In the Shadow of Jezebel (2 page)

Sheba glanced at Hazi and found his expression chiseled stone. Hazi hated politics, as evidenced by his choice to join the royal guard rather than govern a fortified city as a Baal high priest like Ima Thaliah’s other sons.

Abba Jehoram seemed oblivious—or impervious—to Hazi’s displeasure. “Prince Hazi will lead his detachment of Carites to guard my lovely wife, who has demanded a visit with her ima, the Gevirah Jizebaal, in Jezreel.” He lifted a newly poured glass of wine in Hazi’s direction, and the usually charming prince offered a begrudging toast in return.

Sheba watched Ima Thaliah nudge Abba and whisper again. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to Sheba. “And you, my dear, will accompany Queen Athaliah to meet Jizebaal.” Mischief crept into his handsome features. “May the gods help you.”

Sheba gasped with delight—drawing a chastising glance from Ima for her lapse in etiquette.

A rumble fluttered over the gathering, and Sheba noted the impatient grumbling of the guards as they pulled the serving maids close again. Why were men so feral?

Abba Jehoram chuckled and extended his hand as an invitation for Mattan to address the gathering. “I can see our evening has whetted your appetites for celebration, but we must allow our maids to serve the evening meal.” Disapproval threatened to delay the lovely meal Sheba smelled wafting through the hall. With good humor, Mattan raised his voice above the din. “Take heart, my friends. We’ll open our temple gates for special offerings through the Astarte priestesses this evening.” Roaring sup
port erupted as the men released the maids to their appointed tasks. Mattan lifted his goblet again, signaling the meal to be served, while those at the head tables resumed their seats.

Sheba glanced at Hazi, his previous alarm replaced with a confident smile. He winked at her and bantered with his comrade Carites. As the youngest of Jehoram and Athaliah’s sons, Hazi had been given the chance to choose his future, and he’d chosen a soldier’s life. He was as tall as any of the paid mercenaries and more skilled with his dagger than most. Hazi and Sheba had always been the queen’s favorites, the “chosen ones,” as Athaliah’s other sons had called the pair. Hazi’s brothers hadn’t been as appreciative of their roles as Baal’s high priests—nor as committed to celibacy—as Sheba.

Ima Thaliah’s hand gently enfolded Sheba’s. “Are you pleased to finally meet Gevirah Jizebaal, Daughter?”

More than anything, she wanted to hug her ima and squeal. Instead, she met the queen’s penetrating gaze and offered a slight bow. “I am pleased to do anything you ask of me, my queen.”

The answer won her ima’s approving smile. Respect. Decorum. Compliance. Queen Athaliah was as gentle as a lamb when people met her expectations.

1 C
HRONICLES
23:28

The duty of the Levites was to help Aaron’s descendants in the service of the temple of the L
ORD
: to be in charge of the courtyards, the side rooms, the purification of all sacred things and the performance of other duties at the house of God.

J
ehoiada let the warm, honeyed wine soothe his parched throat and eyed Amariah, his old friend and high priest. He looked bone-weary, his eyes heavy, head nodding. Perhaps he could get a short nap before the meeting.

The meeting.
Yahweh,
will enough priests and Levites arrive to do the work?
It had become a weekly concern. Fewer men from outlying villages reported to the Temple for duty, which meant a smaller number of men must complete the same required tasks. Everyone fought exhaustion.

The downward spiral had started years ago when King Jehoshaphat toured the cities in Judah, appointing Levites as judges and scribes. Upon returning to Jerusalem, he established a central court, assigning two supreme judges. The high priest ruled on matters concerning the Temple, and a Judean tribal leader decided civil cases. Jehoshaphat intended to limit the power of his successor—the current King Jehoram—but the
sweeping changes demanded more service from the priests and Levites.

While King Jehoshaphat reigned, Jehoram and his wife shrewdly integrated Baal worship into some of Yahweh’s celebrations, but when Jehoshaphat died six years ago, the new king and queen set aside all subtlety. Pagan altars polluted every high place, and the people’s commitment to Yahweh faded amid promises of Baal’s freedom and pleasure.

How can we restore Your
worship, Yahweh?

As if sensing Jehoiada’s prayer, Amariah stirred, and Jehoiada reached across the table to wake him fully. “Are you ready, my friend?”

Amariah roused with a snort and a sheepish grin. “I suppose the Levites have put away their harps and lyres by now. I wonder why, among all Yahweh’s instructions to David, He excluded a tidy work schedule for weekly assignments?” He chuckled, clearly amused with himself, and then stretched his back, joints popping like pebbles under new sandals.

Jehoiada hurried from his own cushion to Amariah’s low-lying couch. He held out a steadying hand. “Let me help you.”

