Study Desk

Can plunder be retrieved from a giant, prisoners of war gotten back from a tyrant? But God says, "Even if a giant grips the plunder and a tyrant holds my people prisoner, I'm the one who's on your side, defending your cause, rescuing your children. And your enemies, crazed and desperate, will turn on themselves, killing each other in a frenzy of self-destruction. Then everyone will know that I, God , have saved you—I, the Mighty One of Jacob."

Who out there fears God , actually listens to the voice of his servant? For anyone out there who doesn't know where you're going, anyone groping in the dark, Here's what: Trust in God . Lean on your God! But if all you're after is making trouble, playing with fire, Go ahead and see where it gets you. Set your fires, stir people up, blow on the flames, But don't expect me to just stand there and watch. I'll hold your feet to those flames.

"Listen to me, all you who are serious about right living and committed to seeking God . Ponder the rock from which you were cut, the quarry from which you were dug. Yes, ponder Abraham, your father, and Sarah, who bore you. Think of it! One solitary man when I called him, but once I blessed him, he multiplied. Likewise I, God , will comfort Zion, comfort all her mounds of ruins. I'll transform her dead ground into Eden, her moonscape into the garden of God , A place filled with exuberance and laughter, thankful voices and melodic songs.

"Pay attention, my people. Listen to me, nations. Revelation flows from me. My decisions light up the world. My deliverance arrives on the run, my salvation right on time. I'll bring justice to the peoples. Even faraway islands will look to me and take hope in my saving power. Look up at the skies, ponder the earth under your feet. The skies will fade out like smoke, the earth will wear out like work pants, and the people will die off like flies. But my salvation will last forever, my setting-things-right will never be obsolete.

"Listen now, you who know right from wrong, you who hold my teaching inside you: Pay no attention to insults, and when mocked don't let it get you down. Those insults and mockeries are moth-eaten, from brains that are termite-ridden, But my setting-things-right lasts, my salvation goes on and on and on."

"I, I'm the One comforting you. What are you afraid of—or who? Some man or woman who'll soon be dead? Some poor wretch destined for dust? You've forgotten me, God , who made you, who unfurled the skies, who founded the earth. And here you are, quaking like an aspen before the tantrums of a tyrant who thinks he can kick down the world. But what will come of the tantrums? The victims will be released before you know it. They're not going to die. They're not even going to go hungry. For I am God , your very own God, who stirs up the sea and whips up the waves, named God -of-the-Angel-Armies. I teach you how to talk, word by word, and personally watch over you, Even while I'm unfurling the skies, setting earth on solid foundations, and greeting Zion: ‘Welcome, my people!'"

Out of here! Out of here! Leave this place! Don't look back. Don't contaminate yourselves with plunder. Just leave, but leave clean. Purify yourselves in the process of worship, carrying the holy vessels of God . But you don't have to be in a hurry. You're not running from anybody! God is leading you out of here, and the God of Israel is also your rear guard.

"Just watch my servant blossom! Exalted, tall, head and shoulders above the crowd! But he didn't begin that way. At first everyone was appalled. He didn't even look human— a ruined face, disfigured past recognition. Nations all over the world will be in awe, taken aback, kings shocked into silence when they see him. For what was unheard of they'll see with their own eyes, what was unthinkable they'll have right before them."

The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field. There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum. But the fact is, it was our pains he carried— our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us. We thought he brought it on himself, that God was punishing him for his own failures. But it was our sins that did that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins! He took the punishment, and that made us whole. Through his bruises we get healed. We're all like sheep who've wandered off and gotten lost. We've all done our own thing, gone our own way. And God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him.

He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn't say a word. Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence. Justice miscarried, and he was led off— and did anyone really know what was happening? He died without a thought for his own welfare, beaten bloody for the sins of my people. They buried him with the wicked, threw him in a grave with a rich man, Even though he'd never hurt a soul or said one word that wasn't true.

Your Redeemer God says: "I left you, but only for a moment. Now, with enormous compassion, I'm bringing you back. In an outburst of anger I turned my back on you— but only for a moment. It's with lasting love that I'm tenderly caring for you.

"Afflicted city, storm-battered, unpitied: I'm about to rebuild you with stones of turquoise, Lay your foundations with sapphires, construct your towers with rubies, Your gates with jewels, and all your walls with precious stones. All your children will have God for their teacher— what a mentor for your children! You'll be built solid, grounded in righteousness, far from any trouble—nothing to fear! far from terror—it won't even come close! If anyone attacks you, don't for a moment suppose that I sent them, And if any should attack, nothing will come of it. I create the blacksmith who fires up his forge and makes a weapon designed to kill. I also create the destroyer— but no weapon that can hurt you has ever been forged. Any accuser who takes you to court will be dismissed as a liar. This is what God 's servants can expect. I'll see to it that everything works out for the best." God 's Decree.

