Study Desk

"Look around at the godless nations. Look long and hard. Brace yourself for a shock. Something's about to take place and you're going to find it hard to believe. I'm about to raise up Babylonians to punish you, Babylonians, fierce and ferocious— World-conquering Babylon, grabbing up nations right and left, A dreadful and terrible people, making up its own rules as it goes. Their horses run like the wind, attack like bloodthirsty wolves. A stampede of galloping horses thunders out of nowhere. They descend like vultures circling in on carrion. They're out to kill. Death is on their minds. They collect victims like squirrels gathering nuts. They mock kings, poke fun at generals, Spit on forts, and leave them in the dust. They'll all be blown away by the wind. Brazen in sin, they call strength their god."

God , you're from eternity, aren't you? Holy God, we aren't going to die, are we? God , you chose Babylonians for your judgment work? Rock-Solid God, you gave them the job of discipline? But you can't be serious! You can't condone evil! So why don't you do something about this? Why are you silent now? This outrage! Evil men swallow up the righteous and you stand around and watch!

What's God going to say to my questions? I'm braced for the worst. I'll climb to the lookout tower and scan the horizon. I'll wait to see what God says, how he'll answer my complaint.

And then God answered: "Write this. Write what you see. Write it out in big block letters so that it can be read on the run. This vision-message is a witness pointing to what's coming. It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait! And it doesn't lie. If it seems slow in coming, wait. It's on its way. It will come right on time.

"Note well: Money deceives. The arrogant rich don't last. They are more hungry for wealth than the grave is for cadavers. Like death, they always want more, but the ‘more' they get is dead bodies. They are cemeteries filled with dead nations, graveyards filled with corpses. Don't give people like this a second thought. Soon the whole world will be taunting them: "‘Who do you think you are— getting rich by stealing and extortion? How long do you think you can get away with this?' Indeed, how long before your victims wake up, stand up and make you the victim? You've plundered nation after nation. Now you'll get a taste of your own medicine. All the survivors are out to plunder you, a payback for all your murders and massacres. "Who do you think you are— recklessly grabbing and looting, Living it up, acting like king of the mountain, acting above it all, above trials and troubles? You've engineered the ruin of your own house. In ruining others you've ruined yourself. You've undermined your foundations, rotted out your own soul. The bricks of your house will speak up and accuse you. The woodwork will step forward with evidence. "Who do you think you are— building a town by murder, a city with crime? Don't you know that God -of-the-Angel-Armies makes sure nothing comes of that but ashes, Makes sure the harder you work at that kind of thing, the less you are? Meanwhile the earth fills up with awareness of God 's glory as the waters cover the sea. "Who do you think you are— inviting your neighbors to your drunken parties, Giving them too much to drink, roping them into your sexual orgies? You thought you were having the time of your life. Wrong! It's a time of disgrace. All the time you were drinking, you were drinking from the cup of God's wrath. You'll wake up holding your throbbing head, hung over— hung over from Lebanon violence, Hung over from animal massacres, hung over from murder and mayhem, From multiple violations of place and people. "What's the use of a carved god so skillfully carved by its sculptor? What good is a fancy cast god when all it tells is lies? What sense does it make to be a pious god-maker who makes gods that can't even talk? Who do you think you are— saying to a stick of wood, ‘Wake up,' Or to a dumb stone, ‘Get up'? Can they teach you anything about anything? There's nothing to them but surface. There's nothing on the inside. "But oh! God is in his holy Temple! Quiet everyone—a holy silence. Listen!"

class="poetry"> What's God going to say to my questions? I'm braced for the worst. I'll climb to the lookout tower and scan the horizon. I'll wait to see what God says, how he'll answer my complaint. And then God answered: "Write this. Write what you see. Write it out in big block letters so that it can be read on the run. This vision-message is a witness pointing to what's coming. It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait! And it doesn't lie. If it seems slow in coming, wait. It's on its way. It will come right on time. "Look at that man, bloated by self-importance— full of himself but soul-empty. But the person in right standing before God through loyal and steady believing is fully alive, really alive. "Note well: Money deceives. The arrogant rich don't last. They are more hungry for wealth than the grave is for cadavers. Like death, they always want more, but the ‘more' they get is dead bodies. They are cemeteries filled with dead nations, graveyards filled with corpses. Don't give people like this a second thought. Soon the whole world will be taunting them: "‘Who do you think you are— getting rich by stealing and extortion? How long do you think you can get away with this?' Indeed, how long before your victims wake up, stand up and make you the victim? You've plundered nation after nation. Now you'll get a taste of your own medicine. All the survivors are out to plunder you, a payback for all your murders and massacres. "Who do you think you are— recklessly grabbing and looting, Living it up, acting like king of the mountain, acting above it all, above trials and troubles? You've engineered the ruin of your own house. In ruining others you've ruined yourself. You've undermined your foundations, rotted out your own soul. The bricks of your house will speak up and accuse you. The woodwork will step forward with evidence. "Who do you think you are— building a town by murder, a city with crime? Don't you know that God -of-the-Angel-Armies makes sure nothing comes of that but ashes, Makes sure the harder you work at that kind of thing, the less you are? Meanwhile the earth fills up with awareness of God 's glory as the waters cover the sea. "Who do you think you are— inviting your neighbors to your drunken parties, Giving them too much to drink, roping them into your sexual orgies? You thought you were having the time of your life. Wrong! It's a time of disgrace. All the time you were drinking, you were drinking from the cup of God's wrath. You'll wake up holding your throbbing head, hung over— hung over from Lebanon violence, Hung over from animal massacres, hung over from murder and mayhem, From multiple violations of place and people. "What's the use of a carved god so skillfully carved by its sculptor? What good is a fancy cast god when all it tells is lies? What sense does it make to be a pious god-maker who makes gods that can't even talk? Who do you think you are— saying to a stick of wood, ‘Wake up,' Or to a dumb stone, ‘Get up'? Can they teach you anything about anything? There's nothing to them but surface. There's nothing on the inside. "But oh! God is in his holy Temple! Quiet everyone—a holy silence. Listen!"

