Hezekiah knew that if he lived for a hundred years, he could never repay G.o.d. As they began the final praise song, Hezekiah sang the words with heartfelt love for G.o.d. They were the words of his own testimony: The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid.

What can man do to me? ...

It is better to take refuge in the Lord

than to trust in man... .

All the nations surrounded me,

but in the name of the Lord I cut them off... .

I was pushed back and about to fall,

but the Lord helped me.

The Lord is my strength and my song;

he has become my salvation.

Hezekiah saw Yahweh clearly for the first time in his life-a G.o.d of power and love, a G.o.d of salvation. And even though he'd lost everything he'd worked for these past fourteen years, he knew that he still had Yahweh's love-and that was enough. If he needed to lose everything to finally see G.o.d face-to-face, then it had all been worth it.

"Now the Pa.s.sover celebration is complete," Isaiah recited, "even as our salvation and redemption are complete. Just as we were privileged to celebrate it this year, so may we be privileged to do so in the future."

"Amen, Rabbi. In the future." But Hezekiah knew that at this moment his nation's future was very uncertain. "How did I stray so far from what was right?" he asked quietly. "When did I begin to sin?"

"Your sin began after you severed your relationship with Yahweh."

"But how, Rabbi? How did I sever it?"

"You became separated from Him by unforgiveness."

"But I made all the right sacrifices; I confessed my sin every day. Which sin wasn't forgiven?"

"Not G.o.d's unforgiveness, Your Majesty-yours. The unforgiveness in your own heart."

"You mean Hephzibah?"

"Bitterness not only destroys you but it cuts you off from G.o.d. How can He forgive us if we can't forgive one another?"

"But how can I forgive her for what she's done to me?"

"What has she done?" Isaiah asked gently. "She put her faith in something other than G.o.d. Is that sin unforgivable, Hezekiah? Because if it is, then you have condemned yourself by your own confession. If she can't be forgiven, then neither can you."

Hezekiah leaned his elbows on the table and covered his face.

"Hephzibah isn't evil, Your Majesty, only weak and human like all the rest of us. G.o.d couldn't stop loving her because of her sin any more than you could."

After a long time, Hezekiah looked up. He tried to speak, but a fierce tightness gripped his throat. "I should go," he finally managed to say.

Isaiah stood and bowed slightly. "Thank you for sharing this Pa.s.sover meal with us, Your Majesty."

Hezekiah nodded as he rose to his feet. He embraced Isaiah briefly, then turned and left.

__________.

When Hezekiah stepped outside, the cold, damp air hit him like a pitcher of water tossed in his face. For a moment he felt disoriented, unsure where he was or where he should go. He started walking, but instead of climbing the hill to the palace, his feet carried him down through the twisting streets, out of the old City of David and into the new section Eliakim had built. The streets were deserted, but he saw lamps and candles flickering behind the shuttered windows and heard the faint sound of praise songs as the people of Jerusalem celebrated the Pa.s.sover feast.

This brief glimpse inside happy homes where families were gathered together made Hezekiah's life seem as barren and desolate as the Judean wilderness. He felt the familiar weight on his shoulders, the burden of loneliness and grief he had carried for so long, but he understood it now: it was a burden of his own making. He had fashioned it himself and fastened it to his own shoulders, making himself a slave to bitterness and unforgiveness. Pa.s.sover celebrated a time when G.o.d saw the burdens of His people and lifted them from their backs, setting them free to serve Him.

Hezekiah had never been to the villa he had built for his concubines, and it took him a while to find it. When he finally did, the front gate was closed and barred. He saw lamps burning in the gatekeeper's cottage and listened for a moment to the mumble of voices reciting the Pa.s.sover story. Then he drew a shuddering breath and knocked on the door. Shuffling footsteps approached.

"Who is it?" The gatekeeper's gruff voice let Hezekiah know he wasn't happy about having his meal disturbed.

"It's King Hezekiah."

"Yeah, right. And I'm the Queen of Sheba. Go away, you drunkard! Get out of here before I call the guards!" The footsteps retreated.

"Wait! I am King Hezekiah." He pounded on the gate again. "Open the door and I'll prove it."

"Quit your pounding! I'm not opening the gate to every drunkard who comes along claiming to be-"

"Open the peephole."

After a pause, Hezekiah heard the man fumbling with the latch to the viewing square near the top of the door and muttering "I don't know who you think you are, disturbing a man's peace in the middle of his meal... ."

It was too dark for the gatekeeper to see out, and Hezekiah had no torch, so as soon as the little trap door opened he held his hand up to it, displaying his royal signet ring.

"Look. I am the king."

He heard the gatekeeper gasp, then more frantic fumbling as the man removed the bars and opened the locks with trembling hands. "Forgive me! Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty," he stammered. "I didn't know... . I ... I couldn't tell ..."

"Of course you couldn't-never mind," Hezekiah said as the gate finally swung open. He rested his hand on the man's trembling shoulder. "Listen, I'd like ... I'd like to see Hephzibah, please."

