Study Desk

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!

Visit Tarshish, you who live on the seacoast. Take a good, long look and wail—yes, cry buckets of tears! Is this the city you remember as energetic and alive, bustling with activity, this historic old city, Expanding throughout the globe, buying and selling all over the world? And who is behind the collapse of Tyre, the Tyre that controlled the world markets? Tyre's merchants were the business tycoons. Tyre's traders called all the shots. God -of-the-Angel-Armies ordered the crash to show the sordid backside of pride and puncture the inflated reputations. Sail for home, O ships of Tarshish. There are no docks left in this harbor. God reached out to the sea and sea traders, threw the sea kingdoms into turmoil. God ordered the destruction of the seacoast cities, the centers of commerce. God said, "There's nothing left here to be proud of, bankrupt and bereft Sidon. Do you want to make a new start in Cyprus? Don't count on it. Nothing there will work out for you either."

Look at what happened to Babylon: There's nothing left of it. Assyria turned it into a desert, into a refuge for wild dogs and stray cats. They brought in their big siege engines, tore down the buildings, and left nothing behind but rubble.

For the next seventy years, a king's lifetime, Tyre will be forgotten. At the end of the seventy years, Tyre will stage a comeback, but it will be the comeback of a worn-out whore, as in the song: "Take a harp, circle the city, unremembered whore. Sing your old songs, your many old songs. Maybe someone will remember."

At the end of the seventy years, God will look in on Tyre. She'll go back to her old whoring trade, selling herself to the highest bidder, doing anything with anyone—promiscuous with all the kingdoms of earth—for a fee. But everything she gets, all the money she takes in, will be turned over to God . It will not be put in banks. Her profits will be put to the use of God -Aware, God -Serving-People, providing plenty of food and the best of clothing.

Earth is polluted by its very own people, who have broken its laws, Disrupted its order, violated the sacred and eternal covenant. Therefore a curse, like a cancer, ravages the earth. Its people pay the price of their sacrilege. They dwindle away, dying out one by one. No more wine, no more vineyards, no more songs or singers. The laughter of castanets is gone, the shouts of celebrants, gone, the laughter of fiddles, gone. No more parties with toasts of champagne. Serious drinkers gag on their drinks. The chaotic cities are unlivable. Anarchy reigns. Every house is boarded up, condemned. People riot in the streets for wine, but the good times are gone forever— no more joy for this old world. The city is dead and deserted, bulldozed into piles of rubble. That's the way it will be on this earth. This is the fate of all nations: An olive tree shaken clean of its olives, a grapevine picked clean of its grapes.

But there are some who will break into glad song. Out of the west they'll shout of God 's majesty. Yes, from the east God 's glory will ascend. Every island of the sea Will broadcast God 's fame, the fame of the God of Israel. From the four winds and the seven seas we hear the singing: "All praise to the Righteous One!" But I said, "That's all well and good for somebody, but all I can see is doom, doom, and more doom." All of them at one another's throats, yes, all of them at one another's throats. Terror and pits and booby traps are everywhere, whoever you are. If you run from the terror, you'll fall into the pit. If you climb out of the pit, you'll get caught in the trap. Chaos pours out of the skies. The foundations of earth are crumbling. Earth is smashed to pieces, earth is ripped to shreds, earth is wobbling out of control, Earth staggers like a drunk, sways like a shack in a high wind. Its piled-up sins are too much for it. It collapses and won't get up again. That's when God will call on the carpet rebel powers in the skies and Rebel kings on earth. They'll be rounded up like prisoners in a jail, Corralled and locked up in a jail, and then sentenced and put to hard labor. Shamefaced moon will cower, humiliated, red-faced sun will skulk, disgraced, Because God -of-the-Angel-Armies will take over, ruling from Mount Zion and Jerusalem, Splendid and glorious before all his leaders.