class="poetry"> What's God going to say to my questions? I'm braced for the worst. I'll climb to the lookout tower and scan the horizon. I'll wait to see what God says, how he'll answer my complaint. And then God answered: "Write this. Write what you see. Write it out in big block letters so that it can be read on the run. This vision-message is a witness pointing to what's coming. It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait! And it doesn't lie. If it seems slow in coming, wait. It's on its way. It will come right on time. "Look at that man, bloated by self-importance— full of himself but soul-empty. But the person in right standing before God through loyal and steady believing is fully alive, really alive. "Note well: Money deceives. The arrogant rich don't last. They are more hungry for wealth than the grave is for cadavers. Like death, they always want more, but the ‘more' they get is dead bodies. They are cemeteries filled with dead nations, graveyards filled with corpses. Don't give people like this a second thought. Soon the whole world will be taunting them: "‘Who do you think you are— getting rich by stealing and extortion? How long do you think you can get away with this?' Indeed, how long before your victims wake up, stand up and make you the victim? You've plundered nation after nation. Now you'll get a taste of your own medicine. All the survivors are out to plunder you, a payback for all your murders and massacres.

God , is it River you're mad at? Angry at old River? Were you raging at Sea when you rode horse and chariot through to salvation? You unfurled your bow and let loose a volley of arrows. You split Earth with rivers. Mountains saw what was coming. They twisted in pain. Flood Waters poured in. Ocean roared and reared huge waves. Sun and Moon stopped in their tracks. Your flashing arrows stopped them, your lightning-strike spears impaled them. Angry, you stomped through Earth. Furious, you crushed the godless nations. You were out to save your people, to save your specially chosen people. You beat the stuffing out of King Wicked, Stripped him naked from head to toe, Set his severed head on his own spear and blew away his army. Scattered they were to the four winds— and ended up food for the sharks! You galloped through the Sea on your horses, racing on the crest of the waves. When I heard it, my stomach did flips. I stammered and stuttered. My bones turned to water. I staggered and stumbled. I sit back and wait for Doomsday to descend on our attackers.

Though the cherry trees don't blossom and the strawberries don't ripen, Though the apples are worm-eaten and the wheat fields stunted, Though the sheep pens are sheepless and the cattle barns empty, I'm singing joyful praise to God . I'm turning cartwheels of joy to my Savior God. Counting on God 's Rule to prevail, I take heart and gain strength. I run like a deer. I feel like I'm king of the mountain! (For congregational use, with a full orchestra.)

"The Great Judgment Day of God is almost here. It's countdown time:... seven, six, five, four... Bitter and noisy cries on my Judgment Day, even strong men screaming for help. Judgment Day is payday—my anger paid out: a day of distress and anguish, a day of catastrophic doom, a day of darkness at noon, a day of black storm clouds, a day of bloodcurdling war cries, as forts are assaulted, as defenses are smashed. I'll make things so bad they won't know what hit them. They'll walk around groping like the blind. They've sinned against God ! Their blood will be poured out like old dishwater, their guts shoveled into slop buckets. Don't plan on buying your way out. Your money is worthless for this. This is the Day of God 's Judgment—my wrath! I care about sin with fiery passion— A fire to burn up the corrupted world, a wildfire finish to the corrupting people."

Gaza is scheduled for demolition, Ashdod will be cleaned out by high noon, Ekron pulled out by the roots. Doom to the seaside people, the seafaring people from Crete! The Word of God is bad news for you who settled Canaan, the Philistine country: "You're slated for destruction— no survivors!"

The lands of the seafarers will become pastureland, A country for shepherds and sheep. What's left of the family of Judah will get it. Day after day they'll pasture by the sea, and go home in the evening to Ashkelon to sleep. Their very own God will look out for them. He'll make things as good as before.