As the man led him down the walkway to the last door, Hezekiah was grateful that it was dark, grateful that the gatekeeper couldn't see his face and read the emotions battling inside him.

"Here, my lord. This is her room." The gatekeeper started to knock, but Hezekiah stopped him.

"Wait. I'll do it. Go finish your dinner." The man bowed repeatedly as he backed away.

Hezekiah stared at the closed door for a long time, remembering the last time he had walked into Hephzibah's room at the palace. His chest heaved as he relived all the shock and pain he had felt when he found her bowing to a golden idol. But then he remembered his own sin-remembered the golden box from Babylon covered with pagan images, remembered the Babylonians bowing to him and honoring him as the favored one of the G.o.d Shamash. He closed his eyes and knocked.

"Come in."

His heart twisted at the sound of Hephzibah's soft, familiar voice. He lifted the latch and opened the door.

Hephzibah was sitting on her bed gazing down at her lyre on the bed beside her. She wasn't playing it, but her fingers stroked the frame as if the feel of the smooth wood brought back cherished memories. When she looked up and saw Hezekiah, she cried out. Then she slid off the bed and fell to her knees to bow.

"No, Hephzibah! Don't! Don't bow down to me!" Hezekiah dove forward, catching her by the shoulders to stop her. "Please don't, Hephzibah. I'm ... I'm just a man, can't you see? A sinful man-like any other."

She covered her face and wept.

Hezekiah pulled her up and seated her on the bed again, then crouched in front of her. He could barely speak. He struggled to force out each word.

"I've come to ask your forgiveness, Hephzibah. I had no right to condemn you. I ... I was so horrified when I saw the sin and idolatry in your heart. But now I see that the same sin is in my heart, too. I'm as capable of idolatry as you were ... as my father was ... as any other person is. I'm sorry, Hephzibah. I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me?"

Hezekiah buried his face in her lap and wept, remembering all that he had lost, realizing the terrible consequences of his sin and unforgiveness-the devastation of his land, the captivity of his people. Gradually he became aware of Hephzibah's hands caressing his shoulders, of her tears falling into his hair as she bent over him.

"No, Hezekiah ... no ... I don't deserve forgiveness."

He lifted his head to look at her. "None of us do. But G.o.d doesn't treat us as our sins deserve." He took her hands in his. "I should have shown you that. I should have shown you my G.o.d instead of making you serve a G.o.d you didn't know. I only showed you His rules and laws. But G.o.d doesn't want us to worship Him out of fear. He's our Father, and He wants us to learn to love Him with all our heart and all our soul and all our strength. I should have helped you know Him, Hephzibah. Then you would have loved Him. He's a merciful G.o.d, a G.o.d of love and compa.s.sion and forgiveness. But I never told you that. I never helped you see Him. Can you ever forgive me?"

"But I've wronged you and deceived you. You have every right to be angry with me."

"G.o.d will not harbor His anger forever. How can I? My anger and bitterness were killing me, just as surely as my illness was. They poisoned my relationship with G.o.d and separated me from His love, just as they separated me from yours. Will you give me another chance, Hephzibah? Will you let me show you this awesome G.o.d of forgiveness whom I worship?"

"I've already seen Him," she whispered. "Tonight. You showed Him to me tonight when you came here. If you can forgive me after the terrible things I've done to you, then I can believe in G.o.d's forgiveness, too."

Hezekiah stood, pulling her to her feet with him, and clasped her to himself.

G.o.d had joined them together. She was part of him. And as he took her face in his hands and kissed her, he felt whole again for the first time in nearly a year. Man and woman-then G.o.d will dwell in their midst.

"Let's go home," he whispered.

He snuffed out the lamp and closed the door behind them. Leaning close together, clinging to one another, they walked up the deserted streets to the palace.

27.

WHEN HEZEKIAH REACHED the palace, he was surprised to see torches and lamps burning in the council room and throne room. "You'd better wait for me in my chambers," he told Hephzibah; then he hurried down the hall to find out what was wrong.

"Your Majesty!" Shebna said breathlessly. "We have been searching all over for you. I have already summoned Eliakim and your other advisors. A message has arrived from the Egyptian camp. All is lost."

"What?" Hezekiah couldn't comprehend this news.

"Pharaoh's forces met the a.s.syrians in battle at Eltekeh. The Egyptians were slaughtered, Your Majesty."

"O G.o.d! No!" Hezekiah felt as if someone had squeezed all the blood from his body.

"The a.s.syrians mowed them down like summer hay."

The words of Isaiah's warning not to rely on Egypt's help sprang unbidden to Hezekiah's mind: "This sin will become for you like a high wall, cracked and bulging, that collapses suddenly, in an instant."

"We have no allies," he murmured. "We're the only nation left."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Shebna's face looked like a corpse's. "I am sorry. I never should have convinced you to join the alliance. I never should have promised you Egypt's help. Now you will surely be forced to surrender Jerusalem."

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