Love In A Broken Vessel (37 page)

“Gomer. My name is Gomer. It means
complete.
” She was suddenly thankful for the Israelite officer who’d found her in the wilderness and his trivial knowledge of names.

“Complete,” he said, returning his attention to the road ahead. “Well, Gomer, I believe it suits the plans I have for you. My wife died three moon cycles ago, and I keep a few servants in my home. I think you’ll make my household complete.”

Gomer pondered the revelation, realizing that Ezri would have been one of the wealthy merchants in Samaria while she lived in Tamir’s brothel. Had he been one of her customers whom she’d failed to recognize? “My lord, I used to live in Samaria—in a house owned by Tamir. Are you familiar with her business?”

She heard him sigh. “I know of Tamir’s brothel. In fact, the woman who owned the brothel before Tamir was a family friend of mine. But I never required a harlot’s service. I remained loyal to my wife for the thirty-two years we were married.” He cast a grin over his shoulder. “I’m sure you and I have never met.”

She noticed a slight dimple in his right cheek, above his manicured, gray beard. “But you realize who I am—
what
I am?”

“As I said before, most people think me unconventional, Gomer. I yoke an ox to my cart in the city, and I purchase a young harlot to be my companion in my old age.” He shrugged his shoulder and chuckled. “I guess we’re both plowing new ground, aren’t we?”

• I
SAIAH
6:1 •

In the year King Uzziah died, I saw Adonay sitting on a high and lofty throne. The bottom of his robe filled the temple.

K
ing Uzziah’s burial processional stretched from Jerusalem’s southernmost gate through the valley of Hinnom and up the hill toward En Rogel. It seemed all of Judah had gathered to mourn their leprous king.

Hosea noticed Isaiah swipe at both eyes, and his heart broke. Uzziah’s death had hit his friend hard, the king’s role as second abba felt all the more keenly with the loss.

“Was your abba Amoz able to speak with Uzziah before the end?” Hosea’s voice was hushed.

Isaiah had chosen to walk among the prophets rather than join the royal household at the head of the processional. Honoring Amoz’s wishes, Isaiah and Uzziah agreed to keep silent about his idolatry under the condition that his worship cease. Many of the younger prophets had no reason to notice the strained familial relationship.

“Abba visited Uzziah the day before his death, but I wasn’t invited. They spoke privately. When he returned home, his
countenance was brighter, so I assume he and cousin Uzziah made their peace.” Isaiah glanced at Hosea, smiling through tears. “I believe Aya has softened Abba’s heart in many ways while he’s lived in our home.” They trudged in silence through the muck of Hinnom, the acrid smoke of lingering fires irritating already weepy eyes. “Yesterday, when I emptied our waste containers on the dump pile, I saw broken pieces of an idol, Hosea. I believe it was Abba’s Asherah.” His features were a mix of joy and fear. “What if he’s made all this progress, opened his heart—and then my prophecy today turns Abba away again? I don’t know how I could go on, knowing I’d embittered him at the moment he started to believe . . .”

Hosea halted Isaiah with a hand on his shoulder, allowing other prophets to pass them on the march toward the burial field. “Are you sure of your call, Isaiah? Did you hear Yahweh’s voice?”

“You know I did.”

“Do you believe the Lord called you to speak His message here, today, at King Uzziah’s burial?”

Isaiah glanced toward the front of the processional, where King Jotham rode his white donkey and the royal household followed at a respectful distance, Amoz and Aya among them. Hosea and Isaiah would join them for the ceremony, at Jotham’s request, but Isaiah’s features seemed a battlefield of warring emotions. Finally, resolve took control. “Yahweh’s temple remains in ruins. My cousin Jotham has made no attempt to steer the people back to Yahweh’s presence. We’re standing in the cursed valley of Hinnom, where pagan sacrifices still burn, and the men mourning Uzziah will soon pass by the high place at En Rogel. In what better place, and to what better audience, could I declare Yahweh’s message?” Shoulders square, chin raised, Isaiah said, “Yes. Today is the day I am to speak for Yahweh, my friend. I must trust Him to continue His work in Abba’s heart.”

Hosea laid his arm around Isaiah’s shoulders, and the two men resumed their steady gait. “Since Uzziah was denied
burial in the royal tombs, maybe Jotham will feel comforted that Yahweh spoke through a prophet at his abba’s grave.”

“We can hope for that,” Isaiah said with a dubious tone and lifted brow.

