Study Desk

"And that's just the beginning: After that— "I will pour out my Spirit on every kind of people: Your sons will prophesy, also your daughters. Your old men will dream, your young men will see visions. I'll even pour out my Spirit on the servants, men and women both. I'll set wonders in the sky above and signs on the earth below: Blood and fire and billowing smoke, the sun turning black and the moon blood-red, Before the Judgment Day of God , the Day tremendous and awesome. Whoever calls, ‘Help, God !' gets help. On Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there will be a great rescue—just as God said. Included in the survivors are those that God calls."

"As for you, Tyre and Sidon and Philistia, why should I bother with you? Are you trying to get back at me for something I did to you? If you are, forget it. I'll see to it that it boomerangs on you. You robbed me, cleaned me out of silver and gold, carted off everything valuable to furnish your own temples. You sold the people of Judah and Jerusalem into slavery to the Greeks in faraway places. But I'm going to reverse your crime. I'm going to free those slaves. I'll have done to you what you did to them: I'll sell your children as slaves to your neighbors, And they'll sell them to the far-off Sabeans." God 's Verdict.

Woe to all of you who want God 's Judgment Day! Why would you want to see God , want him to come? When God comes, it will be bad news before it's good news, the worst of times, not the best of times. Here's what it's like: A man runs from a lion right into the jaws of a bear. A woman goes home after a hard day's work and is raped by a neighbor. At God 's coming we face hard reality, not fantasy— a black cloud with no silver lining.

God said to me, "What do you see, Amos?" I said, "A plumb line." Then my Master said, "Look what I've done. I've hung a plumb line in the midst of my people Israel. I've spared them for the last time. This is it! "Isaac's sex-and-religion shrines will be smashed, Israel's unholy shrines will be knocked to pieces. I'm raising my sword against the royal family of Jeroboam."

He said, "What do you see, Amos?" I said, "A bowl of fresh, ripe fruit." God said, "Right. So, I'm calling it quits with my people Israel. I'm no longer acting as if everything is just fine."

But God sent a huge storm at sea, the waves towering. The ship was about to break into pieces. The sailors were terrified. They called out in desperation to their gods. They threw everything they were carrying overboard to lighten the ship. Meanwhile, Jonah had gone down into the hold of the ship to take a nap. He was sound asleep. The captain came to him and said, "What's this? Sleeping! Get up! Pray to your god! Maybe your god will see we're in trouble and rescue us."

But Jonah just left. He went out of the city to the east and sat down in a sulk. He put together a makeshift shelter of leafy branches and sat there in the shade to see what would happen to the city.

Doom to those who plot evil, who go to bed dreaming up crimes! As soon as it's morning, they're off, full of energy, doing what they've planned. They covet fields and grab them, find homes and take them. They bully the neighbor and his family, see people only for what they can get out of them. God has had enough. He says, "I have some plans of my own: Disaster because of this interbreeding evil! Your necks are on the line. You're not walking away from this. It's doomsday for you. Mocking ballads will be sung of you, and you yourselves will sing the blues: ‘Our lives are ruined, our homes and lands auctioned off. They take everything, leave us nothing! All is sold to the highest bidder.'" And there'll be no one to stand up for you, no one to speak for you before God and his jury.

Here is God 's Message to the prophets, the preachers who lie to my people: "For as long as they're well paid and well fed, the prophets preach, ‘Isn't life wonderful! Peace to all!' But if you don't pay up and jump on their bandwagon, their ‘God bless you' turns into ‘God damn you.' Therefore, you're going blind. You'll see nothing. You'll live in deep shadows and know nothing. The sun has set on the prophets. They've had their day; from now on it's night. Visionaries will be confused, experts will be all mixed up. They'll hide behind their reputations and make lame excuses to cover up their God-ignorance."

But for right now, they're ganged up against you, many godless peoples, saying, "Kick her when she's down! Violate her! We want to see Zion grovel in the dirt." These blasphemers have no idea what God is thinking and doing in this. They don't know that this is the making of God 's people, that they are wheat being threshed, gold being refined.

But me, I'm not giving up. I'm sticking around to see what God will do. I'm waiting for God to make things right. I'm counting on God to listen to me.

Don't, enemy, crow over me. I'm down, but I'm not out. I'm sitting in the dark right now, but God is my light. I can take God 's punishing rage. I deserve it—I sinned. But it's not forever. He's on my side and is going to get me out of this. He'll turn on the lights and show me his ways. I'll see the whole picture and how right he is. And my enemy will see it, too, and be discredited—yes, disgraced! This enemy who kept taunting, "So where is this God of yours?" I'm going to see it with these, my own eyes— my enemy disgraced, trash in the gutter.

A report on the problem of Nineveh, the way God gave Nahum of Elkosh to see it:

"I'm your enemy, Whore Nineveh— I, God -of-the-Angel-Armies! I'll strip you of your seductive silk robes and expose you on the world stage. I'll let the nations get their fill of the ugly truth of who you really are and have been all along. I'll pelt you with dog dung and place you on a pedestal: ‘Slut on Exhibit.' Everyone who sees you will gag and say, ‘Nineveh's a pigsty: What on earth did we ever see in her? Who would give her a second look? Ugh!'"

