wooden stool beside the table and Eliakim sat. “Can I offer you anything?” He gazed so intently at him that Eliakim felt naked.