Study Desk

You Who Legislate Evil Doom to you who legislate evil, who make laws that make victims— Laws that make misery for the poor, that rob my destitute people of dignity, Exploiting defenseless widows, taking advantage of homeless children. What will you have to say on Judgment Day, when Doomsday arrives out of the blue? Who will you get to help you? What good will your money do you? A sorry sight you'll be then, huddled with the prisoners, or just some corpses stacked in the street. Even after all this, God is still angry, his fist still raised, ready to hit them again. "Doom to Assyria, weapon of my anger. My wrath is a cudgel in his hands! I send him against a godless nation, against the people I'm angry with. I command him to strip them clean, rob them blind, and then push their faces in the mud and leave them. But Assyria has another agenda; he has something else in mind. He's out to destroy utterly, to stamp out as many nations as he can. Assyria says, ‘Aren't my commanders all kings? Can't they do whatever they like? Didn't I destroy Calno as well as Carchemish? Hamath as well as Arpad? Level Samaria as I did Damascus? I've eliminated kingdoms full of gods far more impressive than anything in Jerusalem and Samaria. So what's to keep me from destroying Jerusalem in the same way I destroyed Samaria and all her god-idols?'" When the Master has finished dealing with Mount Zion and Jerusalem, he'll say, "Now it's Assyria's turn. I'll punish the bragging arrogance of the king of Assyria, his high and mighty posturing, the way he goes around saying, "‘I've done all this by myself. I know more than anyone. I've wiped out the boundaries of whole countries. I've walked in and taken anything I wanted. I charged in like a bull and toppled their kings from their thrones. I reached out my hand and took all that they treasured as easily as a boy taking a bird's eggs from a nest. Like a farmer gathering eggs from the henhouse, I gathered the world in my basket, And no one so much as fluttered a wing or squawked or even chirped.'" Does an ax take over from the one who swings it? Does a saw act more important than the sawyer? As if a shovel did its shoveling by using a ditch digger! As if a hammer used the carpenter to pound nails! Therefore the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, will send a debilitating disease on his robust Assyrian fighters. Under the canopy of God's bright glory a fierce fire will break out. Israel's Light will burst into a conflagration. The Holy will explode into a firestorm, And in one day burn to cinders every last Assyrian thornbush. God will destroy the splendid trees and lush gardens. The Assyrian body and soul will waste away to nothing like a disease-ridden invalid. A child could count what's left of the trees on the fingers of his two hands. And on that Day also, what's left of Israel, the ragtag survivors of Jacob, will no longer be fascinated by abusive, battering Assyria. They'll lean on God , The Holy—yes, truly. The ragtag remnant—what's left of Jacob—will come back to the Strong God. Your people Israel were once like the sand on the seashore, but only a scattered few will return. Destruction is ordered, brimming over with righteousness. For the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, will finish here what he started all over the globe. Therefore the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, says: "My dear, dear people who live in Zion, don't be terrorized by the Assyrians when they beat you with clubs and threaten you with rods like the Egyptians once did. In just a short time my anger against you will be spent and I'll turn my destroying anger on them. I, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, will go after them with a cat-o'-nine-tails and finish them off decisively—as Gideon downed Midian at the rock Oreb, as Moses turned the tables on Egypt. On that day, Assyria will be pulled off your back, and the yoke of slavery lifted from your neck." Assyria's on the move: up from Rimmon, on to Aiath, through Migron, with a bivouac at Micmash. They've crossed the pass, set camp at Geba for the night. Ramah trembles with fright. Gibeah of Saul has run off. Cry for help, daughter of Gallim! Listen to her, Laishah! Do something, Anathoth! Madmenah takes to the hills. The people of Gebim flee in panic. The enemy's soon at Nob—nearly there! In sight of the city he shakes his fist At the mount of dear daughter Zion, the hill of Jerusalem.

Thunder rolls off the mountains like a mob huge and noisy— Thunder of kingdoms in an uproar, nations assembling for war. God -of-the-Angel-Armies is calling his army into battle formation. They come from far-off countries, they pour in across the horizon. It's God on the move with the weapons of his wrath, ready to destroy the whole country.

Wail! God 's Day of Judgment is near— an avalanche crashing down from the Strong God! Everyone paralyzed in the panic, hysterical and unstrung, Doubled up in pain like a woman giving birth to a baby. Horrified—everyone they see is like a face out of a nightmare.

