Study Desk

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.

But friends, your dead will live, your corpses will get to their feet. All you dead and buried, wake up! Sing! Your dew is morning dew catching the first rays of sun, The earth bursting with life, giving birth to the dead.

Has God knocked them to the ground as he knocked down those who hit them? Oh, no. Were they killed as their killers were killed? Again, no. He was hard on them all right. The exile was a harsh sentence. He blew them away on a fierce blast of wind. But the good news is that through this experience Jacob's guilt was taken away. The evidence that his sin is removed will be this: He will tear down the alien altars, take them apart stone by stone, And then crush the stones into gravel and clean out all the sex-and-religion shrines. For there's nothing left of that pretentious grandeur. Nobody lives there anymore. It's unlivable. But animals do just fine, browsing and bedding down. And it's not a bad place to get firewood. Dry twigs and dead branches are plentiful. It's the leavings of a people with no sense of God. So, the God who made them Will have nothing to do with them. He who formed them will turn his back on them.

But that's exactly how you will be addressed. God will speak to this people In baby talk, one syllable at a time— and he'll do it through foreign oppressors. He said before, "This is the time and place to rest, to give rest to the weary. This is the place to lay down your burden." But they won't listen.

But the Master, God , has something to say to this: "Watch closely. I'm laying a foundation in Zion, a solid granite foundation, squared and true. And this is the meaning of the stone: a trusting life won't topple. I'll make justice the measuring stick and righteousness the plumb line for the building. A hailstorm will knock down the shantytown of lies, and a flash flood will wash out the rubble.

"Then you'll see that your precious life insurance policy wasn't worth the paper it was written on. Your careful precautions against death were a pack of illusions and lies. When the disaster happens, you'll be crushed by it. Every time disaster comes, you'll be in on it— disaster in the morning, disaster at night." Every report of disaster will send you cowering in terror. There will be no place where you can rest, nothing to hide under. God will rise to full stature, raging as he did long ago on Mount Perazim And in the valley of Gibeon against the Philistines. But this time it's against you. Hard to believe, but true. Not what you'd expect, but it's coming. Sober up, friends, and don't scoff. Scoffing will just make it worse. I've heard the orders issued for destruction, orders from God -of-the-Angel-Armies—ending up in an international disaster.

Listen to me now. Give me your closest attention. Do farmers plow and plow and do nothing but plow? Or harrow and harrow and do nothing but harrow? After they've prepared the ground, don't they plant? Don't they scatter dill and spread cumin, Plant wheat and barley in the fields and raspberries along the borders? They know exactly what to do and when to do it. Their God is their teacher.

And at the harvest, the delicate herbs and spices, the dill and cumin, are treated delicately. On the other hand, wheat is threshed and milled, but still not endlessly. The farmer knows how to treat each kind of grain. He's learned it all from God -of-the-Angel-Armies, who knows everything about when and how and where.

Doom, Ariel, Ariel, the city where David set camp! Let the years add up, let the festivals run their cycles, But I'm not letting up on Jerusalem. The moaning and groaning will continue. Jerusalem to me is an Ariel. Like David, I'll set up camp against you. I'll set siege, build towers, bring in siege engines, build siege ramps. Driven into the ground, you'll speak, you'll mumble words from the dirt— Your voice from the ground, like the muttering of a ghost. Your speech will whisper from the dust.

But it will be your enemies who are beaten to dust, the mob of tyrants who will be blown away like chaff. Because, surprise, as if out of nowhere, a visit from God -of-the-Angel-Armies, With thunderclaps, earthquakes, and earsplitting noise, backed up by hurricanes, tornadoes, and lightning strikes, And the mob of enemies at war with Ariel, all who trouble and hassle and torment her, will turn out to be a bad dream, a nightmare. Like a hungry man dreaming he's eating steak and wakes up hungry as ever, Like a thirsty woman dreaming she's drinking iced tea and wakes up thirsty as ever, So that mob of nations at war against Mount Zion will wake up and find they haven't shot an arrow, haven't killed a single soul.

Drug yourselves so you feel nothing. Blind yourselves so you see nothing. Get drunk, but not on wine. Black out, but not from whiskey. For God has rocked you into a deep, deep sleep, put the discerning prophets to sleep, put the farsighted seers to sleep.

