Jerusalem's Hope (28 page)

Evidently, Jehu smarted from criticism leveled at him by Zadok over the incident at Siloam Tower. When he stormed into the caverns with Ephraim and Meshach trailing after, it was clear he was boiling mad. After a cursory examination convinced him no one other than Lev was present, he launched into his complaints.

“What's happened to Zadok?” he fumed to his followers. “Has he lost his courage? Taking the side of Romans and apostates against his own people?”

“It's bad enough the aqueduct defiles the land, but destroying the pasture as well?” put in Ephraim. “That centurion may say he'll correct the problem, but you can't trust him! Nothing will really change. You'll see.”

“I know it,” Jehu growled. “Nor will it stop there! Watch: in less than a year Migdal Eder's best grassland will all be trampled! That cursed aqueduct!”

Ephraim added, “And lambs continue to disappear! It hasn't stopped because Zadok made a deal with the Romans.”

“You know,” Meshach said with a lowered voice and a glance around that suggested he had an ominous secret to share, “the water in the Roman canal will pollute the sacrifices.”

“What?” Jehu demanded. “What do you mean?”

Nodding vigorously, Meshach explained. “I heard it from my cousin Rehoboam, who got it from his best friend, Amaziah: part of the aqueduct crosses a cemetery!”

Emet peered between the slats of the pen to watch the response.

“Are you certain?” Jehu inquired.

Meshach thumped himself on the ear. “May my brains be turned to steam if it isn't so! Across a graveyard! Not only is the water in the channel polluted, but it will defile every drop in the Temple cisterns! All our care to provide spotless lambs will be worthless!”

“Someone needs to do something!” Ephraim insisted. “We should tell Zadok about this.”

“That's right,” agreed Lev, speaking for the first time. “Zadok will tell the high priest. And he'll make the Romans stop.”

“You will
not
tell Zadok,” Jehu insisted, rounding sharply on the lambing barn attendant. “He'll find a way to compromise again. He's getting too old! And too soft to be chief shepherd.”

Lev looked dubious. “But the appointment is for life,” he objected dully. “Zadok will always be chief shepherd . . . till he dies.”

Was there a hint of hopefulness in that? Emet wondered. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished he were somewhere else. Bear nuzzled beneath Emet's arm. Emet buried his face against the lamb's soft fleece. Perhaps being able to hear was not such a fine thing at moments like these. The word
betrayal
popped into Emet's mind.

“Look,” Jehu argued in a softer tone. “Lev, you're a clever fellow. That's why we took you into our confidence, eh? Zadok talks to you about his plans when he doesn't speak to the rest of us. And you'll tell us what he says, won't you? It's for his own good, you know.”

“I don't know,” Lev countered. “Isn't that like spying?”

“Lev,” Ephraim offered in a wheedling tone, “if that centurion hadn't interfered, we'd have driven the stoneworkers away and stopped the ruin of the pasture . . . isn't that right?”

“I guess so,” Lev responded.

“Of course it's so,” Meshach seconded. “You should have seen them ducking from our slingstones! Cracked that son of Oren the stonecutter right on the head.” He smacked his hands together.

The noise made Emet jump. Bear bleated and backed away, scampering across the pen to Old Girl. Emet was glad that the rustle of straw his movement caused couldn't be distinguished from the other crunching sounds made by the ewes and their lambs.

“If that Roman hadn't interfered . . . ,” Meshach continued.

“But Zadok has taken sides with the centurion . . . which means, with the defilers, right?” Ephraim noted. “We have to help him. But how can we if we don't know what he's thinking . . . what he's planning?”

“But don't say anything to Zadok . . . just listen and tell us,” Jehu put in sharply. “Got it?”

Lev agreed.

“We need,” said Lev slowly, “a big earthquake to knock that tower down. Then everyone would see how offended the Almighty is. And the whole thing would stop.”

Jehu and the others exchanged tolerant looks. The Almighty didn't often express His displeasure in such ways. But let Lev think what he wanted. Lev would be of use to their purposes. “Knock the whole thing down,” Jehu concurred. “Let the Gentiles and the apostates pack up and get off our land for good!”

Even though Jehu and his two friends left right away, Emet didn't emerge from his corner until he heard Lev working at the far end of the stalls. Then he slipped out unseen and went home.

Tonight Avel sat close to Zadok at the watch fire. “And David slew the lion with his sling. A rare thing nowadays for a lion to threaten a flock. There were plenty of quiet nights when David learned to sing. Sheep like music, I think.”

Emet and Ha-or Tov, with the black lamb curled up between them, dozed as the old man told stories of long-ago shepherds. Emet had dreamed terrible dreams the night before. He had quaked and started throughout the day, yet would not give the reason why. At last he had fallen into a sound sleep. It was a good thing, Avel thought.

But Avel hung on every word out of Zadok's mouth. In this way they passed the night.

Already several lambings had gone easily. Ewes and new babies were settled and safe in their pens.

And there were more stars than Avel had seen in one sky.