"So you'll go out in joy, you'll be led into a whole and complete life. The mountains and hills will lead the parade, bursting with song. All the trees of the forest will join the procession, exuberant with applause. No more thistles, but giant sequoias, no more thornbushes, but stately pines— Monuments to me, to God , living and lasting evidence of God ."

A call to the savage beasts: Come on the run. Come, devour, beast barbarians! For Israel's watchmen are blind, the whole lot of them. They have no idea what's going on. They're dogs without sense enough to bark, lazy dogs, dreaming in the sun— But hungry dogs, they do know how to eat, voracious dogs, with never enough. And these are Israel's shepherds! They know nothing, understand nothing. They all look after themselves, grabbing whatever's not nailed down. "Come," they say, "let's have a party. Let's go out and get drunk!" And tomorrow, more of the same: "Let's live it up!"

"But you, children of a witch, come here! Sons of a slut, daughters of a whore. What business do you have taunting, sneering, and sticking out your tongue? Do you have any idea what wretches you've turned out to be? A race of rebels, a generation of liars. You satisfy your lust any place you find some shade and fornicate at whim. You kill your children at any convenient spot— any cave or crevasse will do. You take stones from the creek and set up your sex-and-religion shrines. You've chosen your fate. Your worship will be your doom. You've climbed a high mountain to practice your foul sex-and-death religion. Behind closed doors you assemble your precious gods and goddesses. Deserting me, you've gone all out, stripped down and made your bed your place of worship. You've climbed into bed with the ‘sacred' whores and loved every minute of it, adoring every curve of their naked bodies. You anoint your king-god with ointments and lavish perfumes on yourselves. You send scouts to search out the latest in religion, send them all the way to hell and back. You wear yourselves out trying the new and the different, and never see what a waste it all is. You've always found strength for the latest fad, never got tired of trying new religions.

"Who talked you into the pursuit of this nonsense, leaving me high and dry, forgetting you ever knew me? Because I don't yell and make a scene do you think I don't exist? I'll go over, detail by detail, all your ‘righteous' attempts at religion, and expose the absurdity of it all. Go ahead, cry for help to your collection of no-gods: A good wind will blow them away. They're smoke, nothing but smoke. "But anyone who runs to me for help will inherit the land, will end up owning my holy mountain!"

A Message from the high and towering God, who lives in Eternity, whose name is Holy: "I live in the high and holy places, but also with the low-spirited, the spirit-crushed, And what I do is put new spirit in them, get them up and on their feet again. For I'm not going to haul people into court endlessly, I'm not going to be angry forever. Otherwise, people would lose heart. These souls I created would tire out and give up. I was angry, good and angry, because of Israel's sins. I struck him hard and turned away in anger, while he kept at his stubborn, willful ways. When I looked again and saw what he was doing, I decided to heal him, lead him, and comfort him, creating a new language of praise for the mourners. Peace to the far-off, peace to the near-at-hand," says God — "and yes, I will heal them. But the wicked are storm-battered seas that can't quiet down. The waves stir up garbage and mud. There's no peace," God says, "for the wicked."

"Shout! A full-throated shout! Hold nothing back—a trumpet-blast shout! Tell my people what's wrong with their lives, face my family Jacob with their sins! They're busy, busy, busy at worship, and love studying all about me. To all appearances they're a nation of right-living people— law-abiding, God-honoring. They ask me, ‘What's the right thing to do?' and love having me on their side. But they also complain, ‘Why do we fast and you don't look our way? Why do we humble ourselves and you don't even notice?'

"Well, here's why: "The bottom line on your ‘fast days' is profit. You drive your employees much too hard. You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight. You fast, but you swing a mean fist. The kind of fasting you do won't get your prayers off the ground. Do you think this is the kind of fast day I'm after: a day to show off humility? To put on a pious long face and parade around solemnly in black? Do you call that fasting, a fast day that I, God, would like?

Which means that we're a far cry from fair dealing, and we're not even close to right living. We long for light but sink into darkness, long for brightness but stumble through the night. Like the blind, we inch along a wall, groping eyeless in the dark. We shuffle our way in broad daylight, like the dead, but somehow walking. We're no better off than bears, groaning, and no worse off than doves, moaning. We look for justice—not a sign of it; for salvation—not so much as a hint.