Uriyah the Hittite: "Yahweh Is My Light"

By Michael Hammond

Uriyah the Hittite is a narrative of Gods call on a man, of his heeding the call, of his integrity and the price he paid.

The narrative opens in the land of the Hittites with Zohar, a Hittite charioteer, driving his chariot across the Anatolian Plateau towards the Taurus Mountains.

Zohar, whose father was a shepherd, has been fashioned by war into a skilled soldier and Chariot Squadron Commander in the Army of the Hittites.

Follow his journey from being a pagan, dedicated at birth to a demonic entity and then set free by the grace and love of God. God gives Zohar a new name Uriyah (Yahweh is my Light) and calls him. Uriyah immediately heeds the call.

Travelling from the land of the Hittites to Israel, Uriyah encounters life changing adventures, rescues some of Gods people and experiences profound and insightful conversations.

In Israel, he journeys to Jerusalem and to new opportunities and relationships. He discovers romance and Gods rendezvous, encounters and destroys the works of darkness, performs heroic deeds as one of King Davids mighty men and knows betrayal, heavenly lights and freedom.

The mighty men, warriors (of David were) ... Uriyah the Hittite. 1 Chronicles 11:26,41

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Aug 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504357135

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Copyright © 2016 Michael Hammond.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-5712-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-5714-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-5713-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908080

Balboa Press rev. date: 08/12/2016

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Thank you

PART 1 - THE CALL

Chapter 1: In the Land of the Hatti

Chapter 2: The Wind and the Seal

Chapter 3: Mountain Top

Chapter 4: On the Orontes

Chapter 5: Riot in Sabouni

Chapter 6: Mahalaleel’s Ghosts

Chapter 7: Mercy Walks Abroad

PART 2 - THE JOURNEY

Chapter 8: The Salvation of Sarsechem

Chapter 9: Introductions

Chapter 10: Heart, Soul and Strength

Chapter 11: The Shaft

Chapter 12: Of Blood and Water

Chapter 13: The Overflow of the Heart

Chapter 14: The Voyage of Dancer’s Delight

PART 3 - THE DESTINATION

Chapter 15: A Simple Task

Chapter 16: The Sway of Red Tassels

Chapter 17: The Road to Yerushalayim

Chapter 18: The Gully

Chapter 19: Eat, Staff in Hand

Chapter 20: A King Defied

Chapter 21: The Promised Land

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated

To the Men and Women

Who Heeded the Call

Who Paid the Price

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form, and void, and darkness was over the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good… The Holy Bible Genesis 1:1-4 (NKJV)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The following translations of the Holy Bible have been referenced in the writing of this book:

Zondervan and the Lockman Foundation., Amplified Bible,

Publisher Zondervan Publishing House.

Zondervan Publishing House., Comparative Study Bible, A Parallel Bible, Zondervan Publishing, 1984.

American Bible Society., Contemporary English Version, American Bible Society, 1996.

American Bible Society., Good News Translation, American Bible Society, 2001.

Committee of Bible Translation., New International Version, Zondervan Publishing, Bible Gateway, 2016.

David H. Stern., Jewish New Testament Commentary, Jewish New Testament Publications, Inc, 2000.

Frank Charles Thompson (Compiled and Edited)., New Chain Reference Bible KJV, Publisher B.F.Kirkbride Co., Inc. 1957.

Holman Bible Publishers., New King James Journaling Bible, Holman Bible Publishers, 2015.

John Wycliffe., Wycliffe Bible (1382), Bible Gateway.

Lockman Foundation., New American Standard Bible, Lockman Foundation 1995.

National Council of the Churches of Christ., New Revised Standard Version, USA, 1989.

Public Domain., Darby Translation, Bible Gateway 2016.

Richard Francis Weymouth., Edit: Ernest Hampden-Cook., Weymouth New Testament, Public Domain, 1903.

Spiros Zodhiates and AMG International., King James Version - The Hebrew-Greek Study Bible, D/B/A AMG Publishers, 1995.

Page 90 ¹ Reference: TEACHING BIRKAT HA-MAZON: THE GRACE AFTER MEALS by Saul Kaiserman lookstein.org/resources/birkat_hamazon.pdf · PDF file

Note 1: Yerushalayim is used for Jerusalem.

Note 2: The names of God, Adonai, El Shaddai, and the Lord, are used interchangeably, based on Scripture, and as seemed appropriate to the flow of the narrative.

THANK YOU

To our amazing God, Father, Saviour and Holy Spirit. Thank You that through the blood of the Lamb of God, Jesus Christ, we can boldly enter Your throne room of grace. To You be all the glory!

I wish to acknowledge the support of my wife, Kathryn Margot, during the writing of this book. I am very grateful for her unwavering encouragement and assistance with editing. A faithful woman … your husband calls you blessed and praises you.

I wish to acknowledge the encouragement and editing support of Kevin, my dear brother in Christ. Blessings in abundance Kevin, for your help, friendship, and faithful patience.