Amariah stared at the proffered hand, grabbed it, and then turned it over and back, examining Jehoiada’s smooth, brown skin. The high priest compared his own gnarled fingers and blue-veined hand. “How is it that you’re almost as old as I am, but you look like a man half my age?” Jehoiada grinned and drew a breath to answer, but Amariah added, “And how many animals did you sacrifice today? I don’t mean how many slaughters did you
oversee
. I mean how many did you
yourself
actually place on that altar?”

Jehoiada answered with a wry smile. Amariah wouldn’t believe the numbers if he confessed. He’d offered three bulls, five rams, and fifteen lambs to Yahweh this day, and only one very young priest had kept pace. “You want to know why I look younger than you?” The high priest furrowed his brow, and Jehoiada knew he’d piqued his curiosity. “It’s because the priests’ assistants like me better than you and give me the best portions of sacrifice for evening meals.”

Amariah cackled, good-natured as always, accepting Jehoiada’s help to stand. “Well, let’s go see if those priests’ assistants have everything ready for our meeting.” Laying his hand on Jehoiada’s arm, he leaned in gently. “One day you’ll be high priest, my friend.”

“What? No. I’m your second, and seconds are never promoted to high—we choose by lot, someone younger, Amariah. Like you said, I’m almost as old as you are. A high priest serves for a full generation. It wouldn’t make sense—”

“You have the qualifications, Jehoiada. You’re a firstborn. You’re a priest of Aaron’s line and the family line of Zadok.”

“But I’m old!” he said as they emerged from Amariah’s chamber to the Temple’s inner court. Several passing Levites issued sidelong glances, and the two top priests regained their dignity and returned respectful nods.

“Yes, you are old,” Amariah whispered, allowing the Levites to gain a safe distance. “But the Lord has placed on you the spirit of Moses, Joshua, and Caleb. Like those wilderness fathers, you haven’t aged and declined as normal bodies do. Yahweh doesn’t offer that kind of blessing without a godly purpose—a holy calling.”

Shame colored Jehoiada’s cheeks. “How could I ever be Yahweh’s high priest? My wife—may the Lord bless Anna’s soul—never bore children during our forty-year marriage. Surely if I wasn’t fit to be an abba, I am not fit to be high priest.”

“Our good King Jehoshaphat proved that siring sons doesn’t ensure God’s blessing. He was a faithful king, sought Yahweh with his whole heart, and had
seven
sons. But when he died, his firstborn killed all six brothers and holds his nephews hostage in the palace to dissuade retribution. We priests are faced with the very real concern of keeping the lamp of King David’s descendants glowing on Judah’s throne.”

Jehoiada felt his temper rising—as it always did when they discussed Judah’s reigning king. He glanced behind them to be sure he wouldn’t be overheard as they walked past the brazen altar and bronze lavers toward the large gallery behind the Temple. “King Jehoram is David’s descendant in name only. He
put Judah at risk by killing his brothers in cold blood—men who were loving husbands and abbas. Jehoram’s brothers followed Yahweh and—”

“And that’s what got them killed.”

Jehoiada squeezed the knots at the back of his neck. “Their faithfulness got them killed, but their leadership kept Judah’s borders safe. When Jehoram replaced his brothers with his pampered, pagan-priest sons as governors, it weakened the fortified cities, which weakened the whole nation—the military, the worship, and the morale. How can you stomach this king, Amariah?”

The high priest stopped walking and pulled Jehoiada into one of the storage chambers in the northern gallery. He, too, checked the hall to be sure they were alone. “I tolerate King Jehoram because I want our wayward king to know there’s always a way back to Yahweh. You and I remember him as a boy—before he fell under Athaliah’s spell. We knew his abba Jehoshaphat and the godly training invested in Jehoram and in this nation. Jehoram would never have killed his brothers without Athaliah’s evil influence. And now
her
sons build temples in the fortified cities they govern, as Jehoram built high places on every hill.” He straightened, adjusting his breastpiece, calming his tone. “For now, Jehoiada, Yahweh asks us to wait.”

“Wait for what?” Jehoiada’s shout echoed in the chamber.

Amariah’s single raised eyebrow tamed Jehoiada’s temper, reminding him of the high priest’s authority. An effective muzzle.

Jehoiada inhaled, closed his eyes, and regained his composure. “Will we wait for another of King Jehoram’s disastrous decisions—like going to war when Edom rebelled? The king and his commanders barely escaped with their lives, and now we’ve lost a third of Judah’s top soldiers in a fight we shouldn’t have fought. If Jehoram hadn’t killed his brothers, Edom wouldn’t have rebelled.”

“
Should haves
and
would haves
mean nothing, my friend. We wait for Yahweh’s decision through the Urim and Thummim to know what
will be
.” Amariah patted his sacred breastpiece, indicating the two stones hidden within it. “They’ve been Yahweh’s mouthpiece since the days of Aaron. We wait until we
have a question with two alternatives—black or white, yes or no, guilty or innocent.”

