Love In A Broken Vessel (15 page)

• H
OSEA
6:5–6 •

That is why I cut you down by sending the prophets. . . . I want your loyalty, not your sacrifices. I want you to know me, not to give me burnt offerings.

G
omer hesitated at her courtyard gate. She glanced at Yuval’s house next door and considered spewing her venom about Hosea on the owner’s wife. But her new friend had likely never heard such vulgar words or seen a harlot’s fury.
I’ll never belong with people like Yuval and girls like Aya.
She remembered yesterday’s humiliation in the pottery shop, the wide-eyed observation of the pure and innocent girl Isaiah would soon marry. Aya appeared two or three years younger than Gomer, but their true ages were worlds apart.

She pushed through her courtyard gate, walking past Jonah’s house instead, fighting the urge to spit on the ground as she passed. At least with the fish prophet, there was no silk or pearls. He told her plainly that idolaters were doomed for destruction—but he’d said she had a lovely spirit. No man had ever ogled her spirit. Beneath that frightening, curdled skin was a man who could disarm her, expose her. She would stay clear of him for sure.

“You’re up early this morning!” Isaiah emerged from the next house in the row. She had no idea he and Amoz lived so close.

She rolled her eyes and walked faster, not able to face another battle.

“Hmm. Grumpy already too.” He hurried to catch up. “Poor Hosea. A lifetime of waking up to a surly redhead.” Then his smile died. He seemed concerned when she couldn’t insult him past the lump in her throat. “What’s the matter? Aya told me what she said at the pottery shop yesterday, Gomer. She feels terrible. Are you still mad about that?”

She kept walking, the lump growing, the tears getting harder to swallow.

Isaiah grabbed her shoulder and whirled her to face him. “Stop! Tell me what’s going on!”

“Hosea’s going back to Israel, and I’m a harlot in a camp full of righteous bigots.” His troubled expression somehow fueled her rage. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to spend the day with your abba. Jealous?”

His face drained of color; his lips fell open but made no sound. She’d gone too far. The pain in his eyes mirrored her own closely guarded wound. Staggering, he backed away from her. “Why so cruel to those trying to help you?”

His words snipped her final thread of control. She felt herself spinning, her legs weakening. Isaiah backed away slowly while the camp around them came to life. She glanced at others going on with their lives. She was exposed, alone. Nothing was familiar. She knew no one, trusted no one. And finally . . . she gave up. She collapsed on the camp’s main path, tears coming in torrents, and she cared nothing about the gossip fodder she provided.

She jumped when strong hands helped her stand and then realized Isaiah and Amoz were guiding her toward the pottery shop. She noticed three men unloading a wagon of partially finished pots into the shop. Amoz nodded to them as he walked by, but no one spoke until they ascended the stairs and were tucked away in the loft.

They lowered her onto a stool, resting her back against the wall, while Amoz took his place on a stool behind his potter’s wheel. She stared numbly at them for a time, Amoz so much older than his son but just as handsome, with distinguished gray streaks through dark, curly hair.

Isaiah exchanged a quick glance with his abba and then turned his attention on Gomer. “You said Hosea is going to Israel again. I’ll talk with him about the details of his mission, but Abba and I want to know how we can help you while Hosea’s gone.” Again Isaiah glanced at Amoz, almost coaxing him. An extended silence followed, and Isaiah heaved a deep sigh. “I
think
Abba would be happy to have you learn the craft of working clay if you’re willing to try.”

Gomer’s stomach was in knots, and though she was waging her own emotional battle, she was painfully aware of the complex relationship before her. Isaiah’s life wasn’t the perfection she’d imagined, but neither was Amoz a heartless Philistine. She glanced between abba and son, breathed deeply, and made a decision. “I will stay in Tekoa—at least long enough to learn from a master potter.” She glimpsed what seemed like approval in Amoz’s eyes. “If you’re willing to teach me.”