Let the Nations Get Their Fill of the Ugly Truth Doom to Murder City— full of lies, bursting with loot, addicted to violence! Horns blaring, wheels clattering, horses rearing, chariots lurching, Horsemen galloping, brandishing swords and spears, Dead bodies rotting in the street, corpses stacked like cordwood, Bodies in every gutter and alley, clogging every intersection! And whores! Whores without end! Whore City, Fatally seductive, you're the Witch of Seduction, luring nations to their ruin with your evil spells. "I'm your enemy, Whore Nineveh— I, God -of-the-Angel-Armies! I'll strip you of your seductive silk robes and expose you on the world stage. I'll let the nations get their fill of the ugly truth of who you really are and have been all along. I'll pelt you with dog dung and place you on a pedestal: ‘Slut on Exhibit.' Everyone who sees you will gag and say, ‘Nineveh's a pigsty: What on earth did we ever see in her? Who would give her a second look? Ugh!'" Do you think you're superior to Egyptian Thebes, proudly invincible on the River Nile, Protected by the great River, walled in by the River, secure? Ethiopia stood guard to the south, Egypt to the north. Put and Libya, strong friends, were ready to step in and help. But you know what happened to her: The whole city was marched off to a refugee camp, Her babies smashed to death in public view on the streets, Her prize leaders auctioned off, her celebrities put in chain gangs. Expect the same treatment, Nineveh. You'll soon be staggering like a bunch of drunks, Wondering what hit you, looking for a place to sleep it off. All your forts are like peach trees, the lush peaches ripe, ready for the picking. One shake of the tree and they fall straight into hungry mouths. Face it: Your warriors are wimps. You're sitting ducks. Your borders are gaping doors, inviting your enemies in. And who's to stop them? Store up water for the siege. Shore up your defenses. Get down to basics: Work the clay and make bricks. Sorry. Too late. Enemy fire will burn you up. Swords will cut you to pieces. You'll be chewed up as if by locusts. Yes, as if by locusts—a fitting fate, for you yourselves are a locust plague. You've multiplied shops and shopkeepers— more buyers and sellers than stars in the sky! A plague of locusts, cleaning out the neighborhood and then flying off. Your bureaucrats are locusts, your brokers and bankers are locusts. Early on, they're all at your service, full of smiles and promises, But later when you return with questions or complaints, you'll find they've flown off and are nowhere to be found. King of Assyria! Your shepherd-leaders, in charge of caring for your people, Are busy doing everything else but. They're not doing their job, And your people are scattered and lost. There's no one to look after them. You're past the point of no return. Your wound is fatal. When the story of your fate gets out, the whole world will applaud and cry "Encore!" Your cruel evil has seeped into every nook and cranny of the world. Everyone has felt it and suffered.

Let the Nations Get Their Fill of the Ugly Truth Doom to Murder City— full of lies, bursting with loot, addicted to violence! Horns blaring, wheels clattering, horses rearing, chariots lurching, Horsemen galloping, brandishing swords and spears, Dead bodies rotting in the street, corpses stacked like cordwood, Bodies in every gutter and alley, clogging every intersection! And whores! Whores without end! Whore City, Fatally seductive, you're the Witch of Seduction, luring nations to their ruin with your evil spells. "I'm your enemy, Whore Nineveh— I, God -of-the-Angel-Armies! I'll strip you of your seductive silk robes and expose you on the world stage. I'll let the nations get their fill of the ugly truth of who you really are and have been all along. I'll pelt you with dog dung and place you on a pedestal: ‘Slut on Exhibit.' Everyone who sees you will gag and say, ‘Nineveh's a pigsty: What on earth did we ever see in her? Who would give her a second look? Ugh!'" Do you think you're superior to Egyptian Thebes, proudly invincible on the River Nile, Protected by the great River, walled in by the River, secure? Ethiopia stood guard to the south, Egypt to the north. Put and Libya, strong friends, were ready to step in and help. But you know what happened to her: The whole city was marched off to a refugee camp, Her babies smashed to death in public view on the streets, Her prize leaders auctioned off, her celebrities put in chain gangs. Expect the same treatment, Nineveh. You'll soon be staggering like a bunch of drunks, Wondering what hit you, looking for a place to sleep it off. All your forts are like peach trees, the lush peaches ripe, ready for the picking. One shake of the tree and they fall straight into hungry mouths. Face it: Your warriors are wimps. You're sitting ducks. Your borders are gaping doors, inviting your enemies in. And who's to stop them? Store up water for the siege. Shore up your defenses. Get down to basics: Work the clay and make bricks. Sorry. Too late. Enemy fire will burn you up. Swords will cut you to pieces. You'll be chewed up as if by locusts. Yes, as if by locusts—a fitting fate, for you yourselves are a locust plague. You've multiplied shops and shopkeepers— more buyers and sellers than stars in the sky! A plague of locusts, cleaning out the neighborhood and then flying off. Your bureaucrats are locusts, your brokers and bankers are locusts. Early on, they're all at your service, full of smiles and promises, But later when you return with questions or complaints, you'll find they've flown off and are nowhere to be found.

The problem as God gave Habakkuk to see it: God , how long do I have to cry out for help before you listen? How many times do I have to yell, "Help! Murder! Police!" before you come to the rescue? Why do you force me to look at evil, stare trouble in the face day after day? Anarchy and violence break out, quarrels and fights all over the place. Law and order fall to pieces. Justice is a joke. The wicked have the righteous hamstrung and stand justice on its head.

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.

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!"