“So this is what David meant when he sat here on this hill and praised the glory of God's creation,” Zadok said. “In all the world only one creature doesn't easily recognize God in creation: man. Our eyes turn inward to our own thoughts, backwards to a word, an insult, a gesture from another, until we can't see the
now.
In Yerushalayim, in the city, when we go there, you'll see it on their faces. They're taking on burdens not their own, like a servant stuffing his marketing bag with stones. They turn their minds toward objects and away from the God who made them. That's what was meant when the Lord commanded that we have no other gods before him. Business. Family squabbles. Gossip. Disapproval. The next big deal. Men arrange. Their plans go wrong. They rearrange. It's seldom what they hoped it would be. They are disappointed. Or they're satisfied with mediocrity when there is much more joy to be grasped by simply looking around and remembering to praise God!”

Zadok reached his gnarled hand toward the stars in a gesture that reminded Avel of Yeshua that night in the hills of Galilee. “Look at it,” Zadok breathed in awe. “And yet for most of mankind not one single hour of one day is spent in the pure wonder and praise of being alive!” He gestured toward the torches on the parapets of distant Herodium. “Humans who dwell in towers of stone are fleeting shadows against the walls. They pass through corridors of power and vanish. Names and achievements are forgotten after one generation. Only the stones remain where they used to be. A house. A room. Someone else living there. They who live a life without praising God for constellations and sunsets live without living! They miss the joy of standing in awe beneath the stars God made for their pleasure because they are thinking of yesterday and worrying about tomorrow. They can't see what is beyond themselves . . . to
now!
Do y' know what I'm saying, child?” Zadok held Avel in his gaze. “Listen!”

Avel nodded, listening to the creak of the world in the night. It was a sort of harmony. Music too deep for words. “I hear it.”

“Yes! Yes!
Now
you're alive! See the miracle of your own hands. A beautiful creation, hands. Babies sit and stare in wonder for hours at little fingers. I always admired that about my own babies.”

Avel studied his hands. Dirt beneath his nails. The scar on his thumb. The pattern of lines on his palms. The way his fingers moved at his unspoken desire. Yes. Miraculous. Worthy of amazement. Of praise, even.

Zadok's face glowed with pleasure at Avel's understanding. “To comprehend this is to understand the heart of a shepherd. He says to his flock: ‘Now you are safe! What have you to fear at this moment? If there is danger I'll protect y'. If you're hungry, I'll feed y'. If y' thirst, I'll lead y' to water!'

“And this is what God, the Father who watches over his flock, wishes us to know.

“Now there is beauty shimmering in the night sky! It costs nothing. It cannot be bought or sold, and yet it is glory beyond measure! All around! Hear it as we shepherds have always heard it! How the air hums with the slow breathing of the sleeping flock. Remember! You're sheep in his pasture. He cares for y', child! Trust God for
now.
This moment, and this moment! One moment at a time. And that'll get y' through anything.”

The aged shepherd touched his scar and smiled, as if it contained evidence of that trust.

Avel glanced up at the sky as a meteor carved a blaze of light across the black vault of heaven.

“That's the blessing of a shepherd's life,” Zadok said softly. “Now the meteor streaks through the sky, and we alone in all the universe are privileged to see its passage.
Now
is all we're promised. The past can't be changed; the future may not exist for us. And yet most mankind dwells in one or the other. And so our Father in heaven whispers on the wind to us, both the shepherds and the flock, ‘Be still and know that I am God!'”

They passed the next hours one moment at a time. Avel had never felt such contentment. He felt a kinship with David, the shepherd boy who became the great king over Israel.

But it had all started here, in Beth-lehem.

It was nearly morning when the summons to Zadok and Avel arrived at Migdal Eder by way of a Temple courier on horseback. Zadok snapped open the dispatch and sighed as he silently read the words. Impressing his reply on the wax, he sent the rider back to the city.

“So, Avel. You and I are summoned to Yerushalayim. To the house of Nakdimon ben Gurion. He and Gamaliel of the Sanhedrin wish a word with the two of us about matters of grave importance. I have to know, boy, did y' tell him the message you were sent to give me?”

“No, sir. Only that we were sent to Migdal Eder in Beth-lehem.”

“Good. It must remain locked in you.”

ELZERUBAVEL

T
he next day Avel and Zadok waited on the stone bench inside the atrium at Nakdimon ben Gurion's house. Zadok put a finger to his lips, indicating that Avel must not speak unless he was addressed.

An elderly Ethiopian servant brought them large cool draughts of pressed apple cider to drink, a tray of dates and almonds, and water for washing. He knelt to remove Zadok's shoes and washed the old shepherd's feet. He left Avel to tend to himself.

The slave had ebony skin and teeth like aged ivory. His white hair was a sharp contrast to his jet-black complexion.

“Master Nakdimon will be with you shortly.” The servant's voice was heavily accented. His left ear bore the mark of an awl, indicating that he had chosen a lifetime of servitude in the house of his master. And why not? Avel thought, as he peered around at the luxurious surroundings. A slave in bondage to a man like Nakdimon lived better than nearly every free man in Israel. Avel remembered the generosity of the ruler with the Sparrows. It was clear from what Avel saw around him that Nakdimon could afford to be generous!

So this was what lay locked behind the gates of a rich man's palace. Avel drank it in. The air was cool and still, except for the pleasant gurgle of water in the fountain. This was a different world from the stink and press of Jerusalem's packed lanes. Massive stone walls, topped with shards of broken pottery, blocked the clamor of the rabble and kept thieves from entering.