A smile lit his face, making him appear ten years younger. “I’m willing.”

“That was almost a wedding dance from my abba,” Isaiah said, his own pleasure evident. “Now I must go ask my best friend why he’s leaving his bride two days after arriving in their new home.”

Hosea trudged the rugged path toward the royal encampment, his body weary, his heart heavy. He’d spent a good portion of the morning packing bread, hard cheese, and figs, hoping Gomer would come back—at least to say good-bye. She didn’t.

He’d checked his neighbors’ houses, hoping to see his
beloved friends before leaving on another mission for Yahweh. Amos was traveling, and Yuval said she hadn’t seen Gomer yet this morning. He saw concern on her features but couldn’t bring himself to explain.
I’m sure Gomer will inform Yuval of what a terrible husband I am.

He’d gone in search of encouragement from his friend and mentor, but no one answered when he knocked on Jonah’s door. The final blow was Isaiah’s absence. He was never awake until well after the rooster crowed, but today he and Amoz were both gone.
Yahweh, will You send me away without
any
encouragement?

Hosea emerged into Uzziah’s encampment clearing, his prayer answered immediately. Jonah and Micah sat on the king’s audience tapestry, deep in conversation.
What are they talking about, and why wasn’t I invited?
But his curiosity pricked his conscience, and he chastised himself for thinking everything in camp must revolve around him.

“Shalom the house!” Hosea shouted, and all eyes turned to greet him.

“Unclean! Unclean!” Uzziah shouted. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Commander Hananiah appeared from within Uzziah’s house, measuring Hosea as if uncertain whether to reach for his sword or fall to his knees. The chief scribe and the king’s advisor followed him with the same hesitation on their faces. Yahweh’s presence yesterday seemed to have made a lasting impression.

“Come, Hosea,” Jonah said, inviting his student to join him on the tapestry. “I’ve been telling King Uzziah that you’re going back to Israel today.”

Hosea gaped. He knew better than to ask how Jonah knew. Of course Yahweh had revealed it. “So what else were you telling King Uzziah that I should know about?” He tousled Micah’s hair as he walked to the other side of Jonah and sat down.

“I was explaining that you’ll be taking Micah with you on this journey.”

Hosea raised both eyebrows and leaned forward to exchange a questioning glance with his young friend. “Oh, really? And what does Micah think about that?”

“I’m ready, Hosea. I can be a great help to you.” His eyes were alight with adventure, his joy almost enough to lift the weight of Hosea’s heavy heart.

He leaned close and whispered to Jonah, “Did Yahweh also tell you how deeply my wife is hurting because of my quick departure?”

“What’s going on?” Isaiah emerged from the copse of fig trees behind them.

Hosea turned, ready to taunt that he’d arrived late for the festival, but the fury brewing on his friend’s face stopped him cold. He hurried to his feet and extended his hand to Isaiah, meeting him before he reached the tapestry. “Where were you? I came to your house to tell you I’m going back to Israel, but you weren’t there.”

“I was comforting your wife!”

Hosea’s heart stopped beating. “You were what?” White-hot rage rushed through his veins. Why had Gomer gone to his handsome best friend for
comfort
?

“Abba and I took Gomer to the pottery shop after I found her dazed and sobbing on the main path in camp this morning. Abba has been teaching her about pottery all morning.”

Hosea stood speechless. He blinked away his misperception, adjusting to the truth after almost accusing his best friend of the unthinkable.

“Isaiah, Hosea, come sit down.” Jonah’s calm voice was the anchor in their storm. They exchanged a silent truce and sat on opposite sides of their teacher. Micah had moved to a corner of the rug. Wide-eyed and silent.

Jonah stared straight ahead, directing his words to Uzziah, but in essence addressing everyone in the royal encampment. “The mantle of prophecy has been placed squarely on Hosea’s shoulders. I’m not Yahweh’s voice for this generation, but I’ve been given an ear to hear in order to teach my students.”

