Study Desk

What a comedown this, O Babylon! Daystar! Son of Dawn! Flat on your face in the underworld mud, you, famous for flattening nations!

Other kings get a decent burial, honored with eulogies and placed in a tomb. But you're dumped in a ditch unburied, like a stray dog or cat, Covered with rotting bodies, murdered and indigent corpses. Your dead body desecrated, mutilated— no state funeral for you! You've left your land in ruins, left a legacy of massacre. The progeny of your evil life will never be named. Oblivion!

God -of-the-Angel-Armies speaks: "Exactly as I planned, it will happen. Following my blueprints, it will take shape. I will shatter the Assyrian who trespasses my land and stomp him into the dirt on my mountains. I will ban his taking and making of slaves and lift the weight of oppression from all shoulders." This is the plan, planned for the whole earth, And this is the hand that will do it, reaching into every nation. God -of-the-Angel-Armies has planned it. Who could ever cancel such plans? His is the hand that's reached out. Who could brush it aside?

Oh, how I grieve for Moab! Refugees stream to Zoar and then on to Eglath-shelishiyah. Up the slopes of Luhith they weep; on the road to Horonaim they cry their loss. The springs of Nimrim are dried up— grass brown, buds stunted, nothing grows. They leave, carrying all their possessions on their backs, everything they own, Making their way as best they can across Willow Creek to safety. Poignant cries reverberate all through Moab, Gut-wrenching sobs as far as Eglaim, heart-racking sobs all the way to Beer-elim. The banks of the Dibon crest with blood, but God has worse in store for Dibon: A lion—a lion to finish off the fugitives, to clean up whoever's left in the land.

"Dispatch a gift of lambs," says Moab, "to the leaders in Jerusalem— Lambs from Sela sent across the desert to buy the goodwill of Jerusalem. The towns and people of Moab are at a loss, New-hatched birds knocked from the nest, fluttering helplessly At the banks of the Arnon River, unable to cross: ‘Tell us what to do, help us out! Protect us, hide us! Give the refugees from Moab sanctuary with you. Be a safe place for those on the run from the killing fields.'" "When this is all over," Judah answers, "the tyrant toppled, The killing at an end, all signs of these cruelties long gone, A new government of love will be established in the venerable David tradition. A Ruler you can depend upon will head this government, A Ruler passionate for justice, a Ruler quick to set things right." We've heard—everyone's heard!—of Moab's pride, world-famous for pride— Arrogant, self-important, insufferable, full of hot air. So now let Moab lament for a change, with antiphonal mock-laments from the neighbors! What a shame! How terrible! No more fine fruitcakes and Kir-hareseth candies! All those lush Heshbon fields dried up, the rich Sibmah vineyards withered! Foreign thugs have crushed and torn out the famous grapevines That once reached all the way to Jazer, right to the edge of the desert, Ripped out the crops in every direction as far as the eye can see. I'll join the weeping. I'll weep right along with Jazer, weep for the Sibmah vineyards. And yes, Heshbon and Elealeh, I'll mingle my tears with your tears! The joyful shouting at harvest is gone. Instead of song and celebration, dead silence. No more boisterous laughter in the orchards, no more hearty work songs in the vineyards. Instead of the bustle and sound of good work in the fields, silence—deathly and deadening silence. My heartstrings throb like harp strings for Moab, my soul in sympathy for sad Kir-heres. When Moab trudges to the shrine to pray, he wastes both time and energy. Going to the sanctuary and praying for relief is useless. Nothing ever happens. This is God 's earlier Message on Moab. God 's updated Message is, "In three years, no longer than the term of an enlisted soldier, Moab's impressive presence will be gone, that splendid hot-air balloon will be punctured, and instead of a vigorous population, just a few shuffling bums cadging handouts."

A New Government in the David Tradition "Dispatch a gift of lambs," says Moab, "to the leaders in Jerusalem— Lambs from Sela sent across the desert to buy the goodwill of Jerusalem. The towns and people of Moab are at a loss, New-hatched birds knocked from the nest, fluttering helplessly At the banks of the Arnon River, unable to cross: ‘Tell us what to do, help us out! Protect us, hide us! Give the refugees from Moab sanctuary with you. Be a safe place for those on the run from the killing fields.'" "When this is all over," Judah answers, "the tyrant toppled, The killing at an end, all signs of these cruelties long gone, A new government of love will be established in the venerable David tradition. A Ruler you can depend upon will head this government, A Ruler passionate for justice, a Ruler quick to set things right."

