THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE
THE
KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE
By
Robert Allen
CHAPTER
THREE
As King Ahaziah ran from Zibiah’s
chamber to escape from his mother’s evil eye, the young queen pulled her baby
closer to her, trying to hide him under the covers. Slowly wicked Queen Athaliah advanced across
the room until she stood right beside the bed.
To Zibiah it seemed like a bad dream from which she could not awake.
Athaliah glared down at her for what
seemed like hours, then suddenly thrust a bony finger right under her nose. “I’m the queen around here. Don’t forget that you nasty little girl. My son Ahaziah may be king, but the kingdom
belongs to me. No one is going to change
that. Not you or any of the others who
run around the palace calling themselves queen.
Not decrepit old Jehoiada the priest up in the temple or Elisha the
prophet where ever he is hiding. And
certainly not your precious little bundle hiding there under the covers.”
The queen poked a long crooked
finger at the bump under the covers.
“None of you will take it away from me.
It’s mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!
Mine!”
She began to laugh and scream at the
same time, so loudly that Zibiah covered her ears and the baby began to
cry. Athaliah ran around the room madly,
overturning the crib, smashing toys and throwing the baby blankets every which
way. Then she ran out the door and back
down the hall to her own part of the palace. For a long time Zibiah could still
hear her horrible laughter, and the baby cried and cried.
Both Zibiah and the baby felt tired
when the sun rose the next morning, but the young queen remained determined to
take her infant to the temple that very day for his dedication. Her maid had straightened the room after
Athaliah’s destructive rampage during the night. Zibiah knew the maid wondered why everything
was such a mess, but they did not talk about it at all. She feared that Athaliah had chosen that
particular maid for the task. She might
be a spy for the wicked queen.
Zibiah handed little Joash over to
the maid, “Give him a bath and dress him in white. We are on our way to the temple.”
The palace David built stood on the
hill called Mt. Zion just to the south of the temple mount. The morning sun reflected from the surfaces
of the magnificent gold covered building at the top of Mt. Moriah. The glory of the entire nation. The street under her feet included large
white stones grooved at intervals to make it easier for the horses to walk on
stone when it rained. Holding Joash
close to her breast she hurried up the hill afraid Athaliah might send someone
to stop her.
She didn’t need to worry,
however. The Queen, after her hideous
display of anger the night before, lay asleep behind her royal curtains. No one else paid any attention to a young
girl with a baby walking toward the temple.
At the end of the street a series of
long white stone steps led up to three arches over doors at the base of the
massive south wall of the temple. The
foundation wall stood even taller than the palace where Zibiah lived. She craned her neck, trying to see up to the
very top, then walked quickly through the archway. Entering the marble and gold lined corridor
known as Solomon’s Ascent she followed the hall up to the temple courtyard.
Zibiah had been to the temple only
once before when she was almost too small to remember. Stepping out of the corridor into the light,
the beauty before her brought tears to her eyes. Surely Jehovah must be a great God in order
to have such a beautiful place to live.
The courtyard before her opened
toward hundreds of tall marble pillars enclosing numerous open-air
porches. In front of her stood the holy
temple itself, towing several stories high and crowned with golden spikes which
caught the glint of the rising sun and seemed to burn like living flames of
fire.
From in front of the porch to the
holy place she saw a pillar of smoke ascending into the clear blue sky. The time of the morning sacrifice had come.
Hurrying now so as not to be late,
she walked quickly across the courtyard through the law marble wall that separated
the court of the Gentiles from the more restricted areas of worship. Another set of stairs carried her into the
Court of the Women. This marked the
extent of her access, so now she had to wait for a priest to come for her
sacrifice.
Her sacrifice! As soon as Zibiah stepped into the Court of
the Women she knew what she had forgotten.
She could not come to the temple without an offering. How could she have forgotten? In her haste to escape from the palace
without being spotted by queen Athaliah she had completely forgotten the lamb
tied up in the stables. Her parents had
sent the lamb all the way from Beer-sheba and she had forgotten it. Zibiah had known about the service of
dedication because of the lamb her parents had sent. They would be so happy to know that Joash had
been dedicated in the temple. And she
had forgotten the lamb for the offering.
In despair Zibiah collapsed in a
heap on the stairs, cradling her baby in her arms and weeping softly. The loss of sleep the night before and the
distress of forgetting the sacrifice overwhelmed her.
Almost immediately she felt the
comfort of an arm on her shoulder and a sweet, kindly voice whispering in her
ear. “It will be all right. Whatever is wrong, you mustn’t lose hope. God is with you. His rod and staff will comfort you.”
