Among the Gods (37 page)

Joshua held the oil lamp in his right hand, feeling along the clammy wall with his left as he slowly groped his way through the meandering tunnel. He had only been inside it once before, with his father, but the suffocating darkness, the weight of the rock closing in around him, the terrible heaviness bearing down on top of him, were all so familiar it was as if he had been inside this tunnel many times. The icy water grew deeper as he sloshed through it, the passageway narrower, like his lungs as he struggled to breathe.

He inched his way forward, searching for nearly ten minutes before he found what he was looking for: Abba’s inscription. He held the light close to read the words his father had chiseled into the stone, feeling them with his fingers.
Behold the tunnel …

Those were the only words he managed to read before a spasm of coughing overwhelmed him. As he fought to catch his breath, the lamp jostled in his hand. The wick sputtered and sank beneath the oil. The flame died. Joshua plunged into total darkness.

“Abba!” he cried out in panic. But his father was dead, and his heavenly Father was too far away to hear his cries. He knew that his own anger and unforgiveness had separated him from God. They were the true source of his darkness, just as Miriam had said. When he’d turned his back on God, he had walked away from the only Source of light.

Joshua’s limbs went numb with terror. He wanted to run from this terrible black void, but he was too dizzy and disoriented to move. He shivered, shaken to realize that Manasseh had lived in this eternal darkness, this midnight of the soul, for most of his life; now Joshua was lost in it, too. How would he ever find his way out?

Suddenly, above the sound of his panicked gasps, Joshua thought he heard a noise. He held his breath, listening.

“Abba?”

At first he thought it was a ghostly echo of his own cry. Then he heard it again. “Abba? … Abba, are you in here?”

Joshua recognized Nathan’s voice, heard the sound of his feet splashing through the water.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here, son.” He slumped against the wall in relief, unable to draw enough air to shout again. Trembling all over, he waited for the bobbing light to appear. After the terrible darkness he’d endured, Nathan’s puny lamp seemed to glow as brightly as the sun. Nathan’s face creased with worry as he looked him over.

“Why are you in the dark? What happened to your light?”

“It went out…. I …” He couldn’t finish.

“Abba, listen to you, wheezing like that. I don’t think it’s good for you to be wading around in this cold water. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Joshua knew that if he tried to walk he would fall flat on his face. “Wait … there’s something I want you to see. Shine the light on this wall…. There … can you read what it says?”

“‘Behold the tunnel,’” Nathan read. “‘Now this is the story of the tunnel—’”

“My father started digging at both ends,” Joshua said, interrupting, “and the workers met here, in the middle. How do you suppose he did that? How did he ever get two separate, meandering tunnels to meet?”

“I don’t know.”

“They didn’t meet at first,” he said, remembering the story. “Abba told me that one end was higher than the other. Hold the light up so you can see.” Nathan lifted his arm to shine the light above their heads. The ceiling was higher than either of them could reach. “You see that? One tunnel had to be lowered to meet the other one—” Joshua suddenly felt the weight of angry tears pressing against his eyes. He cleared the lump from his throat. “You know what Manasseh told me today? He said that God
lowered
himself, down to the prison cell where he lay, to offer Manasseh His forgiveness. Can you believe that, Nathan?”

“Yes, I do believe it,” he said quietly. “That’s what God is like. That’s what you taught me, Abba.”

“When did I ever say that?” he asked angrily.

“You showed me. Day after day, year after year … you showed me. ‘As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.’ Remember how much I hurt you when I rebelled—stealing, making idols, turning my back on God’s laws? Remember how much pain you felt when you had to watch me suffer the consequences of my sins? You didn’t want me to be flogged and punished—you were willing to take my punishment for me. When I was lost among the pagans at the Egyptian festival, you searched for me and found me and carried me home again. Colonel Simeon demanded justice, but you didn’t want justice for me, you wanted forgiveness. You didn’t want me to be banished and to die separated from you.”

“Of course not, Nathan … I …”

“Abba, you never gave up on me. You forgave me again and again and begged the council to forgive me. I know how much you longed for me to return your love all those years, yet you waited. It had to be my decision. But remember how you felt after the first battle, when you held me in your arms again? How you felt after so many wasted years, when I finally called you ‘Abba’? That’s how God felt when King Manasseh finally turned to Him. That’s why God forgave Manasseh. He didn’t want to see His son die for his sins any more than you wanted to see me die. ‘As a father has compassion on his children.’ That’s what the psalm says, Abba. ‘As high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love….’”