We've heard—everyone's heard!—of Moab's pride, world-famous for pride— Arrogant, self-important, insufferable, full of hot air. So now let Moab lament for a change, with antiphonal mock-laments from the neighbors! What a shame! How terrible! No more fine fruitcakes and Kir-hareseth candies! All those lush Heshbon fields dried up, the rich Sibmah vineyards withered! Foreign thugs have crushed and torn out the famous grapevines That once reached all the way to Jazer, right to the edge of the desert, Ripped out the crops in every direction as far as the eye can see. I'll join the weeping. I'll weep right along with Jazer, weep for the Sibmah vineyards. And yes, Heshbon and Elealeh, I'll mingle my tears with your tears! The joyful shouting at harvest is gone. Instead of song and celebration, dead silence. No more boisterous laughter in the orchards, no more hearty work songs in the vineyards. Instead of the bustle and sound of good work in the fields, silence—deathly and deadening silence. My heartstrings throb like harp strings for Moab, my soul in sympathy for sad Kir-heres. When Moab trudges to the shrine to pray, he wastes both time and energy. Going to the sanctuary and praying for relief is useless. Nothing ever happens.

For here's what God told me: "I'm not going to say anything, but simply look on from where I live, Quiet as warmth that comes from the sun, silent as dew during harvest." And then, just before harvest, after the blossom has turned into a maturing grape, He'll step in and prune back the new shoots, ruthlessly hack off all the growing branches. He'll leave them piled on the ground for birds and animals to feed on— Fodder for the summering birds, fodder for the wintering animals.

God says, "I'll make Egyptian fight Egyptian, brother fight brother, neighbor fight neighbor, City fight city, kingdom fight kingdom— anarchy and chaos and killing! I'll knock the wind out of the Egyptians. They won't know coming from going. They'll go to their god-idols for answers; they'll conjure ghosts and hold séances, desperate for answers. But I'll turn the Egyptians over to a tyrant most cruel. I'll put them under the rule of a mean, merciless king." Decree of the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies.

The River Nile will dry up, the riverbed baked dry in the sun. The canals will become stagnant and stink, every stream touching the Nile dry up. River vegetation will rot away the banks of the Nile-baked clay, The riverbed hard and smooth, river grasses dried up and gone with the wind. Fishermen will complain that the fishing's been ruined. Textile workers will be out of work, all weavers and workers in linen and cotton and wool Dispirited, depressed in their forced idleness— everyone who works for a living, jobless.

The princes of Zoan are fools, the advisors of Pharaoh stupid. How could any of you dare tell Pharaoh, "Trust me: I'm wise. I know what's going on. Why, I'm descended from the old wisdom of Egypt"? There's not a wise man or woman left in the country. If there were, one of them would tell you what God -of-the-Angel-Armies has in mind for Egypt. As it is, the princes of Zoan are all fools and the princes of Memphis, dunces. The honored pillars of your society have led Egypt into detours and dead ends. God has scrambled their brains, Egypt's become a falling-down-in-his-own-vomit drunk. Egypt's hopeless, past helping, a senile, doddering old fool.

Then God said, "Just as my servant Isaiah has walked around town naked and barefooted for three years as a warning sign to Egypt and Ethiopia, so the king of Assyria is going to come and take the Egyptians as captives and the Ethiopians as exiles. He'll take young and old alike and march them out of there naked and barefooted, exposed to mockery and jeers—the bared buttocks of Egypt on parade! Everyone who has put hope in Ethiopia and expected help from Egypt will be thrown into confusion. Everyone who lives along this coast will say, ‘Look at them! Naked and barefooted, shuffling off to exile! And we thought they were our best hope, that they'd rescue us from the king of Assyria. Now what's going to happen to us? How are we going to get out of this?'"

A Message concerning the desert at the sea: As tempests drive through the Negev Desert, coming out of the desert, that terror-filled place, A hard vision is given me: The betrayer betrayed, the plunderer plundered. Attack, Elam! Lay siege, Media! Persians, attack! Attack, Babylon! I'll put an end to all the moaning and groaning. Because of this news I'm doubled up in pain, writhing in pain like a woman having a baby, Baffled by what I hear, undone by what I see. Absolutely stunned, horror-stricken, I had hoped for a relaxed evening, but it has turned into a nightmare.

A Message concerning Edom: A voice calls to me from the Seir mountains in Edom, "Night watchman! How long till daybreak? How long will this night last?" The night watchman calls back, "Morning's coming, But for now it's still night. If you ask me again, I'll give the same answer."

