Knee-deep in Blood: Arch-Prophet Part III

Also: How nations become like their god

Note: This is part three in a series on Elijah the Prophet; it explores the nature of God (among other things) as displayed in the book of Kings. If you missed Parts I & II, you may want to start here. In today’s installment we’re meeting a new character (and a renowned saint) a few hours before powder keg Samaria finally lights up.

…

“What happened there? If I tell the truth, it will exceed your powers of belief. So let it suffice to say this much, at least, that in the Temple and porch of Solomon, men rode in blood up to their knees and bridle reins.” Raymond of Aguilers

From 1 Kings 18:4

If white-haired Abdias was living in three days’ time, it would be a miracle. 

From the sacred quarter the venerable majordomo hurried to Ahab’s hall. Samaria was crowded; there were prophets on every corner—and all the spaces between—shouting, arguing, crafting props and performing parables. None of these spoke for the God Abdias knew. Also Baal’s priests, in purple and black, increased by the hour. Where these came from Abdias could not guess, but already in Samaria the Yahwists were conspicuous. The priests in particular, in their garments and breastplates, moved uneasily through the hostile crowd. 

No one attacked them, yet. But when they walked home the throng watched them. 

The palace was full. No one heeded Abdias when he barked orders to move. A few turned, sly frowns on their faces. None replied. Fine—this was not our man’s first rodeo. He knew politics and how to play a delicate game. In time he found Ahab gazing out a high window and biting a knuckle. 

“My lord—” Abdias began, when Ahab turned. 

“Why has Baal’s temple not been consecrated?” 

Abdias did not reply. He looked up as though considering. 

The clay tablets on which the orders had been inscribed were in a ditch, that was why. In fragments. 

“Did you send out the order?” Ahab clipped.

“Of course,” Abdias said. “But you see, until the elders assemble next month, we cannot explain the new calendar. Perhaps they’re still preparing.”

“The new calendar,” Ahab repeated. He looked out the window again. His knuckle bled.

Abdias waited. 

“The Asherah’s not here,” Ahab said. 

Abdias did not flinch. 

“You sent for it?”

“Of course,” said Abdias. This also was untrue. You needed a specimen of a tree to make an Asherah, and Abdias had sent the suitable timbers far away. And the tools, which the priests would use to carve their sacred runes, had been withheld. 

Ahab bent. “You sent for it?”

“Yes, but,” the steward replied, “we owed Tyre material. It’s part of the arrangement.” 

Ahab eyed Abdias. His eyes were tired and dangerous. “Is it?” he breathed. 

Abdias said nothing. In the streets below an argument gathered momentum until at last a few soldiers clanked over. There came the sound of blows, but—as of yet—no ringing swords. 

Ahab did not turn. “Bring me,” he said, through his teeth, “what I have commanded.” 

Abdias bowed. Before the king could say more, he left. 

…

Scarcely had he departed when Jezebel appeared. 

“They’re lying,” she said at once. 

Ahab growled. 

Jezebel eyed him askance. 

She was clairvoyant. Almost it seemed Jezebel could read a man’s thoughts, though hers were impossible to discern. She was like a mirage: plain to the eye but impossible to touch or hold.

“I’ve told you,” she said, “what Baal can do.” Forward she came, carving images on the air. “Do you want harvests? Victorious armies? Power that can summon the storms or shut up the heavens? Or do you want to wait like a lapdog,” she said, lowering her voice, “for whatever Yahweh remembers to give you?” 

(Note: Yes—in this series we’re going to pronounce the covenant name, though there are good reasons not to. If it would interest you to hear more about the relevant debates—what names are, why they matter, why the Divine Name is different—standby. I’m preparing a stand-alone post on that rich subject.)

Of course, Ahab wanted the former. He tugged his beard. Jezebel went on.

“It’s the prophets,” she whispered. “This land stinks with Yahwistic superstition. Proud, foolish, ignorant thralls. They plead with what they cannot touch and beg what they cannot see.”

Ahab waited. There was a point coming. That much he could tell. 

“Give me the army,” the queen suddenly said. “In three days I could purify Israel.” 

Ahab debated. 

In truth, Ahab had little love for Yahweh or His debilitating laws. Don’t build up the army (Deuteronomy 17:16)? Did this God know what power was? Don’t expand the treasury (Deuteronomy 17:17b)? Did He think food came out of thin air? Don’t join coalitions or cement them in marriage (Deuteronomy 17:17a)? Did He not know how nations were made? 

“Why,” Jezebel intoned, “should you keep a house for a god who has never promised to save yours?” She stood close. “This is your choice, Ahab,” she said. “If my lord were not the king, I might think him a farmer’s brat.” 

Biting his lip, Ahab decided. 

…

I love Abdias. 

He’s also known as Obadiah. (I think that by using the former pronunciation we could popularize the name—English does not love the “ob” sound for proper nouns. But that’s neither here nor there.) Abdias is a ranking official, a “House Steward,” in Ahab’s court. In the Orthodox Church, he’s credited with authoring the book with his name. It will not surprise you to hear scholars debate these things. 

Though our man does not appear until 1 Kings 18—“Now Obadiah feared the LORD greatly, and when Jezebel cut off the prophets of the Lord, Obadiah took a hundred prophets and hid them by fifties in a cave”—we know he’s there all along, working in the shadows. A lost letter here, a misplaced order there. 

There’s a fine line—in fact there’s no line—between spiritual and political reform, and officials like Abdias have always found ways to grease the wheels or else throw dirt in the gears of empire. Abdias is at the center of the action when Samaria goes nuclear, and that is not a position I envy. 

I keep a list of events I call “normal strange things;” they are strange events that occur over and over again throughout history.