The Landscape Will Be a Moonscape Danger ahead! God 's about to ravish the earth and leave it in ruins, Rip everything out by the roots and send everyone scurrying: priests and laypeople alike, owners and workers alike, celebrities and nobodies alike, buyers and sellers alike, bankers and beggars alike, the haves and have-nots alike. The landscape will be a moonscape, totally wasted. And why? Because God says so. He's issued the orders. The earth turns gaunt and gray, the world silent and sad, sky and land lifeless, colorless. Earth is polluted by its very own people, who have broken its laws, Disrupted its order, violated the sacred and eternal covenant. Therefore a curse, like a cancer, ravages the earth. Its people pay the price of their sacrilege. They dwindle away, dying out one by one. No more wine, no more vineyards, no more songs or singers. The laughter of castanets is gone, the shouts of celebrants, gone, the laughter of fiddles, gone. No more parties with toasts of champagne. Serious drinkers gag on their drinks. The chaotic cities are unlivable. Anarchy reigns. Every house is boarded up, condemned. People riot in the streets for wine, but the good times are gone forever— no more joy for this old world. The city is dead and deserted, bulldozed into piles of rubble. That's the way it will be on this earth. This is the fate of all nations: An olive tree shaken clean of its olives, a grapevine picked clean of its grapes. But there are some who will break into glad song. Out of the west they'll shout of God 's majesty. Yes, from the east God 's glory will ascend. Every island of the sea Will broadcast God 's fame, the fame of the God of Israel. From the four winds and the seven seas we hear the singing: "All praise to the Righteous One!" But I said, "That's all well and good for somebody, but all I can see is doom, doom, and more doom." All of them at one another's throats, yes, all of them at one another's throats. Terror and pits and booby traps are everywhere, whoever you are. If you run from the terror, you'll fall into the pit. If you climb out of the pit, you'll get caught in the trap. Chaos pours out of the skies. The foundations of earth are crumbling. Earth is smashed to pieces, earth is ripped to shreds, earth is wobbling out of control, Earth staggers like a drunk, sways like a shack in a high wind. Its piled-up sins are too much for it. It collapses and won't get up again. That's when God will call on the carpet rebel powers in the skies and Rebel kings on earth. They'll be rounded up like prisoners in a jail, Corralled and locked up in a jail, and then sentenced and put to hard labor. Shamefaced moon will cower, humiliated, red-faced sun will skulk, disgraced, Because God -of-the-Angel-Armies will take over, ruling from Mount Zion and Jerusalem, Splendid and glorious before all his leaders.

The Landscape Will Be a Moonscape Danger ahead! God 's about to ravish the earth and leave it in ruins, Rip everything out by the roots and send everyone scurrying: priests and laypeople alike, owners and workers alike, celebrities and nobodies alike, buyers and sellers alike, bankers and beggars alike, the haves and have-nots alike. The landscape will be a moonscape, totally wasted. And why? Because God says so. He's issued the orders. The earth turns gaunt and gray, the world silent and sad, sky and land lifeless, colorless. Earth is polluted by its very own people, who have broken its laws, Disrupted its order, violated the sacred and eternal covenant. Therefore a curse, like a cancer, ravages the earth. Its people pay the price of their sacrilege. They dwindle away, dying out one by one. No more wine, no more vineyards, no more songs or singers. The laughter of castanets is gone, the shouts of celebrants, gone, the laughter of fiddles, gone. No more parties with toasts of champagne. Serious drinkers gag on their drinks. The chaotic cities are unlivable. Anarchy reigns. Every house is boarded up, condemned. People riot in the streets for wine, but the good times are gone forever— no more joy for this old world. The city is dead and deserted, bulldozed into piles of rubble. That's the way it will be on this earth. This is the fate of all nations: An olive tree shaken clean of its olives, a grapevine picked clean of its grapes. But there are some who will break into glad song. Out of the west they'll shout of God 's majesty. Yes, from the east God 's glory will ascend. Every island of the sea Will broadcast God 's fame, the fame of the God of Israel. From the four winds and the seven seas we hear the singing: "All praise to the Righteous One!" But I said, "That's all well and good for somebody, but all I can see is doom, doom, and more doom." All of them at one another's throats, yes, all of them at one another's throats. Terror and pits and booby traps are everywhere, whoever you are. If you run from the terror, you'll fall into the pit. If you climb out of the pit, you'll get caught in the trap. Chaos pours out of the skies. The foundations of earth are crumbling. Earth is smashed to pieces, earth is ripped to shreds, earth is wobbling out of control, Earth staggers like a drunk, sways like a shack in a high wind. Its piled-up sins are too much for it. It collapses and won't get up again. That's when God will call on the carpet rebel powers in the skies and Rebel kings on earth. They'll be rounded up like prisoners in a jail, Corralled and locked up in a jail, and then sentenced and put to hard labor. Shamefaced moon will cower, humiliated, red-faced sun will skulk, disgraced, Because God -of-the-Angel-Armies will take over, ruling from Mount Zion and Jerusalem, Splendid and glorious before all his leaders.