"I've heard the crude taunts of Moab, the mockeries flung by Ammon, The cruel talk they've used to put down my people, their self-important strutting along Israel's borders. Therefore, as sure as I am the living God," says God -of-the-Angel-Armies, Israel's personal God, "Moab will become a ruin like Sodom, Ammon a ghost town like Gomorrah, One a field of rocks, the other a sterile salt flat, a moonscape forever. What's left of my people will finish them off, will pick them clean and take over. This is what they get for their bloated pride, their taunts and mockeries of the people of God -of-the-Angel-Armies. God will be seen as truly terrible—a Holy Terror. All earth-made gods will shrivel up and blow away; And everyone, wherever they are, far or near, will fall to the ground and worship him. Also you Ethiopians, you, too, will die—I'll see to it."

Then God will reach into the north and destroy Assyria. He will waste Nineveh, leave her dry and treeless as a desert. The ghost town of a city, the haunt of wild animals, Nineveh will be home to raccoons and coyotes— they'll bed down in its ruins. Owls will hoot in the windows, ravens will croak in the doorways— all that fancy woodwork now a perch for birds. Can this be the famous Fun City that had it made, That boasted, "I'm the Number-One City! I'm King of the Mountain!" So why is the place deserted, a lair for wild animals? Passersby hardly give it a look; they dismiss it with a gesture.

Doom to the rebellious city, the home of oppressors—Sewer City! The city that wouldn't take advice, wouldn't accept correction, Wouldn't trust God , wouldn't even get close to her own god! Her very own leaders are rapacious lions, Her judges are rapacious timber wolves out every morning prowling for a fresh kill. Her prophets are out for what they can get. They're opportunists—you can't trust them. Her priests desecrate the Sanctuary. They use God's law as a weapon to maim and kill souls. Yet God remains righteous in her midst, untouched by the evil. He stays at it, day after day, meting out justice. At evening he's still at it, strong as ever. But evil men and women, without conscience and without shame, persist in evil.

"In the end I will turn things around for the people. I'll give them a language undistorted, unpolluted, Words to address God in worship and, united, to serve me with their shoulders to the wheel. They'll come from beyond the Ethiopian rivers, they'll come praying— All my scattered, exiled people will come home with offerings for worship. You'll no longer have to be ashamed of all those acts of rebellion. I'll have gotten rid of your arrogant leaders. No more pious strutting on my holy hill! I'll leave a core of people among you who are poor in spirit— What's left of Israel that's really Israel. They'll make their home in God . This core holy people will not do wrong. They won't lie, won't use words to flatter or seduce. Content with who they are and where they are, unanxious, they'll live at peace."

"The accumulated sorrows of your exile will dissipate. I, your God, will get rid of them for you. You've carried those burdens long enough. At the same time, I'll get rid of all those who've made your life miserable. I'll heal the maimed; I'll bring home the homeless. In the very countries where they were hated they will be venerated. On Judgment Day I'll bring you back home—a great family gathering! You'll be famous and honored all over the world. You'll see it with your own eyes— all those painful partings turned into reunions!" God 's Promise.

Shortly after that, God said more and Haggai spoke it: "How is it that it's the ‘right time' for you to live in your fine new homes while the Home, God 's Temple, is in ruins?"

And then a little later, God -of-the-Angel-Armies spoke out again: "Take a good, hard look at your life. Think it over. You have spent a lot of money, but you haven't much to show for it. You keep filling your plates, but you never get filled up. You keep drinking and drinking and drinking, but you're always thirsty. You put on layer after layer of clothes, but you can't get warm. And the people who work for you, what are they getting out of it? Not much— a leaky, rusted-out bucket, that's what.

Then God said: "Here's what I want you to do: Climb into the hills and cut some timber. Bring it down and rebuild the Temple. Do it just for me. Honor me. You've had great ambitions for yourselves, but nothing has come of it. The little you have brought to my Temple I've blown away—there was nothing to it. "And why?" (This is a Message from God -of-the-Angel-Armies, remember.) "Because while you've run around, caught up with taking care of your own houses, my Home is in ruins. That's why. Because of your stinginess. And so I've given you a dry summer and a skimpy crop. I've matched your tight-fisted stinginess by decreeing a season of drought, drying up fields and hills, withering gardens and orchards, stunting vegetables and fruit. Nothing—not man or woman, not animal or crop—is going to thrive." Then the governor, Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, and the high priest, Joshua son of Jehozadak, and all the people with them listened, really listened, to the voice of their God . When God sent the prophet Haggai to them, they paid attention to him. In listening to Haggai, they honored God . Then Haggai, God 's messenger, preached God 's Message to the people: "I am with you!" God 's Word. This is how God got Zerubbabel, Joshua, and all the people moving—got them working on the Temple of God -of-the-Angel-Armies. This happened on the twenty-fourth day of the sixth month in the second year of King Darius.