Uzziah nodded but said nothing.

“It is my understanding,” Jonah continued, “that you received a scroll from your son Jotham early this morning.”

The king’s eyes went wide and again he nodded, extending his hand to his chief scribe. Jeiel produced a papyrus scroll, and Uzziah began reading. “To the honorable son of David and king of Judah, Uzziah, from your faithful son and prince, Jotham. Solitary winds blow through the halls of Yahweh’s temple as your fearful Judean subjects have refused to return to the site of your affliction. Your people—and even many of Yahweh’s priests—are terrified of Yahweh’s wrath and now flock to the pagan shrines on every hill and high place. I await your command and will do your will. May our Lord and Elohim give you wisdom like Solomon, and may He heal and bless your name forever.”

Hosea felt as if he might retch. Judeans flocking to worship on high places? Could this day grow darker?

“I’ve already sent a messenger with my reply,” Uzziah was saying. “On the advice of my counselors and Yahweh’s high priest, I’ve commanded that the people of Judah may worship Yahweh at any high place until the Lord’s punishment runs its course.”

The high priest stepped forward, adding, “We’ll assign Yahweh priests to each sacred grove to ensure there’s no pagan worship—”

“What? No!” Hosea shouted. “Have you forgotten everything you know about our Elohim?”

The high priest puffed out his chest, exposing the jeweled ephod he wore. “You forget to whom you speak, Prophet.”

“And you forget whose nation you serve.”

The two exchanged stares while the silence lingered.

Uzziah was the first to speak. “I see no harm in allowing frightened worshipers to offer sacrifices to Yahweh on a hill rather than in a temple.”

“You see no harm?” Hosea repeated the words, unable
to believe them. How could a son of David forget Yahweh’s edict to worship the Lord only in His temple?

But before Hosea resorted to human argument, Yahweh’s words filled his spirit. He closed his eyes and spoke from Yahweh’s heart. “The Lord says to you, King Uzziah, ‘I cut you down by sending the prophets. I killed you with the words from My mouth. My judgments shined on you like light. I want your loyalty, not your sacrifices. I want you to know Me, not to give Me burnt offerings.’”

When Hosea opened his eyes, Uzziah’s jaw was set like stone. “It seems you and I are at an impasse, Prophet.”

“You and I aren’t at an impasse, my lord,” he said, rising to his feet. “My role is to deliver Yahweh’s messages. I have done so faithfully. You will answer to Yahweh on your decision to let the nation worship at the high places.” He stepped closer, drawing as near as the Law allowed. “My advice remains unchanged, King Uzziah. Seek the Lord with all your heart. Seek to know Him. He cares nothing about your sacrifices. He wants your heart.”

Without waiting for an answer, he returned to the tapestry and stared down at Isaiah. “My friend, there are two great loves in my life. The first must be Yahweh. The second is Gomer. I’m obeying the first and trusting He’ll care for the second.”

Isaiah’s eyes misted. “I’ll watch over her until you return.”

A pang of dread pricked Hosea’s heart. He knew Isaiah loved Aya, knew he’d never betray their friendship . . . but Gomer was beautiful—so beautiful.

He bent and kissed Jonah’s gray head. “Thank you, my friend, for being God’s hand on my shoulder. I’ll tell you about His faithfulness when we return.” The old man nodded but didn’t even look up. Hosea saw his shoulders shaking. Why did it feel like a last good-bye?

“Come, Micah.” He turned and heard the boy’s sandals crunching on the rocky path behind him. “Did Jonah tell you anything else I should know about our journey?”

“He said I should do the cooking or we’ll starve.”

Hosea chuckled, feeling somehow relieved.
Yahweh’s prophet. I’m Yahweh’s prophet.
Regardless of his heart’s heaviness, Hosea was determined to believe that obedience to the Lord’s calling would set all things in order.

A gentle breeze stirred the sycamores and escorted them out of Tekoa.