In the Shadow of Jezebel (14 page)

“Good. Our seven-day ordination begins in four days, and I don’t want anything to distract from our worship of Yahweh.”

The prince nodded his agreement. Jehoiada turned and walked out of the room, his back to the raging royals.

1 C
HRONICLES
9:19

The son of Korah . . . and his fellow gatekeepers from his family (the Korahites) were responsible for guarding the thresholds of the tent just as their ancestors had been responsible for guarding the entrance to the dwelling of the L
ORD
.

S
heba watched the priest walk out of her abba’s chamber, stunned by his rudeness, amazed at his boldness. No one had ever treated Ima Thaliah that way—not even Abba.

“He’ll regret the day he crossed swords with me.” Ima threw herself back onto the couch beside Sheba, directing her comment at Abba, whose face twisted in pain.

Sheba cast a woeful glance at Hazi, and emotion closed her throat. She’d held her tongue and her tears in check during the priest’s visit, but she was at her limit. Shoulders back, head held high, she wrapped herself in tattered dignity and walked toward Abba’s chamber door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ima shouted behind her.

“Let her go, Ima.” Hazi’s quiet words nearly released the floodgates of Sheba’s tears, but she held on.

She glided down the grand stairway and through the hall of women, then opened her chamber door with exaggerated
control. Startling her maids, she kept her voice level. “Get out. Now. All of you.” Her trembling began before the last maid hurried past her. Sheba slammed the door and flung herself across her fur-covered bed, releasing her screams into an embroidered pillow.

Muffled and completely unsatisfying, her tantrum spent what little energy she had left. She lay on her bed, numb. How had her life come to this? A few days ago, she had skipped into an evening meal, her only care the ruby earring a clumsy maid had dropped under her couch.

Now she faced the yawning emptiness of a lonely existence among poor priests in the Temple of a god she wasn’t sure existed—scheduled after some ceremony and two feasts.

A timid knock interrupted her pity fest. She grabbed a clay lamp and hurled it against the door. “Stay out!” The latch clicked, and she looked for another lamp to ready her aim.

Hazi peeked around the edge of the door. “Is it safe?” Her wellspring of tears gushed again, and he hurried to her side. “Oh, Sheba.” He gathered her in his arms and rested his chin on her head. “I suppose your first meeting didn’t go as well as we’d hoped.”

She shoved him away. “As well as
we’d
hoped? How long had you known I was to marry Methuselah?”

“Ha!” Hazi’s belly laugh lightened the mood. “He’s not
that
old, is he? I thought he was quite good-looking for an ancient priest.”

Sheba wouldn’t be distracted. “How long have you known, Hazi? And did you realize I would be reduced to a maid?”

His eyes softened, and he smoothed the curls off her forehead. “Ima summoned me to Abba’s chambers only a few moments before you arrived. That’s when I was told of Yahweh’s new high priest. They prepared me with a list of demands for bride negotiations that Jehoiada never gave me the chance to stipulate.” He winked and issued a tentative smile. “But I like him, Sheba.”

“Then you marry him!” Sheba thrashed him with her pillow. “How old is he anyway?”

“I don’t know exactly, but Abba said he served with the high priest Amariah during Saba Jehoshaphat’s reign.”

Sheba gasped, doing some quick figuring in her mind. “He’s got to be at least . . .”

“But he doesn’t look any older than Abba,” Hazi added before she could hazard her guess.

Her brother was pressing too hard in this priest’s favor. Her eyes narrowed, measuring his all-too-perky expression. “Ima sent you in here, didn’t she?”

Pursing his lips, he hesitated before answering. “We’ve always been honest with each other, haven’t we, Sheba?”

Her heart twisted. She ignored the question and said, “Tell me, Hazi. What is it?”

“You’re right, Abba and Ima sent me to convince you to marry Jehoiada, but the truth is—I’m afraid for you to stay here alone after I’m gone.” She couldn’t meet his gaze, didn’t deserve his love and loyalty, but he tilted her chin up and studied her. “I don’t know what happened in Jezreel with Gevirah Jezebel”—they both chuckled at his daring use of the slanderous name—“but I know whatever they planned is tearing you apart, and I believe Jehoiada will protect you. It may not be the life you hoped for, but it’s life. Marry him, Sheba.” He tapped the end of her nose and grinned. “It will put my mind at ease while I marry every pretty girl in Judah.”

