Study Desk

"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. "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— 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.

"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!"

A prayer of the prophet Habakkuk, with orchestra: God , I've heard what our ancestors say about you, and I'm stopped in my tracks, down on my knees. Do among us what you did among them. Work among us as you worked among them. And as you bring judgment, as you surely must, remember mercy.

God's on his way again, retracing the old salvation route, Coming up from the south through Teman, the Holy One from Mount Paran. Skies are blazing with his splendor, his praises sounding through the earth, His cloud-brightness like dawn, exploding, spreading, forked-lightning shooting from his hand— what power hidden in that fist! Plague marches before him, pestilence at his heels! He stops. He shakes Earth. He looks around. Nations tremble. The age-old mountains fall to pieces; ancient hills collapse like a spent balloon. The paths God takes are older than the oldest mountains and hills. I saw everyone worried, in a panic: Old wilderness adversaries, Cushan and Midian, were terrified, hoping he wouldn't notice them.

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.)

God 's Message to Zephaniah son of Cushi, son of Gedaliah, son of Amariah, son of Hezekiah. It came during the reign of Josiah son of Amon, who was king of Judah:

"I'm going to make a clean sweep of the earth, a thorough housecleaning." God 's Decree.

"I'll start with Judah and everybody who lives in Jerusalem. I'll sweep the place clean of every trace of the sex-and-religion Baal shrines and their priests. I'll get rid of the people who sneak up to their rooftops at night to worship the star gods and goddesses; Also those who continue to worship God but cover their bases by worshiping other king-gods as well; Not to mention those who've dumped God altogether, no longer giving him a thought or offering a prayer.

"Quiet now! Reverent silence before me, God , the Master! Time's up. My Judgment Day is near: The Holy Day is all set, the invited guests made holy. On the Holy Day, God 's Judgment Day, I will punish the leaders and the royal sons; I will punish those who dress up like foreign priests and priestesses, Who introduce pagan prayers and practices; And I'll punish all who import pagan superstitions that turn holy places into hellholes. Judgment Day!" God 's Decree! "Cries of panic from the city's Fish Gate, Cries of terror from the city's Second Quarter, sounds of great crashing from the hills! Wail, you shopkeepers on Market Street! Moneymaking has had its day. The god Money is dead. On Judgment Day, I'll search through every closet and alley in Jerusalem. I'll find and punish those who are sitting it out, fat and lazy, amusing themselves and taking it easy, Who think, ‘ God doesn't do anything, good or bad. He isn't involved, so neither are we.' But just wait. They'll lose everything they have, money and house and land. They'll build a house and never move in. They'll plant vineyards and never taste the wine.

"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."

So get yourselves together. Shape up! You're a nation without a clue about what it wants. Do it before you're blown away like leaves in a windstorm, Before God 's Judgment-anger sweeps down on you, Before God 's Judgment Day wrath descends with full force.

Seek God , all you quietly disciplined people who live by God 's justice. Seek God 's right ways. Seek a quiet and disciplined life. Perhaps you'll be hidden on the Day of God 's anger.

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.