"And now watch this: Against Babylon, I'm inciting the Medes, A ruthless bunch indifferent to bribes, the kind of brutality that no one can blunt. They massacre the young, wantonly kick and kill even babies. And Babylon, most glorious of all kingdoms, the pride and joy of Chaldeans, Will end up smoking and stinking like Sodom, and, yes, like Gomorrah, when God had finished with them. No one will live there anymore, generation after generation a ghost town. Not even Bedouins will pitch tents there. Shepherds will give it a wide berth. But strange and wild animals will like it just fine, filling the vacant houses with eerie night sounds. Skunks will make it their home, and unspeakable night hags will haunt it. Hyenas will curdle your blood with their laughing, and the howling of coyotes will give you the shivers. "Babylon is doomed. It won't be long now."

But not so with Jacob. God will have compassion on Jacob. Once again he'll choose Israel. He'll establish them in their own country. Outsiders will be attracted and throw their lot in with Jacob. The nations among whom they lived will actually escort them back home, and then Israel will pay them back by making slaves of them, men and women alike, possessing them as slaves in God 's country, capturing those who had captured them, ruling over those who had abused them.

When God has given you time to recover from the abuse and trouble and harsh servitude that you had to endure, you can amuse yourselves by taking up this satire, a taunt against the king of Babylon: Can you believe it? The tyrant is gone! The tyranny is over! God has broken the rule of the wicked, the power of the bully-rulers That crushed many people. A relentless rain of cruel outrage Established a violent rule of anger rife with torture and persecution. And now it's over, the whole earth quietly at rest. Burst into song! Make the rafters ring! Ponderosa pine trees are happy, giant Lebanon cedars are relieved, saying, "Since you've been cut down, there's no one around to cut us down." And the underworld dead are all excited, preparing to welcome you when you come. Getting ready to greet you are the ghostly dead, all the famous names of earth. All the buried kings of the nations will stand up on their thrones With well-prepared speeches, royal invitations to death: "Now you are as nothing as we are! Make yourselves at home with us dead folks!" This is where your pomp and fine music led you, Babylon, to your underworld private chambers, A king-size mattress of maggots for repose and a quilt of crawling worms for warmth. What a comedown this, O Babylon! Daystar! Son of Dawn! Flat on your face in the underworld mud, you, famous for flattening nations! You said to yourself, "I'll climb to heaven. I'll set my throne over the stars of God. I'll run the assembly of angels that meets on sacred Mount Zaphon. I'll climb to the top of the clouds. I'll take over as King of the Universe!" But you didn't make it, did you? Instead of climbing up, you came down— Down with the underground dead, down to the abyss of the Pit. People will stare and muse: "Can this be the one Who terrorized earth and its kingdoms, turned earth to a moonscape, Wasted its cities, shut up his prisoners to a living death?" 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! Get a place ready to slaughter the sons of the wicked and wipe out their father's line. Unthinkable that they should own a square foot of land or desecrate the face of the world with their cities! "I will confront them"—Decree of God -of-the-Angel-Armies—"and strip Babylon of name and survivors, children and grandchildren." God 's Decree. "I'll make it a worthless swamp and give it as a prize to the hedgehog. And then I'll bulldoze it out of existence." Decree of God -of-the-Angel-Armies. 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? In the year King Ahaz died, this Message came: Hold it, Philistines! It's too soon to celebrate the defeat of your cruel oppressor. From the death throes of that snake a worse snake will come, and from that, one even worse. The poor won't have to worry. The needy will escape the terror. But you Philistines will be plunged into famine, and those who don't starve, God will kill. Wail and howl, proud city! Fall prostrate in fear, Philistia! On the northern horizon, smoke from burned cities, the wake of a brutal, disciplined destroyer. What does one say to outsiders who ask questions? Tell them, " God has established Zion. Those in need and in trouble find refuge in her."

