King Hezekiah was a good King. But it wasn’t easy to be a good King.
The prophets were telling him he must remove from the temple the images of the Assyrian Gods which his father had placed there. They said he must root out these pagan religions from the nation of Israel and lead the people back to worship of the one true God.
But that wasn’t easy. The Assyrian Empire was a powerful neighbour and a vicious and dangerous enemy. And sometimes other nations would propose alliances against the Assyrians which were frankly foolhardy and would lead to disaster, but if you didn’t align with them, they could make trouble for you as well. It was all very well for the prophet Isaiah to tell him what must be done but Hezekiah had to make decisions in the real world that affected the welfare of his people directly.
And so Hezekiah proceeded carefully. He resisted the temptation to join the alliances against Assyria. But he also removed the Assyrian statues from the temple. He brought Jerusalem closer to the God of the prophets. He was a good King.
But then he became sick. He was at the point of death. And as he lay dying a new Assyrian army appeared at the gates of Jerusalem. It looked like this was the end for Hezekiah and the end for Jerusalem. And in this desperate hour the prophet Isaiah came to Hezekiah, and said to him, ‘Thus says the Lord: Set your house in order, for you shall die; you shall not recover.’ It was bad news.
Hezekiah despaired. He turned his face to the wall, and prayed to God: ‘Remember now, O Lord, I implore you, how I have walked before you in faithfulness with a whole heart, and have done what is good in your sight.’ And Hezekiah wept bitterly.
Then the word of the Lord came to Isaiah: ‘Go and say to Hezekiah, Thus says the Lord, the God of your ancestor David: I have heard your prayer, I have seen your tears; I will add fifteen years to your life. I will deliver you and this city out of the hand of the king of Assyria, and defend this city’.
It seemed that God had changed his mind. Hezekiah had prayed to God, had asked God to remember his faithfulness and service to him and God had changed his mind. To the years of life God had already gifted Hezekiah, God was willing to add fifteen more.
And then, speaking through the prophet Isaiah, God said this, ‘This is the sign to you from the Lord, that the Lord will do this thing that he has promised: See, I will make the shadow cast by the declining sun on the dial of Ahaz turn back ten steps.’ So the sun turned back on the dial the ten steps by which it had declined. In other words, God made time stand still. He made time stand still as a sign of his supreme power to control events.
Fifteen extra years. Fifteen extra years as a reward for faithfulness. Fifteen extra years that God wasn’t going to grant before he changed his mind. Fifteen extra years and a promise to protect those whom you care for, for whom you are responsible. Because God can do that kind of thing. He can even make the sun stand still.
Surely, this is the kind of thing we pray for. The kind of thing we scarcely dare believe could possibly be granted. Yet, we know that not all prayers such as these are answered. We wonder if our prayer will be answered.
Actually, Hezekiah didn’t ask for this in his prayer. When he turned his face to the wall, he simply asked that God would remember his faithfulness. ‘Remember now, O Lord, I implore you, how I have walked before you in faithfulness with a whole heart, and have done what is good in your sight.’ Hezekiah left to God what God might do.
Or maybe Hezekiah couldn’t find the words to make a coherent and sensible prayer. Maybe the words didn’t matter as much as the act of praying itself. Maybe Hezekiah needed somebody else to pray for him. Maybe that’s what Isaiah should have done.
When Hezekiah recovered from his illness, he wrote down his reflections on what had happened to him addressing his words to God and also to his people. These reflections constitute our Old Testament reading tonight.
He describes what it is like to feel close to death. You feel as vulnerable as a makeshift tent. You feel as redundant as a piece of cloth cut off from the rest of the roll. There is nothing left for you to do but to moan pitifully like a small bird.
You get fed up off constantly asking God to save you. He’s not listening. He’s made his mind up. You can’t sleep any more. One more time you cry out, ‘Please, let me live!’
And you wonder whether God has afflicted you for a purpose. Is it that we come closer to God when we are suffering? Do we need to realise how vulnerable we are before we can truly enter into a relationship with God? Do we experience a spiritual awakening even as our eyes close for a last time? Is that what this is all about? Is it that only people who are close to death pray to God the way God wants them too?
Hezekiah concludes his thoughts thus: Only people who are still alive can express gratitude to God. Only fathers that are still alive can teach their children how to pray. God will save me and we will worship him for the whole of our lives. We will worship him in his house.
The story of Hezekiah being granted additional years of earthly life is told primarily through the prayers that Hezekiah said.
Firstly, there is the prayer he said when he was ill. It was a simple prayer asking God to remember his faithfulness. Then there is the longer prayer of thanks after he has been healed; a prayer in which Hezekiah commits himself and his people to praise God for ever.
On the other hand, in the story of the healing of Lazarus, most of the words are devoted to the dialogue between Jesus and the various protagonists. But the Gospel is also sure to record the prayer that Jesus says.
Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.’
It is a strange prayer in a way. Thank you for having heard me. Thank you for always hearing me. Maybe that’s the prayer we can say for each other when the words don’t come easily. Maybe that’s all that is needed sometimes. A prayer that just says, ‘this is a prayer; this is praying.’
And then, like King Hezekiah, Lazarus is granted his additional years.
How shall we pray when we are ill and when we are close to death? How shall we speak to God when we are brought near to him through our suffering?
Shall we ask God for the additional years that we are so desperate for?
Shall we ask him to remember our faithfulness and set aside our sins, leaving him to determine how he responds to us?
Shall we thank him in advance for hearing us just like he always does?
And can we accept that he may not grant us the additional years in the way we want him to?
Can we accept his answer that we may worship him in his house, singing songs of praise to stringed instruments, for ever more?