Joshua stared at the reflection the lamp made on the water, waiting until he could trust himself to speak. “Miriam told me that forgiveness is costly. She said I would pay the price if I chose to cancel Manasseh’s debt.”

“Abba, you were willing to pay my debt, willing to take my punishment and be flogged in my place.”

He looked up at Nathan through his tears. “Does that mean that God is also willing to pay the cost and bear the punishment for all of our sins?”

“I guess it must,” Nathan said softly. The tunnel was silent for a moment except for the sound of Joshua’s labored breaths. “Abba, you’re getting sick. This breathing attack is a bad one. You need to get out of this cold water. Do you want to carry the lamp?”

“No, you carry it.” Joshua followed Nathan out of the tunnel, leaning against the wall for support, his knees still trembling badly. When they finally emerged, the night air was warm, the heavens splashed with stars. It seemed like a different sky than the one Joshua saw every night on Elephantine Island.

“I suppose you’ll want to stay here in Jerusalem,” Joshua said as they walked home.

“I want to live wherever you do, Abba.”

“But I’ll probably go back to Egypt. I know how much you’ve always hated it there.”

“It’s only a place. It doesn’t matter where I live. I want to stay with you, work with you—if you’ll let me.”

Joshua stopped and pulled Nathan into his arms, holding him close. Was it possible that God had allowed all those years of struggle with Nathan just to show him His own heart toward His rebellious children?

“I love you, Nathan.”

“I know you do, Abba. I know how very much you do.”

30

T
HE BREATHING ATTACK WAS THE WORST ONE
Joshua had ever had in his life. He feared that it might kill him. He tossed on his pallet, delirious with fever, as his exhausted lungs slowly filled with fluid. For days, he drifted in and out of consciousness, aware at times of Miriam or Nathan sponging him with water to cool his fever, propping him up so he could cough, or wrapping him in blankets when he shivered with chills. He grew so weary of his struggle to live that he longed to quit, but the sound of Miriam’s voice always urged him to draw another painful breath.

At one point when he opened his eyes, he saw Joel kneeling beside him. “Joshua, do you want to make peace with God?” he asked kindly. “Do you want me to pray with you?”

Joshua knew what Joel was asking and why.
“You’re going to die separated from God,”
Miriam had warned,
“while Manasseh, who did evil his entire life, will die reconciled.”

“Am I going to die?” he asked the high priest.

“You’re gravely ill, Joshua.”

“Yes … pray,” he whispered, closing his eyes again. “Ask God what His will for me is…. Tell Him … I want to obey it….”

He heard Joel’s voice as he prayed aloud. It sounded soothing, but his words made no sense. He heard Miriam weeping.

Joshua fell asleep again and dreamed of his father. Abba took him in his arms and covered Joshua’s mouth with his own, breathing life into him. But it wasn’t air that Abba poured into him, it was words from the Torah.
“Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge … but love your neighbor as yourself.”
In his dream, Joshua knew that the words would heal him if he inhaled them deep into his soul. He struggled to draw them in, to draw life from his father.

The next time Joshua awoke, his fever had broken. He began to hope that he would live. Gradually, over the next few days, it became easier and less painful for him to breathe, and his coughing eased. He could sit up when he wasn’t sleeping, and eat a little food.

“How long have I been sick?” he asked Miriam.

Her face was drawn and pale, as if bereft of tears. “Nine days. I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Come here,” he whispered. He drew her into his arms and held her close, his love for her too deep for words. “I think God is going to let me stay a little while longer.”

“Yes … thank God,” she murmured.

Nathan crouched beside them. “Abba, if you’re strong enough, will you come to the Temple with me tomorrow morning? It’s the Day of Atonement.”

Joshua covered his son’s hand with his own. “Yes, I’ll come.”

The sky was overcast the next day, the streets damp with the first fall rains as Joshua entered the Temple courtyard with Nathan. Most of the pagan idols and shrines had been cleared away, and the air smelled of incense and freshly plowed earth. Joel stood beside Yahweh’s altar, his brightly colored robes making vivid splashes of gold, blue, purple, and scarlet against the gray sky and wet pavement.