She wanted to smile and pretend it was okay—but it wasn’t. “What about a bride’s betrothal year? What about a bridegroom preparing for his bride and coming with attendants to collect her? Am I to be robbed of every happiness in this life?” The last words were garbled by a sob, but Hazi didn’t need to understand what she said to know her heart.

He gathered her in his arms again. “I don’t know exactly how your wedding celebration will proceed, but I know everyone in the city is adjusting to death and destruction. Perhaps your wedding will give Jerusalem something to celebrate while we’re trying to rebuild. I know it’s not perfect, but . . .”

“I hate her. I hate both of them.” Sheba spoke the hard words softly into Hazi’s shoulder. He knew who she meant.

“I know.” He held her. Silently. Patiently. Without judgment. When her muscles began to cramp, he helped her stretch out
on the bed. “I’ll get your maids. You need some sleep, and I’ll return before the evening meal to hear your answer for Jehoiada.”

The thought of giving an answer made her nauseous, but she let him send the maids. Sleep. She needed sleep. Perhaps the gods would reveal what she should do in a dream.
And if Hazi likes
this old man, perhaps he’s not all bad.

She was too weary to wrestle with her thoughts and gave herself to the ministrations of her maids.

Jehoiada returned through the King’s Gate to a multitude of curious priests awaiting word of the bride negotiations.

“Will you pay a mohar out of the Temple treasury?”

“When’s the wedding ceremony?”

“Is she beautiful?”

A string of questions and a line of priests followed Jehoiada all the way into the rear gallery, where more priests anxiously awaited his return. Before they could add their inquiries, Jehoiada lifted his hands—as much in surrender as pleading for silence. “Please, brothers. We have much to accomplish and little daylight to do it.” An eruption of more questions confirmed that the marriage topic wouldn’t be put off so easily.

“All right. All right!” He slammed his hand on the center table, startling them into silence. “I presented King Jehoram with two conditions, and the royal household has promised an answer by tonight’s sacrifice. As for your other questions: No, the date has not officially been decided. No, Temple funds will not be used for a bride-price. And
if
the marriage occurs—as Yahweh directed through the Thummim—the princess will live on Temple grounds as the high priest’s wife and nothing more.”

Shock. Disbelief. Utter horror stared back at him. What had they expected? That the couple would share a palace on the western ridge?

“We have much to accomplish today,” he continued without addressing their obvious concern. “The first task being the appointment of my second priest. The Law gives no specific requirements, leaving it to the high priest’s discretion and Yah
weh’s approval by Urim and Thummim. I have chosen Nathanael ben Jotham, of Remiel’s family. After drawing the family’s lot from the first basket last night, and Nathanael’s stone from the second basket, I believe the Lord’s hand of favor is on the young man.”

An excited buzz worked through the room, and like the Red Sea the crowd of priests parted, allowing Nathanael to join Jehoiada.

Nathanael bowed slightly, whispering, “Me? Are you sure? I have no idea what a second priest’s responsibilities entail.”

Jehoiada chuckled and matched his quiet tone. “Neither did I when Amariah chose me.” Again lifting his voice above the excitement, Jehoiada questioned Nathanael publicly before drawing from the breastpiece. “Nathanael ben Jotham, of the family Remiel, I have chosen you to serve as second priest for all the days I, Jehoiada ben Jonah, serve as Yahweh’s high priest. You will be required to live in community, with whatever wife and children Yahweh blesses you with, in the chambers of Yahweh’s Temple for as long as you serve Him. Can you commit to such a calling?”

The young priest blinked several times before answering, and Jehoiada wondered if fear of another Urim rejection might deter him. “Yes, Brother Jehoiada. If Yahweh accepts my service, I will commit my life to Him.”