Ashamed to be caught crying in the
temple, Zibiah sniffled a little and brushed back the tears, turning to see who
showed her so much concern. The face of
the woman seated beside her on the stair seemed every bit as sweet as the voice
she heard. For some reason the face also
seemed familiar.
“Why, aren’t you Zibiah?” the woman
said. “The girl from Beer-sheba who
married Ahaziah the king’s son?”
“Yes, I am.” Zibiah blinked away the last of the tears,
amazed to have been recognized. “But how
did you know me?”
“I attended the wedding, although
you surely don’t remember me. My name is
Jehoshebeath. Jehoahaz is my
brother. I mean, Athaliah. I guess that’s what you are calling him now.”
“A sister? But what are you doing here in the
temple?” Zibiah couldn’t think of anyone
from the palace who came regularly to the temple. They all seemed to be Baal
worshippers to the best of her knowledge.
“I live here,” came the cheerful
answer. “My husband’s name is Jehoiada
the priest. But I might ask you the same
question. What are you doing here?”
Then, because she seemed so nice,
Zibiah told her the entire story. How
her parents had sent a lamb from their flock in Beer-sheba. How the new king has chosen a name and even
about Athaliah’s visit and terrible fury.
When she came to the part about forgetting the lamb in the stable she
could not keep the tears from flowing once again.
Jehoshabeath saw that Zibiah had
indeed been through a very hard time.
Instead of trying to stop the tears, she gently took the child from his
mother’s arms and let her cry. After a
time she began to speak again. “I am so
pleased that Jehovah has given my brother the king a wife who fears God. I am so happy that you have come to dedicate
your son to God today. I believe that a
son raised in the courts of the Lord will flourish under the blessing of the Lord.”
“But the sacrifice? What am I to do for a lamb?”
“Do not worry. Many years ago King Solomon decreed that a
sacrifice be offered every day on behalf of his son and all the sons and
grandsons and great-grandsons to follow.
I know the priests who offer that sacrifice today will be glad to do so
in honor of the dedication of a true son of David, one who not only descends
from his lineage but will be trained to love and serve his God.”
Jehoshabeath helped Zibiah to her
feet and placed the babe back into her arms.
Together they walked across the Court of the Women to where a priest
stood waiting.
“Jehoiada, this young lady comes to
dedicate her son to Jehovah. Her name is
Queen Zibiah, the wife of our new King Ahaziah.
The eighth day has come and Joash must be dedicated to the Lord
Jehovah.”
“May God be praised,” said the priest. Laying his hand gently on the forehead of the
sleeping infant he continued. “How I
have prayed for a godly king in Judah.
May God be pleased to grant our request in the person of this little
child. May he forever walk in the way of
the Lord, to enquire at the sanctuary of the Lord and to dwell in the house of
the Lord forever.”
The two women watched as Jehoiada
took the small child into his arms and carried him up the twelve steps to the
Court of the Men, stopping in front of the great altar. From a room off to the right another priest
led a small lamb toward him. Still
another priest slit the throat of the lamb and caught his blood in a bowl. Then they took part of the lamb up to the
great altar and burned it as a sacrifice.
Jehoiada stood still with the boy in his arms, praying and singing from
the psalms.
Zibiah felt bad that the lamb had to
die, but her parents had taught her that death came because of sin. If something else did not die in the place of
her son, then he would have to die in order to pay for his own sin. Zibiah’s mind grew sad, but her heart
rejoiced that God had provided a lamb to take the place of Joash. How thankful she was not to be worshipping
Baal who demanded that boys themselves be sacrificed. She did not understand how anyone could
worship Baal.
After the sacrifice Jehoiada dipped
a small branch in the bowl of blood and came back toward the women, carrying the baby and the
branch. Solemnly he handed the baby to
his mother. Then shaking the branch
gently he sprinkled a few drops of the blood on both of them.
“Praise ye the Lord,” said the
priest. “O give thanks unto the Lord,
for He is good; for His mercy endureth forever.
Blessed are they that keep judgment, and he that doeth righteousness at
all times. Remember me, O Lord, with the
favor that thou bearest unto thy people: O visit me with thy salvation; that I
may see the good of thy chosen, that I may rejoice in the gladness of thy
nation, that I may glory with thine inheritance.” (Psalm 106).
After the dedication Jehoshabeath
walked back to the palace with her new friend.
How happy Zibiah felt to have found someone she could trust in the city
of Jerusalem.
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