In the midst of the shouting, I said, "Let me alone. Let me grieve by myself. Don't tell me it's going to be all right. These people are doomed. It's not all right." For the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, is bringing a day noisy with mobs of people, Jostling and stampeding in the Valley of Vision, knocking down walls and hollering to the mountains, "Attack! Attack!" Old enemies Elam and Kir arrive armed to the teeth— weapons and chariots and cavalry. Your fine valleys are noisy with war, chariots and cavalry charging this way and that. God has left Judah exposed and defenseless. You assessed your defenses that Day, inspected your arsenal of weapons in the Forest Armory. You found the weak places in the city walls that needed repair. You secured the water supply at the Lower Pool. You took an inventory of the houses in Jerusalem and tore down some to get bricks to fortify the city wall. You built a large cistern to ensure plenty of water. You looked and looked and looked, but you never looked to him who gave you this city, never once consulted the One who has long had plans for this city. The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, called out on that Day, Called for a day of repentant tears, called you to dress in somber clothes of mourning. But what do you do? You throw a party! Eating and drinking and dancing in the streets! You barbecue bulls and sheep, and throw a huge feast— slabs of meat, kegs of beer. "Seize the day! Eat and drink! Tomorrow we die!" God -of-the-Angel-Armies whispered to me his verdict on this frivolity: "You'll pay for this outrage until the day you die." The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, says so. The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, spoke: "Come. Go to this steward, Shebna, who is in charge of all the king's affairs, and tell him: What's going on here? You're an outsider here and yet you act like you own the place, make a big, fancy tomb for yourself where everyone can see it, making sure everyone will think you're important. God is about to sack you, to throw you to the dogs. He'll grab you by the hair, swing you round and round dizzyingly, and then let you go, sailing through the air like a ball, until you're out of sight. Where you'll land, nobody knows. And there you'll die, and all the stuff you've collected heaped on your grave. You've disgraced your master's house! You're fired—and good riddance! "On that Day I'll replace Shebna. I will call my servant Eliakim son of Hilkiah. I'll dress him in your robe. I'll put your belt on him. I'll give him your authority. He'll be a father-leader to Jerusalem and the government of Judah. I'll give him the key of the Davidic heritage. He'll have the run of the place—open any door and keep it open, lock any door and keep it locked. I'll pound him like a nail into a solid wall. He'll secure the Davidic tradition. Everything will hang on him—not only the fate of Davidic descendants but also the detailed daily operations of the house, including cups and cutlery. "And then the Day will come," says God -of-the-Angel-Armies, "when that nail will come loose and fall out, break loose from that solid wall—and everything hanging on it will go with it." That's what will happen. God says so.

A Country of Cowards A Message concerning the Valley of Vision: What's going on here anyway? All this partying and noisemaking, Shouting and cheering in the streets, the city noisy with celebrations! You have no brave soldiers to honor, no combat heroes to be proud of. Your leaders were all cowards, captured without even lifting a sword, A country of cowards captured escaping the battle. In the midst of the shouting, I said, "Let me alone. Let me grieve by myself. Don't tell me it's going to be all right. These people are doomed. It's not all right." For the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, is bringing a day noisy with mobs of people, Jostling and stampeding in the Valley of Vision, knocking down walls and hollering to the mountains, "Attack! Attack!" Old enemies Elam and Kir arrive armed to the teeth— weapons and chariots and cavalry. Your fine valleys are noisy with war, chariots and cavalry charging this way and that. God has left Judah exposed and defenseless. You assessed your defenses that Day, inspected your arsenal of weapons in the Forest Armory. You found the weak places in the city walls that needed repair. You secured the water supply at the Lower Pool. You took an inventory of the houses in Jerusalem and tore down some to get bricks to fortify the city wall. You built a large cistern to ensure plenty of water. You looked and looked and looked, but you never looked to him who gave you this city, never once consulted the One who has long had plans for this city. The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, called out on that Day, Called for a day of repentant tears, called you to dress in somber clothes of mourning. But what do you do? You throw a party! Eating and drinking and dancing in the streets! You barbecue bulls and sheep, and throw a huge feast— slabs of meat, kegs of beer. "Seize the day! Eat and drink! Tomorrow we die!" God -of-the-Angel-Armies whispered to me his verdict on this frivolity: "You'll pay for this outrage until the day you die." The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, says so. The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, spoke: "Come. Go to this steward, Shebna, who is in charge of all the king's affairs, and tell him: What's going on here? You're an outsider here and yet you act like you own the place, make a big, fancy tomb for yourself where everyone can see it, making sure everyone will think you're important. God is about to sack you, to throw you to the dogs. He'll grab you by the hair, swing you round and round dizzyingly, and then let you go, sailing through the air like a ball, until you're out of sight. Where you'll land, nobody knows. And there you'll die, and all the stuff you've collected heaped on your grave. You've disgraced your master's house! You're fired—and good riddance! "On that Day I'll replace Shebna. I will call my servant Eliakim son of Hilkiah. I'll dress him in your robe. I'll put your belt on him. I'll give him your authority. He'll be a father-leader to Jerusalem and the government of Judah. I'll give him the key of the Davidic heritage. He'll have the run of the place—open any door and keep it open, lock any door and keep it locked. I'll pound him like a nail into a solid wall. He'll secure the Davidic tradition. Everything will hang on him—not only the fate of Davidic descendants but also the detailed daily operations of the house, including cups and cutlery. "And then the Day will come," says God -of-the-Angel-Armies, "when that nail will come loose and fall out, break loose from that solid wall—and everything hanging on it will go with it." That's what will happen. God says so.