Jehoiada placed both hands on Nathanael’s shoulders, steadying him, and then reached for the breastpiece of decision lying on the table behind them. Jehoiada lifted his brow at the priest’s assistant, silently asking if the stones were ready. A confirming nod, and Jehoiada reached inside. He closed his eyes and drew out the stone, holding it aloft without looking—so certain was he of Yahweh’s approval.

The room erupted into cheers, and Nathanael covered his face and wept.

Jehoiada engulfed him in a hug, surrounded by others joining their celebration. The high priest stepped aside, allowing those who knew Nathanael best to encourage him most. To feel rejected by Yahweh as he might have last night would embitter
some, but this young man was willing to lay his heart bare before the Creator again. Jehoiada wiped a tear and called the group to order once more.

“Another task lies before us, and then we must resume our many duties.” The priests quieted as Jehoiada continued. “Eleazar, the chief keeper of the threshold, was killed in the Temple attack. I’m appointing a new chief gatekeeper.” He scanned the sea of faces but saw only priests, no Levites. Addressing the priests nearest the doorway, he said, “Send for the Kohathite guard Zabad.” A low hum rumbled through the gathering. “Many of you won’t know this young man, but he’s largely responsible for saving Jerusalem, and I believe him to be courageous and strong of heart.”

Zabad appeared at the doorway, confusion etched on his features. “You called for me?” He glanced around the room of priests, clearly intimidated, but stepped inside, fixing his gaze on the new high priest. “How may I serve you?”

Jehoiada smiled, accepting the young man’s question as unwitting compliance. He extended his hand, summoning the Levite to the center table. He whispered for Zabad’s hearing alone, “Remember last night when I told you we’d need leaders to replace those we’ve lost?”

Zabad’s brow furrowed, but he stood courageously as Jehoiada began his public questions. “Zabad
ben Seth
.” He paused, emphasizing Zabad as the son of a Levite, not simply the son of an Ammonite woman. The guard nodded furtive thanks. “I choose you as chief keeper of the threshold to oversee the Temple gates, treasury, and chambers, and to open Yahweh’s gates for His worshipers every day for the rest of your life. You will be required to live in community, with whatever wife and children Yahweh blesses you with, in the chambers of Yahweh’s Temple for as long as you serve Him. Can you commit to such a calling?”

Zabad glanced around the room and back toward the doorway, where a few curious Levites had gathered. “May I ask a question before giving my answer, Brother Jehoiada?”

“Of course.”

“Why? Why would you make me
chief
gatekeeper? Why not honor one more worthy or experienced?”

Jehoiada lifted his voice, addressing the growing crowd. “I have chosen Zabad because I have seen him defend Yahweh’s Temple and its high priest without prejudice or favoritism—against the king’s Carites, against heathen Philistines and Arabs—and I believe he would defend this Temple against even Yahweh’s priests, should any of us transgress His laws.” He placed a hand on Zabad’s shoulder. “This is why you are my choice. Shall we ask Yahweh for His decision?”

Zabad gulped audibly, his eyes as round as the king’s incense saucers. A nod was his only reply, but it was enough to send Jehoiada’s hand into the breastpiece of decision once more.

He held up the white Thummim in front of Zabad’s eyes before checking its color. “This, Zabad, is Yahweh’s approval of you. Don’t let any man say you are less than worthy of Yahweh’s best.”

A reserved applause rippled through the priests, quite subdued compared to the festive response Nathanael had received. But Zabad didn’t notice. His eyes were full of Yahweh’s approval, which flowed in tears down his cheeks.

Jehoiada watched the celebration surrounding him and was suddenly awed at Yahweh’s grace and mercy. Though he still mourned Amariah’s loss, the blossoming ministries of these young men provided hope, where yesterday there was only discouragement. And Jehoiada’s marriage to the young princess was beyond unconventional, but perhaps Obadiah had been right when he reported Elijah’s letter to Jehoram and said Yahweh was at work in Judah.

Jostled back to the present as the priests exited, Jehoiada shouted above the commotion, “You’ve each been given your tasks for this day. We’ll meet back here shortly before the twilight sacrifice.”

Nathanael and Zabad lingered beside him, and Jehoiada opened his hand, realizing he still clutched the white Thummim.