THE DEDICATION OF THE TEMPLE.
Jerusalem now began to assume an aspect very different from that which it
had borne for some years past. Thousands, who had been driven away by the
terrors of the evil days, now hastened to return. Many of the lower class,
constrained by the necessity of poverty, had always remained, enduring
persecution as best they could, and often, of course, escaping it by their
obscurity. Now the wealthier inhabitants began to flock back from their
hiding-places in the country and from foreign lands; the streets again
began to be busy; the shopkeepers displayed the wares which there had been
no one to purchase, or which they had been afraid to show; the long-shut
markets were reopened and thronged with purchasers.
The priests alone, gathered as they were from their abodes scattered
throughout Palestine, made a considerable addition to the population of
the city. They were a numerous class, far beyond any requirements of their
sacrificial duties, and commonly remained at home, awaiting the rarely
recurring occasion of services that called them to Jerusalem. But now a
work was before them in which all could take part, for the Temple, having
been cleansed and having received such repair as could be done at once,
was to be dedicated afresh.
The first necessary work was the construction of a new altar of sacrifice.
This work was to be of the primitive kind, in strict conformity to the
Law, and as unlike as possible to the elaborate erections of the alien
worship, and it was to be done, from first to last, by the consecrated
hands of the priests. They dug out of the earth of the valley rough
stones. No tool of iron was to be used in raising them from their place;
none was to be employed in hewing them into shape. It was the priests
again who solemnly conveyed them into the Great Court of the Temple, who
joined them together with mortar, and covered them with whitewash.
Meanwhile other preparations for a wholly renovated service were being
busily carried on. Most of the furniture of the Temple had been carried
off by a succession of plunderers; if any of the less valuable and less
easily removed articles had been left these had suffered an irremediable
defilement. Everything therefore had to be replaced; and workmen were now
busily employed in this work. The altar of incense, the candlestick with
its seven branches, the table on which the loaves of the shew-bread were
to be placed, the mercy-seat with the overshadowing cherubim that was the
chief feature of the Holy of Holies, and the various curtains that were
needed for the separation of the various parts of the building, were
manufactured with all possible haste, some of the articles, from lack of
time and materials, being intended to serve their purpose only till they
could be more worthily replaced. Generally, however, it was time rather
than means that was wanting, for in the late campaigns treasure almost
enough to replace the spoliations of years had been taken from the Greeks,
and this, after being duly purified and blessed, could be devoted to holy
uses.
And so came on the day that had been appointed for the Feast of
Dedication. It was to be the 25th of the month Chisleu.(18) It was a
memorable day, both for good and evil, in the annals of Jewish worship. On
this day, ages before, Jerusalem, the newly-won capital of the nation, had
been finally chosen as the place where God should set His name; for on
this day David, as he made atonement in the day of pestilence, bought the
threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite to be the future dwelling-place of
the Presence of the Lord God of Israel. And on this day, again, five years
ago, the first idol sacrifice had been offered within the consecrated
precincts.
In the early morning, before the sun had risen upon the earth, a spark was
obtained by striking stone against stone, the fire was rekindled on the
altar, the golden candlestick was lighted and the table of the shew-bread
duly furnished with its twelve loaves.
Meanwhile the rest of the people also had been busy in making preparations
for the great celebration. Every family, even the poorest, was to keep
festival on the day that was to be a new beginning of the national life.
The women and children were early afoot, gathering branches of palms and
other “goodly trees”; none of them having busier hands than Ruth and her
nieces. Even the little Daniel would take his part in the work, tottering
along by his mother’s side with his arms full of boughs. When they had
gathered as great a burden as they could carry, Ruth gathered her little
company about her, and told them, just as the rising sun began to flood
the valley with its slanting rays, the story of the day—of the glory and
the shame which it had brought to Israel.
And now, as the time of the morning sacrifice drew near, the whole people
moved in one great stream towards the Temple, and the Great Court was
crowded. On the walls of the fortress the heathen soldiers of the garrison
stood in throngs watching the solemnities of the day. Some of them, of
course, were ready with their mockery; but most looked on in respectful
silence. Many of them had witnessed the prowess of these strange fanatics
in the field. They might be given over to a “senseless and tasteless
superstition,” but they could deal shrewd blows with their swords, and
therefore they were not to be despised. No truce had been arranged, but
one was tacitly observed. The forbearance of the Greeks was partly due to
a wholesome awe of the Jewish archers and slingers, partly to a curiosity
that, as has been said, was not wholly unmixed with respect.