A Country of Cowards A Message concerning the Valley of Vision: What's going on here anyway? All this partying and noisemaking, Shouting and cheering in the streets, the city noisy with celebrations! You have no brave soldiers to honor, no combat heroes to be proud of. Your leaders were all cowards, captured without even lifting a sword, A country of cowards captured escaping the battle. In the midst of the shouting, I said, "Let me alone. Let me grieve by myself. Don't tell me it's going to be all right. These people are doomed. It's not all right." For the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, is bringing a day noisy with mobs of people, Jostling and stampeding in the Valley of Vision, knocking down walls and hollering to the mountains, "Attack! Attack!" Old enemies Elam and Kir arrive armed to the teeth— weapons and chariots and cavalry. Your fine valleys are noisy with war, chariots and cavalry charging this way and that. God has left Judah exposed and defenseless. You assessed your defenses that Day, inspected your arsenal of weapons in the Forest Armory. You found the weak places in the city walls that needed repair. You secured the water supply at the Lower Pool. You took an inventory of the houses in Jerusalem and tore down some to get bricks to fortify the city wall. You built a large cistern to ensure plenty of water. You looked and looked and looked, but you never looked to him who gave you this city, never once consulted the One who has long had plans for this city. The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, called out on that Day, Called for a day of repentant tears, called you to dress in somber clothes of mourning. But what do you do? You throw a party! Eating and drinking and dancing in the streets! You barbecue bulls and sheep, and throw a huge feast— slabs of meat, kegs of beer. "Seize the day! Eat and drink! Tomorrow we die!" God -of-the-Angel-Armies whispered to me his verdict on this frivolity: "You'll pay for this outrage until the day you die." The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, says so. The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, spoke: "Come. Go to this steward, Shebna, who is in charge of all the king's affairs, and tell him: What's going on here? You're an outsider here and yet you act like you own the place, make a big, fancy tomb for yourself where everyone can see it, making sure everyone will think you're important. God is about to sack you, to throw you to the dogs. He'll grab you by the hair, swing you round and round dizzyingly, and then let you go, sailing through the air like a ball, until you're out of sight. Where you'll land, nobody knows. And there you'll die, and all the stuff you've collected heaped on your grave. You've disgraced your master's house! You're fired—and good riddance! "On that Day I'll replace Shebna. I will call my servant Eliakim son of Hilkiah. I'll dress him in your robe. I'll put your belt on him. I'll give him your authority. He'll be a father-leader to Jerusalem and the government of Judah. I'll give him the key of the Davidic heritage. He'll have the run of the place—open any door and keep it open, lock any door and keep it locked. I'll pound him like a nail into a solid wall. He'll secure the Davidic tradition. Everything will hang on him—not only the fate of Davidic descendants but also the detailed daily operations of the house, including cups and cutlery. "And then the Day will come," says God -of-the-Angel-Armies, "when that nail will come loose and fall out, break loose from that solid wall—and everything hanging on it will go with it." That's what will happen. God says so.

A Country of Cowards A Message concerning the Valley of Vision: What's going on here anyway? All this partying and noisemaking, Shouting and cheering in the streets, the city noisy with celebrations! You have no brave soldiers to honor, no combat heroes to be proud of. Your leaders were all cowards, captured without even lifting a sword, A country of cowards captured escaping the battle. In the midst of the shouting, I said, "Let me alone. Let me grieve by myself. Don't tell me it's going to be all right. These people are doomed. It's not all right." For the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, is bringing a day noisy with mobs of people, Jostling and stampeding in the Valley of Vision, knocking down walls and hollering to the mountains, "Attack! Attack!" Old enemies Elam and Kir arrive armed to the teeth— weapons and chariots and cavalry. Your fine valleys are noisy with war, chariots and cavalry charging this way and that. God has left Judah exposed and defenseless. You assessed your defenses that Day, inspected your arsenal of weapons in the Forest Armory. You found the weak places in the city walls that needed repair. You secured the water supply at the Lower Pool. You took an inventory of the houses in Jerusalem and tore down some to get bricks to fortify the city wall. You built a large cistern to ensure plenty of water. You looked and looked and looked, but you never looked to him who gave you this city, never once consulted the One who has long had plans for this city.

The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, called out on that Day, Called for a day of repentant tears, called you to dress in somber clothes of mourning. But what do you do? You throw a party! Eating and drinking and dancing in the streets! You barbecue bulls and sheep, and throw a huge feast— slabs of meat, kegs of beer. "Seize the day! Eat and drink! Tomorrow we die!"

God -of-the-Angel-Armies whispered to me his verdict on this frivolity: "You'll pay for this outrage until the day you die." The Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, says so.