Jerusalem, in the last years of a hidden king.
Uzziah has reigned for half a century — and for the last decade, behind cedar doors, as a leper no one is allowed to see. The kingdom runs on habit. The markets run on crooked weights. In the stalls, a carver named Hadad sells gods by the cubit — calves for the north, groves for Judah, same wood — and hardly anyone finds that strange anymore.
Isaiah ben-Amoz is young, quick with a pen, and dangerously good at noticing. He copies psalms for a hard old teacher, tallies the ledgers where a widow’s case can vanish, and asks the questions a comfortable city has agreed not to ask. His mother sings the old Korahite song against the dark — and it is her ledger-question that brings a flint-eyed girl named Hodijah through their door: quick as he is, harder to fool, the girl scripture will only ever call the prophetess. She walks into his life and never really leaves.
Then comes the year the king dies. And in that year, in the house of the LORD, a young record-keeper is shown the King who does not die — high and lifted up, his train filling the temple — and a live coal touches unclean lips, and a voice asks the question that has never stopped being asked: Whom shall I send?
This is the story of the man who answered: Here am I; send me.
Book One of The Isaiah Chronicles — a ten-volume saga that begins in laughter and ends in awe. Every quoted verse is the actual King James text. Read the story now — and walk into this fall’s Isaiah weeks already knowing the ground. Begin here.