Jehoiada sighed, bone-weary, unsettled by the question nipping at his conscience.
Are the Urim
and Thummim
always
right?
“You see, my friend?” He squeezed Amariah’s shoulder and guided him out of the side chamber, refusing to voice his doubts. “Your wisdom makes you a better high priest than I could ever be.”

They continued down the hallway and into the rear gallery, the only part of the Temple complex large enough to muster a full week’s course of priests and Levites—sometimes as many as a thousand men. Yahweh’s servants awaited their assignments for the coming week, but what normally sounded like a beehive in the sprawling space sounded more like subdued echoes in a tomb.

Amariah’s puzzled gaze mirrored Jehoiada’s words. “Where are all the others?” They stood gawking at the four hundred who’d completed their week and maybe another hundred who’d reported for their upcoming duties.

At the height of King Jehoshaphat’s reign, his census of priests and Levites numbered thirty-eight thousand men aged thirty years or older. Every priest was a Levite, born of Levi’s tribe, but not all Levites were priests. The priests, all direct descendants of Moses’s brother Aaron, offered sacrifices before the Lord and were divided into twenty-four families. The Levites, divided into three clans, served within their specialized ministries as musicians, gatekeepers, and scribes.

Jehoiada knew most of the family leaders and many of their sons. A quick perusal of those present told him more Levites than priests had reported for duty, but they still might be unable to muster a full choir with the musicians.

Jehoiada lifted his hands for silence. “Quiet down! Quiet down!”

Sullen faces met his plea. Most of Yahweh’s servants lived on small plots of land interspersed throughout Judah and viewed their three to five weeks of Temple service each year as sort of a family reunion. Disappointment undoubtedly colored their reaction.

“Where are the rest?” Amariah’s reedy voice dissolved into the now echoing expanse. Those who stood before him stared at their feet, the ceiling, the walls—anywhere except the kind eyes of their gracious leader.

Jehoiada leaned close, trying to keep the panic he felt from seeping into his whisper. “I knew we faced steady decline since tensions with the Edomites, but this is serious. What do we do?”

Amariah stepped forward, ignoring Jehoiada’s question. “Thank you, brothers, for your willing and eager service of Yahweh. May I ask if any of you know the reason your fellow priests and Levites have not joined us?”

Accusations launched from every direction, angry priests and brother Levites stabbing the air to stress their complaints.

Amariah lifted both hands. “One at a time, brothers. Please, one at a time.”

A tall, slender Levite from Tekoa stepped forward as spokesman. Normally he was quite a reserved man, but now his leather-like skin was the color of his red-desert home. “My brother and nephews stayed to protect their families from invasion. The Judean troops in Tekoa spend all their time drinking wine and making so-called offerings to Baal’s shrine prostitutes.” Others began jeering, coaxing him to continue. “Judah’s military wouldn’t know we’d been invaded unless the marauders threatened their wine supplies.”

“Is this true of others?” Amariah asked, shouting over the general agreement spreading through the crowd. Quieting them again with lifted hands, he said, “Then, my brothers, the burden—and privilege—of service falls to us. We will work harder because we are fewer, but we will serve joyfully because we come willingly.”

Amariah’s gentle spirit seemed to sweep away their outrage.
Serve joyfully because we come willingly.
Indignation fell from their faces like leaves from an autumn tree. How could a man’s heart be so untarnished after serving all these years?

Awed, Jehoiada reached for the baskets of lots to begin assigning tasks. The first basket contained larger stones with all the Levite clan symbols, and the other baskets were designated by family, holding stones marked with specific men’s names.

“In keeping with the Law of Moses,” Jehoiada began, “Yahweh will now assign by lot your weekly service in His holy Temple.” He released a deep sigh, preparing himself for the long process. With so many men absent, the selection process could take hours.

The scribe poised his stylus over the parchment, ready to record results as Amariah drew out the stones. “For the task of baking the holy showbread, I call forward the clan of Nadab, the families of Harim and Seorim.”

A low hum began as men discussed their various assignments for the coming week. Trimming wicks, baking showbread, tuning harps, choosing Psalms, planning morning and evening sacrifices—a name was drawn for every task. Not once did Amariah’s hand draw a lot with the name of a priest or Levite not present in the room. After over half the duties had been filled, realization spread among them and wonder hushed every sound. Yahweh knew them by name and was actually
choosing them
.

With the final duty assigned, Amariah raised his voice, tears streaming down his weather-wrinkled cheeks. “How can we express our praise, O Lord? You used the common lots to convey Your holy presence and prove You have chosen us by name. May Your overwhelming majesty crush Your enemies and empower Your priests. May we serve You well and be faithful guardians of Your covenant forever.”

Jehoiada stood in hushed wonder beside his friend and high priest. Moments ago, he’d silently questioned the reliability of the sacred Urim and Thummim, but now God had spoken through
common
stones.
Perhaps Yahweh is
more reachable than I thought.