The Landscape Will Be a Moonscape Danger ahead! God 's about to ravish the earth and leave it in ruins, Rip everything out by the roots and send everyone scurrying: priests and laypeople alike, owners and workers alike, celebrities and nobodies alike, buyers and sellers alike, bankers and beggars alike, the haves and have-nots alike. The landscape will be a moonscape, totally wasted. And why? Because God says so. He's issued the orders. The earth turns gaunt and gray, the world silent and sad, sky and land lifeless, colorless. Earth is polluted by its very own people, who have broken its laws, Disrupted its order, violated the sacred and eternal covenant. Therefore a curse, like a cancer, ravages the earth. Its people pay the price of their sacrilege. They dwindle away, dying out one by one. No more wine, no more vineyards, no more songs or singers. The laughter of castanets is gone, the shouts of celebrants, gone, the laughter of fiddles, gone. No more parties with toasts of champagne. Serious drinkers gag on their drinks. The chaotic cities are unlivable. Anarchy reigns. Every house is boarded up, condemned. People riot in the streets for wine, but the good times are gone forever— no more joy for this old world. The city is dead and deserted, bulldozed into piles of rubble. That's the way it will be on this earth. This is the fate of all nations: An olive tree shaken clean of its olives, a grapevine picked clean of its grapes. But there are some who will break into glad song. Out of the west they'll shout of God 's majesty. Yes, from the east God 's glory will ascend. Every island of the sea Will broadcast God 's fame, the fame of the God of Israel. From the four winds and the seven seas we hear the singing: "All praise to the Righteous One!" But I said, "That's all well and good for somebody, but all I can see is doom, doom, and more doom." All of them at one another's throats, yes, all of them at one another's throats. Terror and pits and booby traps are everywhere, whoever you are. If you run from the terror, you'll fall into the pit. If you climb out of the pit, you'll get caught in the trap. Chaos pours out of the skies. The foundations of earth are crumbling. Earth is smashed to pieces, earth is ripped to shreds, earth is wobbling out of control, Earth staggers like a drunk, sways like a shack in a high wind. Its piled-up sins are too much for it. It collapses and won't get up again. That's when God will call on the carpet rebel powers in the skies and Rebel kings on earth. They'll be rounded up like prisoners in a jail, Corralled and locked up in a jail, and then sentenced and put to hard labor. Shamefaced moon will cower, humiliated, red-faced sun will skulk, disgraced, Because God -of-the-Angel-Armies will take over, ruling from Mount Zion and Jerusalem, Splendid and glorious before all his leaders.