When the processional began congregating in the field owned by David’s descendants, Isaiah leaned close to Hosea. “I’m terrified. I’d rather hide here with the prophets or stand unnoticed near Abba and Aya—mourning Uzziah with the rest of Judah.” Hosea drew a breath to encourage him, but Isaiah’s determination spoke first. “But I
will
be obedient, my friend. The fire inside me won’t be quenched until I speak Yahweh’s message.”

Hosea patted his shoulder, following Isaiah through the crowd to take their place among the royal household, as Jotham had requested. “Trust Yahweh to lead you,” Hosea whispered as they trudged through the knee-high grass.

Will you be obedient, Hosea? Do you trust Me to lead you?
The voice was a mere whisper in his spirit, no cool breeze, no fire in his body.

Perhaps he’d imagined it. He continued following Isaiah, hurrying toward the front of the processional.

But before they reached the royal party, Hosea again heard the gentle sound of Yahweh’s call:
Show your love to her again.

“What?” He stopped midstride, and Isaiah turned around, looking puzzled.

“Are you all right?” he shouted from a few paces ahead.

“I’ll be fine. Go ahead.” Isaiah resumed his frenzied pace, but Hosea slowed to a determined march. “What do You mean, ‘Show your love to her’?” he whispered.

Buy her back.
The voice spoke on a gentle breeze this time.

Fear. Anger. Anticipation. Frustration. He felt them all as he hurried to catch up. It had been almost four years since Gomer had helped him escape from Arpad. He’d rebuilt his life in Tekoa. The children were well adjusted and content, spending their days with Aya and Yuval, their evenings at
home with him. How could Yahweh ask him to disrupt
their
lives again? Ammi wouldn’t even remember the ima who had abandoned him.
Why bring her back now, Yahweh?

No answer.

He kept walking in a haze of disillusion, murmuring the reasons he’d surely misunderstood Yahweh’s call. Finally, he arrived at the burial site, a projection of rocks in which a natural cave would be sealed with a large boulder. Hosea took his place between Isaiah and his abba Amoz.

Ready to begin his benediction, the high priest raised the sacred Nehushtan, the bronze snake Moses had crafted in the wilderness to heal those bitten by vipers. But instead of the droning voice of the old priest, Isaiah’s resonant tone carried on the breeze. “King Jotham, you know that I loved your abba deeply, and that my love for Judah flows from David’s royal blood—the same as yours.”

Jotham’s single nod gave tentative permission to continue.

“I’ve been given a message from Yahweh for Judah. May I speak?” He bowed humbly, awaiting his cousin’s approval.

“Abba, no!” Prince Ahaz shouted, wagging his knobby arm. “Tell him no, Abba. He shouldn’t be allowed to speak at my saba’s burial.” The boy, very near Jezreel’s age, already displayed the arrogant entitlement of royalty.

“Ahaz.” Jotham placed a quieting hand on his son’s shoulder, returning his attention to Isaiah. “I’m always willing to hear Yahweh’s message. Speak, Isaiah.”

Hosea watched a silent exchange between Jotham and Isaiah before the first-time prophet closed his eyes and opened his mouth. “I saw Adonay sitting on a high and lofty throne. The bottom of His robe filled His temple. Angels were standing above Him. Each had six wings. With two they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. They called to each other and said, ‘Holy, holy, holy is Yahweh Tsebaoth! The whole earth is filled with His glory.’ Their voices shook the foundation of the doorposts, and the temple filled with smoke.”

“Isaiah,” King Jotham interrupted, “did the temple in your vision appear to be the same as Yahweh’s temple here in Jerusalem?”

“Yes, my lord—except it was well maintained and gleaming with heavenly light.”

The king furrowed his brow, clearly displeased at the reminder of the temple’s neglect. “Proceed.”

“So I said, ‘Oh no! I’m doomed. Every word that passes through my lips is sinful. I live among people with sinful lips. I have seen Yahweh Tsebaoth!’

“Then one of the angels flew to me. In his hand was a burning coal that he had taken from the altar with tongs. He touched my mouth with it and said, ‘This has touched your lips. Your guilt has been taken away, and your sin has been forgiven.’

“Then I heard the voice of Adonay, saying, ‘Whom will I send? Who will go for us?’

“I said, ‘Here I am. Send me!’”

The gathering had fallen silent, caught up in the heavenly scene of Isaiah’s vision. Hosea, too, imagined himself in the very throne room of God, cleansed by holy fire, offering himself anew. What an incredible rendering of God’s power and mercy working in concert. Yahweh’s majesty—so infinite that only the bottom of His robe fit inside the once-grand temple in their golden city. Yet the purpose of His holy fire was always to cleanse, not to destroy.