The Master said: "These people make a big show of saying the right thing, but their hearts aren't in it. Because they act like they're worshiping me but don't mean it, I'm going to step in and shock them awake, astonish them, stand them on their ears. The wise ones who had it all figured out will be exposed as fools. The smart people who thought they knew everything will turn out to know nothing."

"Doom, rebel children!" God 's Decree. "You make plans, but not mine. You make deals, but not in my Spirit. You pile sin on sin, one sin on top of another, Going off to Egypt without so much as asking me, Running off to Pharaoh for protection, expecting to hide out in Egypt. Well, some protection Pharaoh will be! Some hideout, Egypt! They look big and important, true, with officials strategically established in Zoan in the north and Hanes in the south, but there's nothing to them. Anyone stupid enough to trust them will end up looking stupid— All show, no substance, an embarrassing farce."

But God 's not finished. He's waiting around to be gracious to you. He's gathering strength to show mercy to you. God takes the time to do everything right—everything. Those who wait around for him are the lucky ones.

But you will sing, sing through an all-night holy feast! Your hearts will burst with song, make music like the sound of flutes on parade, En route to the mountain of God , on the way to the Rock of Israel. God will sound out in grandiose thunder, display his hammering arm, Furiously angry, showering sparks— cloudburst, storm, hail! Oh yes, at God 's thunder Assyria will cower under the clubbing. Every blow God lands on them with his club is in time to the music of drums and pipes, God in all-out, two-fisted battle, fighting against them. Topheth's fierce fires are well prepared, ready for the Assyrian king. The Topheth furnace is deep and wide, well stoked with hot-burning wood. God 's breath, like a river of burning pitch, starts the fire.

"Assyrians will fall dead, killed by a sword-thrust but not by a soldier, laid low by a sword not swung by a mortal. Assyrians will run from that sword, run for their lives, and their prize young men made slaves. Terrorized, that rock-solid people will fall to pieces, their leaders scatter hysterically." God 's Decree on Assyria. His fire blazes in Zion, his furnace burns hot in Jerusalem.

But look! A king will rule in the right way, and his leaders will carry out justice. Each one will stand as a shelter from high winds, provide safe cover in stormy weather. Each will be cool running water in parched land, a huge granite outcrop giving shade in the desert. Anyone who looks will see, anyone who listens will hear. The impulsive will make sound decisions, the tongue-tied will speak with eloquence. No more will fools become celebrities, nor crooks be rewarded with fame. For fools are fools and that's that, thinking up new ways to do mischief. They leave a wake of wrecked lives and lies about God , Turning their backs on the homeless hungry, ignoring those dying of thirst in the streets. And the crooks? Underhanded sneaks they are, inventive in sin and scandal, Exploiting the poor with scams and lies, unmoved by the victimized poor. But those who are noble make noble plans, and stand for what is noble.

Take your stand, indolent women! Listen to me! Indulgent, indolent women, listen closely to what I have to say. In just a little over a year from now, you'll be shaken out of your lazy lives. The grape harvest will fail, and there'll be no fruit on the trees. Oh tremble, you indolent women. Get serious, you pampered dolls! Strip down and discard your silk fineries. Put on funeral clothes. Shed honest tears for the lost harvest, the failed vintage. Weep for my people's gardens and farms that grow nothing but thistles and thornbushes. Cry tears, real tears, for the happy homes no longer happy, the merry city no longer merry. The royal palace is deserted, the bustling city quiet as a morgue, The emptied parks and playgrounds taken over by wild animals, delighted with their new home.

Yes, weep and grieve until the Spirit is poured down on us from above And the badlands desert grows crops and the fertile fields become forests. Justice will move into the badlands desert. Right will build a home in the fertile field. And where there's Right, there'll be Peace and the progeny of Right: quiet lives and endless trust. My people will live in a peaceful neighborhood— in safe houses, in quiet gardens. The forest of your pride will be clear-cut, the city showing off your power leveled. But you will enjoy a blessed life, planting well-watered fields and gardens, with your farm animals grazing freely.

But look! Listen! Tough men weep openly. Peacemaking diplomats are in bitter tears. The roads are empty— not a soul out on the streets. The peace treaty is broken, its conditions violated, its signers reviled. The very ground under our feet mourns, the Lebanon mountains hang their heads, Flowering Sharon is a weed-choked gully, and the forests of Bashan and Carmel? Bare branches.