confused, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, his robes rumpled and sour smelling, as if he’d slept in them. Uriah nearly turned away a second time. This couldn’t be the respected Levite, the man who had once sat at the king’s right hand. But it was.
The man Uriah remembered was tall and lean and strong, but now Zechariah’s shoulders stooped as if bearing a heavy load. The spark of intelligence had vanished from his distinguished face and green eyes, and his pale features looked drained of life. He was barely fifty-five, but his unkempt hair and beard made him appear much older.
“Uriah … come in, come in,” Zechariah stammered. He led the way into the room, staggering slightly, and cleared a place in the clutter for Uriah to sit.
“I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,” Uriah began, “but I … I need to talk to you.” He struggled to conceal his shock at the change in Zechariah. He could barely remember why he had come.
“I’ll get some wine,” Zechariah said. He tottered over to a shelf and produced a skin of wine and two goblets. Uriah winced with embarrassment.
“Uh, no thank you, Rabbi. It’s too early for me. But, please … you go ahead.”
He felt ashamed for Zechariah. Coming here had been a mistake. Uriah stared at the floor, groping for words, wishing he could leave. Zechariah took a few quick gulps from the wineskin. Then, with a pathetic remnant of his former dignity, he pulled up a stool and sat opposite Uriah.
“What did you need to talk to me about?”
Uriah saw the respected teacher he had come to seek as if through a dingy curtain. He cleared his throat. “Rabbi, I have just come from a meeting with King Ahaz. I wanted you to be the first to know—I’ve been appointed palace administrator.”
“But—what about Prince Maaseiah?”
“Our army has been defeated. We’ve suffered enormous losses. The prince is dead.”
“I-it’s a great honor for you … but Prince Maaseiah … the …” Zechariah’s confusion didn’t seem to be caused by the news. His gaze darted all around the room as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was.
“I want to accept this position, Rabbi. It’s an extraordinary opportunity, but it would mean—” Uriah couldn’t bring himself to admit that it would mean idolatry. He realized, suddenly, that he hadn’t come for Zechariah’s help in making a decision. Uriah had made his decision in the council chamber the moment Ahaz had offered him the prince’s empty seat. He had come to win Zechariah’s approval, as if his former teacher could somehow absolve him from guilt.
“It’s just that some of my duties as palace administrator may go against the teachings of the Torah,” Uriah explained. “But if I use this opportunity to establish myself as a close advisor to the king, I will be in a position to teach King Ahaz about Yahweh’s law. And ultimately I can do a great deal of good.”
He leaned forward on the edge of his seat, almost pleading for Zechariah’s approval. “All my life, all my ambition and striving has been with one goal in mind: to revive the role of the priesthood and make the Temple an influential force in this nation again. Now I can do that. I’ve worked my way up from the bottom, waiting for an opportunity like this. I’ll be second in command to the king.”
Zechariah stared at him blankly, as if wondering where he fit in.
“I know there are some priests and Levites who will object to what I’m doing,” Uriah quickly continued, “and I’ll need your help in winning them over. You’re a man of influence here in the Temple.Surely you can understand what I’m trying to accomplish. You once held the same position in the palace, and you—” Uriah stopped, keenly embarrassed for reminding this broken, disheveled man of the power and position he had once held and lost. “I-I just wanted to ask if I could have your support,” he finished.
“My support?” Zechariah echoed. He stared at Uriah for a moment,