I also wish to acknowledge with gratitude, the encouragement of John Waterhouse, Director of Albatross Books, who read the original manuscript. Your comments John, inspired me to keep writing.

PART 1

THE CALL

"See, it is I Who created the blacksmith

Who fans the coals into flame

and forges a weapon fit for its work."

The Holy Bible Isaiah 54:16 (NIV)

CHAPTER 1

IN THE LAND OF THE HATTI

T he charioteer eased his stance.

Loosening the reins ever so slightly, he allowed the horses to slow to a walk, setting their own pace, as they started up the long, gradual slope to the top of the rise. A slope ascending so gently, it was distinguishable as a rise only because of the undulating flatness of the plain he was traversing.

Ahead of him, in what appeared to his practiced eye to be three or four days of driving, the plain ended abruptly at the foot of a massive edifice of rock. An immense range of mountains sat in his path, as though some giant hand had fashioned them simply to demonstrate his supremacy, before picking them up at his pleasure and gently, firmly, pushed them into the soil, much as the charioteer himself had done when playing with stones as a boy. Or perhaps he thought, they had simply elevated themselves, asserted their bulky eminence and confidently rose to self-appointed prominence in past ages, one of the upheavals of the earth, which were common in the land of his birth.

Apart from several days of long rests, taken in order to diminish the burden of the journey for the horses, he had been driving his chariot towards these mountains for over twenty days now. Time to take a longer rest soon he thought as he eased his stance again, perhaps somewhere on the mountains themselves, before continuing the journey towards the Great Sea.

The closer to the mountains he came, the more he felt their massive dominance. At times, their snow-capped tops, sheer bulk, and uncompromising presence, were arrayed in metallic sheens in the sunlight, like a troop of giant mercenaries fixed in battle formation on the horizon, preventing the passage of an enemy. At other times, like the present moment, the whole scene was surreal. Ice-encased faces were splendidly attired in the simplicity of long streamers of soft, silver and white mist, fleetingly coy and demure one moment, then the next, pretentious and extraordinarily sublime. Caressed by gentle breezes, diaphanous swathes shifted unhurriedly across the heights. Tantalizingly translucent, they enticed the mind and stirred the emotions. Their allurements danced across the mountains as they sat there in their allotted positions; stark contrast to the lower slopes he was approaching. These were obscured by the heat haze that lapped thickly at their feet, thirsty emanations out of the parched soil on the plains and the implacable dust of summer.

The scene ignited dormant joy in the charioteer’s heart and filled him with a wonder he could not begin to frame with words. He would have given much to be able to drive his chariot at full battle speed across their summits, his imagination fired with the thought of the exhilaration of such a charge, the breath of clear, crisp and invigorating air, and well-seasoned muscles taunt and expectant.

Such a charge, onward and upward, the glory of overcoming each summit, would surely be comparable he thought, even to the grandeur of a soaring imperial eagle.

The charioteer laughed aloud at his thoughts and then, ever the soldier, halted his horses and turned to carefully inspect his closer surroundings.

Where flocks of sheep had been allowed to overgraze the land, his eyes scanned country seemingly devoid of life. He watched as a gentle swirl of wind softly lifted the dust from the brown stillness of a field’s surface and tossed it like a dancer’s scarf, pirouetting in graceful sweeps across the parched earth. Then, spent and exhausted, the breeze died and the scarf dissolved. Each speck of dust wafting unhurriedly down to the ground, where joining its companions it waited, until either another breeze, or the long awaited return of rain, stirred hope.

The sheep were long gone. Having scoured the grass and grain stubble left from a remote harvest and denuded the land, they had been moved on by their keepers. The silence in the atmosphere and stunted thickets of scrub in the distance were suitable companions for the starkness of the scene.

Echoes from his own past, of shepherds calling to their charges rang in his ears, as he continued to contemplate the landscape. He was glad his father could not see the scene. It would have broken his shepherd’s heart. If the winter were savage and the snow deep, there would be a lean, killer season for the poor in this area he thought. A soldier, he was practiced at killing, but this was killing of a very different sort.

In the far distance, where the road curved behind a low hill, the charioteer saw what he thought to be the tops of a stand of trees. Perhaps enough shade there, he thought to himself and with a word of endearment to the horses, had the chariot on the move.

Time passed, slowly and on arriving at the trees, he turned the horses away from the rutted roadway, crossed the shallow gutter and its thick accumulation of dust and halted in their partial shade.

His practiced eyes, shielded under an outstretched palm, skirted the countryside once more.

He could see nothing.

He was alone.

The task of rubbing down the horses with the rough, red woollen cloth he carried for this purpose, was something both he and the horses thoroughly enjoyed and they waited patiently to ease their thirst while he completed the grooming. Soon he thought, on the mountains somewhere, they would all take a longer break, a time for the horses to enjoy the grooming simply for the sake of the touching.

After the horses had been watered and fed, he collected his own food, personal kit, including his bow, quiver and arrows and javelin from the chariot. Then returning to the shade of the tree, he seated himself comfortably at its base between two exposed roots. Unstrapping his sandals, he rinsed his face with a little water before carefully cleaning his feet and sandals of the dust and accumulated grime.

