Chapter Thirteen

Zechariah looked up at the southeast wall of the Temple and the steps leading up to it’s gates. He stopped the donkey he was riding and sat still, savoring the moment. His eyes moistened slightly as he took in the moment. Since his twentieth year he had repeated this journey every year. And every year he had stopped in this very spot to prepare his heart for service unto the God.

He looked at the priests surrounding him. Pashur’s son Jerimoth would serve alongside his father for the first time in the House of the God.

“Jerimoth,” Zechariah said. “Come here my young friend.”

Jerimoth approached Zechariah. Zechariah reached out and placed his hand on Jerimoth’s shoulder.

“Help an old man get off his donkey.”

Jerimoth steadied Zechariah as he dismounted. Once he was on his feet he pulled Jerimoth in close. He slipped his arm around the young man’s shoulders and stood silently looking up at the Temple. He could feels Jerimoth’s steady breathing as the two stood side by side. A tear slipped from Zechariah’s eye and slowly made it’s way down his check and disappeared into his thick grey beard. After his time of silence he spoke to Jerimoth.

“Your father and I have often talked of this moment. Your first hour of service unto the God. Your father is very, very proud of you.”

Zechariah pulled Jerimoth’s head closer and kissed him on the cheek.

“For fifty six years I have come and stood on this spot and prepared my heart to serve my God. Your father has joined me here for the last forty years. Together we have stood here and reminded ourselves who we have come to serve.”

Zechariah could not hold back the smile erupting from his heart. He squeezed Jerimoth’s shoulder. He felt the young man quiver as he continued to share his heart with him.

“For the next seven days you are not your own. For the next seven days you are not Jerimoth. To the people of Israel who come here to offer sacrifices unto their God, you are His servant, His priest, His mediator unto His people. They, every single one of them, will look unto you to comfort their hearts, to assure them that our God has accepted their sacrifice and that they have been absolved of their sin. You do not speak on your own accord. You speak for the Lord your God.”

Zechariah shook Jerimoth’s shoulder’s. He looked at the young man so eager to join his father in service unto God. He admired any man who worked as hard as he had to prepare himself for this moment.

“Today you will enter into a week of service with those who have come before you. You honor them with your presence. You, like Levi and Aaron, have been chosen by your God to serve as His priest. Every moment I have stood in the Temple and preformed my duties, I have done so with all my heart. And now, Jerimoth, I am honored to have you serve at my side.”

Zechariah could feel the young man fighting back tears as they stood side by side. Zechariah felt Pashur’s arm embrace his own around Jerimoth’s shoulders.

Zechariah listened to Pashur speak his heart to his son. He listened to a father express his joy and pride in his son. He listened to him affirm his love for his son.

Lord. As I listen to my old friend I cannot bear my grief at my own lack of a son to serve you with. Why, why have you not given me a son to serve you with. A son who would make my heart dance with joy? I know that you have provided all things for me, whatever I have needed, yet I lack this one thing, a son to serve You with.

Zechariah listened as Pashur finished his words and the three men stood in silence before the steps leading up to the Temple.

“Well,” Zechariah said. “Let us go to our quarters and prepare for the evening meal.”

Together they entered into Ophel to settle into their home for the next week.

© 2011 John Pearson All Rights Reserved.