The Landscape Will Be a Moonscape Danger ahead! God 's about to ravish the earth and leave it in ruins, Rip everything out by the roots and send everyone scurrying: priests and laypeople alike, owners and workers alike, celebrities and nobodies alike, buyers and sellers alike, bankers and beggars alike, the haves and have-nots alike. The landscape will be a moonscape, totally wasted. And why? Because God says so. He's issued the orders. The earth turns gaunt and gray, the world silent and sad, sky and land lifeless, colorless. Earth is polluted by its very own people, who have broken its laws, Disrupted its order, violated the sacred and eternal covenant. Therefore a curse, like a cancer, ravages the earth. Its people pay the price of their sacrilege. They dwindle away, dying out one by one. No more wine, no more vineyards, no more songs or singers. The laughter of castanets is gone, the shouts of celebrants, gone, the laughter of fiddles, gone. No more parties with toasts of champagne. Serious drinkers gag on their drinks. The chaotic cities are unlivable. Anarchy reigns. Every house is boarded up, condemned. People riot in the streets for wine, but the good times are gone forever— no more joy for this old world. The city is dead and deserted, bulldozed into piles of rubble. That's the way it will be on this earth. This is the fate of all nations: An olive tree shaken clean of its olives, a grapevine picked clean of its grapes. But there are some who will break into glad song. Out of the west they'll shout of God 's majesty. Yes, from the east God 's glory will ascend. Every island of the sea Will broadcast God 's fame, the fame of the God of Israel. From the four winds and the seven seas we hear the singing: "All praise to the Righteous One!" But I said, "That's all well and good for somebody, but all I can see is doom, doom, and more doom." All of them at one another's throats, yes, all of them at one another's throats. Terror and pits and booby traps are everywhere, whoever you are. If you run from the terror, you'll fall into the pit. If you climb out of the pit, you'll get caught in the trap. Chaos pours out of the skies. The foundations of earth are crumbling. Earth is smashed to pieces, earth is ripped to shreds, earth is wobbling out of control, Earth staggers like a drunk, sways like a shack in a high wind. Its piled-up sins are too much for it. It collapses and won't get up again.

But here on this mountain, God -of-the-Angel-Armies will throw a feast for all the people of the world, A feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines, a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts. And here on this mountain, God will banish the pall of doom hanging over all peoples, The shadow of doom darkening all nations. Yes, he'll banish death forever. And God will wipe the tears from every face. He'll remove every sign of disgrace From his people, wherever they are. Yes! God says so!

Also at that time, people will say, "Look at what's happened! This is our God! We waited for him and he showed up and saved us! This God , the one we waited for! Let's celebrate, sing the joys of his salvation. God 's hand rests on this mountain!" As for the Moabites, they'll be treated like refuse, waste shoveled into a cesspool. Thrash away as they will, like swimmers trying to stay afloat, They'll sink in the sewage. Their pride will pull them under. Their famous fortifications will crumble to nothing, those mighty walls reduced to dust.

God's Hand Rests on This Mountain God , you are my God. I celebrate you. I praise you. You've done your share of miracle-wonders, well-thought-out plans, solid and sure. Here you've reduced the city to rubble, the strong city to a pile of stones. The enemy Big City is a non-city, never to be a city again. Superpowers will see it and honor you, brutal oppressors bow in worshipful reverence. They'll see that you take care of the poor, that you take care of poor people in trouble, Provide a warm, dry place in bad weather, provide a cool place when it's hot. Brutal oppressors are like a winter blizzard and vicious foreigners like high noon in the desert. But you, shelter from the storm and shade from the sun, shut the mouths of the big-mouthed bullies. But here on this mountain, God -of-the-Angel-Armies will throw a feast for all the people of the world, A feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines, a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts. And here on this mountain, God will banish the pall of doom hanging over all peoples, The shadow of doom darkening all nations. Yes, he'll banish death forever. And God will wipe the tears from every face. He'll remove every sign of disgrace From his people, wherever they are. Yes! God says so! Also at that time, people will say, "Look at what's happened! This is our God! We waited for him and he showed up and saved us! This God , the one we waited for! Let's celebrate, sing the joys of his salvation. God 's hand rests on this mountain!" As for the Moabites, they'll be treated like refuse, waste shoveled into a cesspool. Thrash away as they will, like swimmers trying to stay afloat, They'll sink in the sewage. Their pride will pull them under. Their famous fortifications will crumble to nothing, those mighty walls reduced to dust.