“Throughout these past days of fasting and mourning,” Joel said, “God has led us to examine ourselves and to confess our sins. Now we bring those sins before Him as a nation so we can await His forgiveness.”

Joshua knelt with the other worshipers and bowed his head, aware that he had no more right to ask God for forgiveness than Manasseh did. “Forgive me for my anger and my hatred,” he prayed. “Forgive me for wanting revenge and justice for my enemy more than I wanted your mercy. I’ve been angry with you, Lord, because your measure of mercy is as great as your measure of justice. I’m sorry. Now I need your mercy and forgiveness, too.”

He stood again as the high priest cast lots for the two sacrificial goats. Joel slit the throat of the one selected to be sacrificed and drained its blood into a golden basin. He held up the blood for the congregation to see.

“‘The Lord is my strength and my song,’” Joel recited, “‘he has become my salvation. He is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him…. Who among the gods is like you, O Lord? Who is like you—majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders? … In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed. In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling.’”

Joel walked across the courtyard and disappeared through the doors of the sanctuary. Joshua knew he would carry the atoning blood into God’s presence in the most holy place. A long rope trailed from his ankle. Only the high priest dared to stand before God once a year, and only after offering a sacrifice for his own sins earlier that morning. If God didn’t accept the atoning blood, if He struck Joel dead in His wrath, the rope would be used to pull his body from the sanctuary.

Joshua waited in the silent courtyard for Joel to reappear and assure the worshipers that their sins had been atoned for. He listened for the faint tinkle of bells on the hem of the high priest’s garment but heard only the plaintive cry of birds wheeling overhead. Joel seemed to be taking a long time. The people waited, watching the sanctuary doors. There was no sign of the high priest.

As the tension mounted, Joshua turned and glanced in the direction he had been avoiding all morning. King Manasseh stood on the royal platform, his eyes fixed on the sanctuary doors as he waited like everyone else for the high priest.

Joshua knew what he had to do if he wanted God’s forgiveness. He pushed his way through the crowd until he came to the barrier that separated the congregation from the royal dais. He drew a painful breath, then stepped over the divide. Two of the king’s officials rushed forward to stop him.

“Let me go. I need to speak to the king,” Joshua insisted. He scuffled with them as he tried to break free. Manasseh looked down at the commotion and their eyes met. Joshua saw Manasseh’s fear.

“Let him through,” the king said in a shaking voice. But the guards didn’t release their grip on Joshua’s arms as they marched him to the foot of the platform. “No, let him go free,” Manasseh said.

Joshua was face-to-face with his enemy, but he hesitated. He couldn’t do this on his own strength. He hated Manasseh too much. He remembered praying for God’s help to love Nathan, and he offered up a silent prayer.
Help me do this, Lord. I can’t do it on my own
. His lungs wheezed loudly in the hushed courtyard.

“I forgive you, Manasseh,” Joshua said quietly. Then he stepped forward to embrace his enemy. When Joshua did, it wasn’t only Manasseh who was set free, but himself.

“Thank you,” Manasseh wept. “Thank you … thank you …”

As Joshua stepped down again, the sun emerged from behind a cloud, reflecting off the Temple’s golden roof. A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Joshua squinted in the glare to watch as the high priest stepped through the doors of the sanctuary.

Atonement had been made. Joshua’s sins were forgiven.

He wiped a tear as the high priest laid his hands on the scapegoat’s head. “We confess to you, Lord, all of our wickedness and rebellion. May the burden of our sin rest on this substitute that you have provided. And may all of our sins be removed far from us.”

Joy filled Joshua’s soul as he watched the scapegoat being led out of the gate, out of the city to be released into the desert—bearing his sins. As the peace of God flooded his heart, all the suffering of his life suddenly made sense to him. He understood the journey on which God had led him, bringing him here to forgive and to be forgiven. And he knew that for the remainder of his years, God wanted him to help Manasseh with his reforms. Joshua drew a deep breath—his first in many days—and crossed the courtyard to where Nathan stood waiting for him. He felt the sun of his homeland warming his back as he walked, a fresh breeze from the Judean hills caressing his face.

“I could use your help, son,” Joshua said. “We have a lot of rebuilding to do here in Jerusalem.” It seemed to Joshua that his words were an echo of what God was asking him to do.

Nathan looked up at him and smiled, his reply the same as Joshua’s response to God: “Of course, Abba. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”