Now You Are Nothing But not so with Jacob. God will have compassion on Jacob. Once again he'll choose Israel. He'll establish them in their own country. Outsiders will be attracted and throw their lot in with Jacob. The nations among whom they lived will actually escort them back home, and then Israel will pay them back by making slaves of them, men and women alike, possessing them as slaves in God 's country, capturing those who had captured them, ruling over those who had abused them. When God has given you time to recover from the abuse and trouble and harsh servitude that you had to endure, you can amuse yourselves by taking up this satire, a taunt against the king of Babylon: Can you believe it? The tyrant is gone! The tyranny is over! God has broken the rule of the wicked, the power of the bully-rulers That crushed many people. A relentless rain of cruel outrage Established a violent rule of anger rife with torture and persecution. And now it's over, the whole earth quietly at rest. Burst into song! Make the rafters ring! Ponderosa pine trees are happy, giant Lebanon cedars are relieved, saying, "Since you've been cut down, there's no one around to cut us down." And the underworld dead are all excited, preparing to welcome you when you come. Getting ready to greet you are the ghostly dead, all the famous names of earth. All the buried kings of the nations will stand up on their thrones With well-prepared speeches, royal invitations to death: "Now you are as nothing as we are! Make yourselves at home with us dead folks!" This is where your pomp and fine music led you, Babylon, to your underworld private chambers, A king-size mattress of maggots for repose and a quilt of crawling worms for warmth. What a comedown this, O Babylon! Daystar! Son of Dawn! Flat on your face in the underworld mud, you, famous for flattening nations! You said to yourself, "I'll climb to heaven. I'll set my throne over the stars of God. I'll run the assembly of angels that meets on sacred Mount Zaphon. I'll climb to the top of the clouds. I'll take over as King of the Universe!" But you didn't make it, did you? Instead of climbing up, you came down— Down with the underground dead, down to the abyss of the Pit. People will stare and muse: "Can this be the one Who terrorized earth and its kingdoms, turned earth to a moonscape, Wasted its cities, shut up his prisoners to a living death?" 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! Get a place ready to slaughter the sons of the wicked and wipe out their father's line. Unthinkable that they should own a square foot of land or desecrate the face of the world with their cities! "I will confront them"—Decree of God -of-the-Angel-Armies—"and strip Babylon of name and survivors, children and grandchildren." God 's Decree. "I'll make it a worthless swamp and give it as a prize to the hedgehog. And then I'll bulldoze it out of existence." Decree of God -of-the-Angel-Armies. 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? In the year King Ahaz died, this Message came: Hold it, Philistines! It's too soon to celebrate the defeat of your cruel oppressor. From the death throes of that snake a worse snake will come, and from that, one even worse. The poor won't have to worry. The needy will escape the terror. But you Philistines will be plunged into famine, and those who don't starve, God will kill. Wail and howl, proud city! Fall prostrate in fear, Philistia! On the northern horizon, smoke from burned cities, the wake of a brutal, disciplined destroyer. What does one say to outsiders who ask questions? Tell them, " God has established Zion. Those in need and in trouble find refuge in her."

Now You Are Nothing But not so with Jacob. God will have compassion on Jacob. Once again he'll choose Israel. He'll establish them in their own country. Outsiders will be attracted and throw their lot in with Jacob. The nations among whom they lived will actually escort them back home, and then Israel will pay them back by making slaves of them, men and women alike, possessing them as slaves in God 's country, capturing those who had captured them, ruling over those who had abused them. When God has given you time to recover from the abuse and trouble and harsh servitude that you had to endure, you can amuse yourselves by taking up this satire, a taunt against the king of Babylon: Can you believe it? The tyrant is gone! The tyranny is over! God has broken the rule of the wicked, the power of the bully-rulers That crushed many people. A relentless rain of cruel outrage Established a violent rule of anger rife with torture and persecution.

Get a place ready to slaughter the sons of the wicked and wipe out their father's line. Unthinkable that they should own a square foot of land or desecrate the face of the world with their cities!

A Message concerning Moab: Village Ar of Moab is in ruins, destroyed in a night raid. Village Kir of Moab is in ruins, destroyed in a night raid. Village Dibon climbs to its chapel in the hills, goes up to lament. Moab weeps and wails over Nebo and Medba. Every head is shaved bald, every beard shaved clean. They pour into the streets wearing black, go up on the roofs, take to the town square, Everyone in tears, everyone in grief. Towns Heshbon and Elealeh cry long and loud. The sound carries as far as Jahaz. Moab sobs, shaking in grief. The soul of Moab trembles.

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.

A Message concerning Damascus: "Watch this: Damascus undone as a city, a pile of dust and rubble! Her towns emptied of people. The sheep and goats will move in And take over the towns as if they owned them—which they will! Not a sign of a fort is left in Ephraim, not a trace of government left in Damascus. What's left of Aram? The same as what's left of Israel—not much." Decree of God -of-the-Angel-Armies.

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.

On that Day, there will be a place of worship to God in the center of Egypt and a monument to God at its border. It will show how the God -of-the-Angel-Armies has helped the Egyptians. When they cry out in prayer to God because of oppressors, he'll send them help, a savior who will keep them safe and take care of them. God will openly show himself to the Egyptians and they'll get to know him on that Day. They'll worship him seriously with sacrifices and burnt offerings. They'll make vows and keep them. God will wound Egypt, first hit and then heal. Egypt will come back to God , and God will listen to their prayers and heal them, heal them from head to toe.

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?'"

Wail, ships of Tarshish, your strong seaports all in ruins! When the ships returned from Cyprus, they saw the destruction. Hold your tongue, you who live on the seacoast, merchants of Sidon. Your people sailed the deep seas, buying and selling, Making money on wheat from Shihor, grown along the Nile— multinational broker in grains! Hang your head in shame, Sidon. The Sea speaks up, the powerhouse of the ocean says, "I've never had labor pains, never had a baby, never reared children to adulthood, Never gave life, never worked with life. It was all numbers, dead numbers, profit and loss."

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.

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.

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.