God's Hand Rests on This Mountain God , you are my God. I celebrate you. I praise you. You've done your share of miracle-wonders, well-thought-out plans, solid and sure. Here you've reduced the city to rubble, the strong city to a pile of stones. The enemy Big City is a non-city, never to be a city again. Superpowers will see it and honor you, brutal oppressors bow in worshipful reverence. They'll see that you take care of the poor, that you take care of poor people in trouble, Provide a warm, dry place in bad weather, provide a cool place when it's hot. Brutal oppressors are like a winter blizzard and vicious foreigners like high noon in the desert. But you, shelter from the storm and shade from the sun, shut the mouths of the big-mouthed bullies. But here on this mountain, God -of-the-Angel-Armies will throw a feast for all the people of the world, A feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines, a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts. And here on this mountain, God will banish the pall of doom hanging over all peoples, The shadow of doom darkening all nations. Yes, he'll banish death forever. And God will wipe the tears from every face. He'll remove every sign of disgrace From his people, wherever they are. Yes! God says so! Also at that time, people will say, "Look at what's happened! This is our God! We waited for him and he showed up and saved us! This God , the one we waited for! Let's celebrate, sing the joys of his salvation. God 's hand rests on this mountain!" As for the Moabites, they'll be treated like refuse, waste shoveled into a cesspool. Thrash away as they will, like swimmers trying to stay afloat, They'll sink in the sewage. Their pride will pull them under. Their famous fortifications will crumble to nothing, those mighty walls reduced to dust.

At that time, this song will be sung in the country of Judah: We have a strong city, Salvation City, built and fortified with salvation. Throw wide the gates so good and true people can enter. People with their minds set on you, you keep completely whole, Steady on their feet, because they keep at it and don't quit. Depend on God and keep at it because in the Lord God you have a sure thing. Those who lived high and mighty he knocked off their high horse. He used the city built on the hill as fill for the marshes. All the exploited and outcast peoples build their lives on the reclaimed land.

The path of right-living people is level. The Leveler evens the road for the right-living. We're in no hurry, God . We're content to linger in the path sign-posted with your decisions. Who you are and what you've done are all we'll ever want. Through the night my soul longs for you. Deep from within me my spirit reaches out to you. When your decisions are on public display, everyone learns how to live right. If the wicked are shown grace, they don't seem to get it. In the land of right living, they persist in wrong living, blind to the splendor of God .

You hold your hand up high, God , but they don't see it. Open their eyes to what you do, to see your zealous love for your people. Shame them. Light a fire under them. Get the attention of these enemies of yours. God , order a peaceful and whole life for us because everything we've done, you've done for us. O God , our God, we've had other masters rule us, but you're the only Master we've ever known. The dead don't talk, ghosts don't walk, Because you've said, "Enough—that's all for you," and wiped them off the books. But the living you make larger than life. The more life you give, the more glory you display, and stretch the borders to accommodate more living!

O God , they begged you for help when they were in trouble, when your discipline was so heavy they could barely whisper a prayer. Like a woman having a baby, writhing in distress, screaming her pain as the baby is being born, That's how we were because of you, O God . We were pregnant full-term. We writhed in labor but bore no baby. We gave birth to wind. Nothing came of our labor. We produced nothing living. We couldn't save the world.

Come, my people, go home and shut yourselves in. Go into seclusion for a while until the punishing wrath is past, Because God is sure to come from his place to punish the wrong of the people on earth. Earth itself will point out the bloodstains; it will show where the murdered have been hidden away.