Then came the solemn ritual of sacrifice. This ended, the whole
congregation of the people united in solemn supplication to the Lord God
of Israel. Usually it was the custom to stand during the office of prayer;
sometimes the attitude of kneeling was used; now, as if to express the
intensity of their feeling, they threw themselves flat upon their faces,
and poured out their entreaty that evils such as they had endured in the
past might never again come upon them in the future. “O Lord,”—this was
the burden of their prayer,—“if we sin against Thee any more, do Thou
chasten us Thyself with Thine own hand, after the multitude of Thy
mercies. Make us suffer that which shall seem good to Thee here in our own
land, but scatter us no more among the heathen, and deliver us not again
unto the nations that blaspheme Thy holy name.”
The prayer ended, came the great Psalm of Thanksgiving; and then the
people dispersed to their houses to hold festival. Their mirth was
prolonged far into the night, which, indeed, was almost turned into day
throughout the streets of Jerusalem, so brilliant was the light that
streamed from the lamps set in almost every window.
For eight days the Feast of Dedication was continued. Each day the
services began with the customary morning sacrifice. At earliest dawn the
Master of the Temple summoned the priests who had been watching round the
fire in the gate-house as they waited for his summons. Then they went out
and fetched the lamb for the burnt-offering. The creature had already been
examined on the previous day, and pronounced to be free from spot or
blemish. This done, they went outside the court in which the great altar
stood, and watched for the coming day. The Mount of Olives stood between
them and the East, and far behind it were the mountains of Moab. Here the
first streaks of the morning light were to show themselves. Then the
priest whose turn it was to slay the victim of the day bathed in the great
laver. Thus purified for the performance of his office, he stirred up the
burning embers from under the ashes of the altar, and added fresh fuel.
This done, he was joined by the other priests, and the morning sacrifice
was offered. Then followed the special ceremonies of the festival, among
them the prayer for deliverance from captivity, as already given, and the
singing of the great Thanksgiving. And every day the public services were
followed by private rejoicings. No one could have believed that the
rejoicing city, gay with its brightly dressed throngs of merry-makers and
resounding with the music of tabret and harp, was the desolate place so
long trodden down by the heathen. There had been days in the past when the
most hopeful could scarcely discern any light in the darkness. But now
they could see the “silver lining of the cloud.” In this very Temple, now
dedicated afresh with such joyous zeal, but a few years before, the
priests “had left the sacrifices when the game of the Discus called them
forth.” That deadly folly had been purged with blood. The brutal violence
of Antiochus had saved the nation from an imminent relapse into
heathenism.
Among the many hearts that were gladdened by these rejoicings there was
one, as sorely burdened as any, that had found a complete deliverance from
the troubles of the past. The unhappy Huldah, in proportion as her charge
gained strength, and her work became less absorbing, had seemed to be
falling back into her old condition. For the time her thoughts had been
concentrated on the suffering Eglah; now they were free to be turned upon
herself, her own troubles, her own dismal memories. Eglah did all she
could to keep her employed, and the girl’s gentle and affectionate nature
still felt her influence. Yet it was evident that unless some remedy could
be found the old madness would resume its sway.
On the first day of the Dedication festival, the two were standing
together in the Court of the Women. The priests, who were making a circuit
of the whole building, sprinkling everywhere the blood of purification,
came in due course to the spot. As they performed their office a drop fell
upon the garment of Huldah, who had been joining in the prayers with an
earnestness almost frenzied. The effect was marvellous. In a moment the
excitement passed away. Her eyes lost their wandering look, and, in a tone
calmer and more collected than any that she had ever before been known to
use since the time of her trouble, she said, showing the crimson spot to
Eglah—“He has heard my prayer; He has sprinkled me with the blood of
cleansing.” She stood silent and collected until the whole ritual was
finished, and when the time for the hymn of thanksgiving came round joined
her voice with a quiet happiness to the voices of the congregation.
When the people returned to their homes Huldah left the Temple in company
with Eglah. But it was evident that her strength was exhausted. She could
barely totter along with all the help that Eglah and a neighbour could
give her, and when she came to the house of Seraiah and Ruth, which
happened to lie in her way, she sank almost unconscious to the ground.
Providentially at that moment Ruth came up with her husband and the little
Daniel.
“She seemed so much better in the Temple—was quite calm and peaceful
again—and now I am afraid that she is going to be very ill,” said Eglah.
Woman’s wit suggested to Ruth a happy thought for dealing with the
sufferer.
“Leave her to me,” she said. “She was happy here once, and here, if it
please the Lord, she will be happy again.”
Ruth and her husband carried her into the house, and laid her upon her bed
in her old chamber. Once there she was able to swallow a little broth
which had been hastily prepared, cast one grateful look of recognition at
her old mistress, and then fell into a deep sleep. The next morning she
awoke, entirely restored to reason, and, though still somewhat weak, able
to go about the household tasks in which she had been once employed, and
which she resumed at once without a question, and as if, indeed, they had
never been interrupted for a day. The three years of misery were entirely
blotted out of her memory; nor did any spectre from the past ever come
back to trouble her.