The sandals, solid and well made, were comfortable now through much use. Time to apply more wax he thought, as he studied them. Although their design was different, from the usual curved toe shoes common in his own country, he was often thankful he had taken the time to seek out and follow the advice of the old leather worker in that little village near Kultepe.

He was tempted to eat and drink first, but the habits of his training and experiences as a soldier were deeply ingrained and putting the temptation aside, he took out his beeswax and cloth and set to work.

He had been a skilled craftsman, that leather worker he thought, as he rubbed the wax into the sandals and cast his mind back over recent events. He paused in the rubbing and thought, no it had been more than that. For from the start, both had felt an immediate ease of spirit and kinship with each other. An openness and trust from the beginning.

He had planned to have the sandals embellished with images of Ubelluri, the god of his people who held the world on his shoulders. However, when seated in the presence of the old leather worker, for some reason he could not understand, he had acquiesced to his suggestions and decided to have them decorated with motifs of the sheep that flourished in the region. Almost as an afterthought, they had added an image of the unusual seven-branched candleholder that stood on a stand at the back of the leatherworker’s stall.

Zohar had been in no hurry. He had sat for most of that first afternoon and watched Zechariah, for that was the old man’s name, work at his trade. Zechariah himself had sat in his usual place on a cushion, working the leather on a block of hardwood resting on the ground between his knees.

As he worked, they talked.

The old leather worker had ably demonstrated his skill, as he completed another order, a pair of sandals similar to those now worn by Zohar.

Zohar himself had sat and observed Zechariah as the sandals took shape in his hands; and he had listened.

The movement of his horses’ tails brought him back momentarily to the present moment and his admiration of the workmanship in the sandals. Beautiful work he thought, yet solid and firm on the foot. Sure footing that would give years of service. He knew as a battle-hardened soldier, they would not betray the turn of his ankle or balance at a crucial time. He had given serious thought to a second pair that day as he had watched the leather worker, before deciding they were well worth the cost. His second pair was now packed with his other possessions into the chariot. I’ll have to start wearing them in soon, he thought. Perhaps when I take time to rest on the mountains.

How Zechariah had loved to talk and share the thoughts of his heart with anyone who would listen. That afternoon he had talked of his family, a generational line of leather workers and of his desire to return to the tribal lands of his birth. For I am of the Tribe of Judah, he had said with some pride, as he lined the inner sides of the straps with the softest parts of calf hide.

His dialogue seemed to flow naturally, moving with ease from his family, to the twelve tribes of his people, A chosen people, he had said.

It intrigued Zohar, sitting now in the shade of the trees, as to why he had been drawn to the old man and the tales he had told of his birthplace in Israel, a small village, near the city of the Jebusites. In Zechariah’s heart and dreams a city of significance. A city for my people. I know it, Zechariah would expound with vigorous waves of his wooden mallet. And, it has been so, he continued, since the time of the patriarchs and our father Abraham.

He had continued, One day God will have a king who will be after His own heart and he will take that city for God.

Oh, he had exclaimed, the accounts I could tell you Zohar! Of Abraham and Sarah, who bore the child God had promised them in their old age. A miracle Zohar! A child born when Sarah was ninety! Just think on it Zohar … have you ever heard the like?

Zohar had to admit to Zechariah, that, no, he had never heard the like, before Zechariah had continued with his discourse. And, of course, there is Melchizedek, whose name means King of Righteousness. He was a priest of God Most High Zohar and he brought out bread and wine and blessed Abraham after he had defeated Kedorlaomer and the kings who were allied with him … and Abraham gave him one tenth of all.

He paused momentarily and looked at Zohar. It intrigues me Zohar. What was happening between Abraham and Melchizedek? Was it just something for that time, or is it a shadow of something yet to come? God’s purposes I think, reach further into the future than we can ever dream or imagine.

Despite the hardness of face Zohar had developed after years in the military, he had felt his heart responding to these stories, but why he was drawn, he did not know.

Then at some time during the late afternoon, as Zechariah was talking specifically about Adonai, his God and the God of his people, Zohar had sensed something far more definite, a palpable, powerful and irresistible stirring in his heart. He had seen something clearly in Zechariah’s eyes. It had drawn him, defying the confines of his intellect. Zechariah’s eyes were alive, absolutely alive with inner joy and softness, as he had recited the history of the Lord’s promises to Abraham … and of His people’s miraculous deliverance from Egypt and from the pursuing Egyptian Army. The deliverance through the corridor of water, a corridor formed as Moses lifted up his staff at God’s command.

The thought came to Zohar suddenly Zechariah actually knew and loved his God.

How unlike mine he thought. Ubelluri and the other gods of his people were only there to be manipulated in time of need, or feared, or worse still in his eyes, worshipped as unyielding and merciless tyrants.

During the afternoon, Sarah, Zechariah’s wife, had returned from the city with a basket full of food balanced