Hosea fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands.
Send me! Yahweh, send me! I will show my love to Gomer and buy her back. I will obey You, though I am a man of unclean lips among a people of unclean lips. Cleanse us, Adonay, and send me.

King Jotham’s voice interrupted Hosea’s holy moment. “Can you interpret your vision for us, Isaiah? Tell us what you believe Yahweh intends me to do with such a vague vision.”

Hosea lifted his face from behind trembling hands, dumbstruck.
Vague vision?
He expected to see disappointment
on Isaiah’s face—the same disillusionment he was feeling. Instead, a confident glow lit his friend’s expression.

“Yahweh said to me, ‘Go and tell these people: No matter how closely you listen, you’ll never understand. No matter how closely you look, you’ll never see.’ King Jotham, you have been warned repeatedly to destroy the high places and return to Yahweh’s temple to worship. Until you become obedient to your current revelation, no further understanding will be given.”

And with those words still heavy on Hosea’s heart, Isaiah held out his hand to Aya, who willingly joined him. “Let’s go home,” he said.

“Wait!” Amoz stood like a deer caught in a hunter’s bow sight, looking first at Jotham and then at Isaiah. The battle of his heart raged on his features. “Your abba was a good man,” he said to the young king. “Yahweh’s power didn’t destroy him. The suffering made him stronger in the end.”

Still seeming to struggle with words left unspoken, Amoz’s eyes rested on Aya. His features softened, the battle won. “I’ve wasted years being angry and frightened.” He returned his attention to Jotham and added, “Don’t make my mistakes. Don’t let your sins hurt your son.”

Jotham made no reply, simply watched as the prophets followed Isaiah and his family away from the burial site. The gathered crowd remained silent. Hosea heard only the sound of Amoz’s weeping—and Isaiah’s comforting whisper as he walked arm in arm with his abba.

Hosea sat at Amos’s bedside, staring into the stormy features of his friend and teacher. The patriarch prophet had been bedfast for years, but he was no less headstrong than when he tended flocks. “You will not bring that harlot back into this camp!”

“Will you defy Yahweh’s command and force me to live as a liar before my students?” Hosea matched his tone. “I teach
my classes that they must obey whatever the Lord speaks to them—whenever, wherever, and to whomever they’re called to prophesy.”

“But what about your children?” Yuval’s whisper assaulted him from behind, and he turned to find her waiting with a cup of watered wine. “They’re finally settled, and what if something happens to you when you try to find Gomer? They’ve already lost one parent.”

He declined the drink, wishing he could take both the cup and the sadness from her. She set the wine aside and knelt at her husband’s shoulder, stroking his brow.

“I’d rather be bitten by a viper than bring Gomer back into the children’s lives—or mine—but I must obey Yahweh’s command. The Lord said to buy her back and show her my love again.” He squeezed Amos’s hand and released a frustrated sigh. “But first I must find her. Yahweh has been silent since we returned from Uzziah’s burial. I have no idea where to look.”

Hosea glimpsed the silent exchange between his friends. Yuval began picking at a seam, and Amos folded and smoothed his blankets—repeatedly. The silence screamed conspiracy.

“What are you two hiding?”

Yuval raised one eyebrow, insisting Amos bear the explanation. “Gomer is in Samaria,” the old prophet whispered. “The Lord woke me last night and told me.”

“And you’re just now mentioning it?” Hosea shouted, standing so quickly his stool toppled over.

“Sit down, young man!” Yuval’s eyes flashed, and she pointed at the errant stool.

Duly chastised, Hosea took a deep breath and regained his calm. “What else did the Lord say?” he asked, settling onto the stool beside his teacher and facing Yuval.

Amos’s expression resembled a child’s pout. Glancing here and there, he seemed perturbed at the forced confession. “Yahweh said nothing else, but I remain in contact with
Judean spies, and they tell me that Samaria is a boiling pot ready to spill out destruction.”

“I know the danger, but at least I no longer have to fear the two men trying to kill me.” Hosea had felt a measure of relief when he’d heard of Menahem’s death, but when his son King Pekahiah replaced Eitan with a new commander named Pekah, Israel churned in turmoil.

Amos’s eyes misted, his jaw flexed. “The danger reaches beyond personal matters, my son. Jotham is sending Judean spies to stir the pot, supporting a coup in Ephraim while Menahem’s son is still vulnerable in Samaria.”

Hosea paused, considering the complication of imminent war within Israel. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“You must travel through the wilderness and stay at the safe house in Shiloh,” Amos said, finally seemingly resigned to Hosea’s decision. “As far as we know, it remains a haven for Judean spies.”