But God hasn’t moved to the mountains; his holy address hasn’t changed. He’s in charge, as always, his eyes taking everything in, his eyelids Unblinking, examining Adam’s flesh and blood inside and out, not missing a thing. He tests the good and the bad alike; if anyone cheats, God’s outraged. Fail the test and you’re out, out in a hail of firestones, Drinking from a canteen filled with hot desert wind.
Habakkuk 2:20The Message“But oh! God is in his holy Temple! Quiet everyone—a holy silence. Listen!” See the chapter |
17 Cross References
Our God is in heaven doing whatever he wants to do. Their gods are metal and wood, handmade in a basement shop: Carved mouths that can’t talk, painted eyes that can’t see, Tin ears that can’t hear, molded noses that can’t smell, Hands that can’t grasp, feet that can’t walk or run, throats that never utter a sound. Those who make them have become just like them, have become just like the gods they trust.
In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Master sitting on a throne—high, exalted!—and the train of his robes filled the Temple. Angel-seraphs hovered above him, each with six wings. With two wings they covered their faces, with two their feet, and with two they flew. And they called back and forth one to the other, Holy, Holy, Holy is God-of-the-Angel-Armies. His bright glory fills the whole earth. The foundations trembled at the sound of the angel voices, and then the whole house filled with smoke. I said, “Doom! It’s Doomsday! I’m as good as dead! Every word I’ve ever spoken is tainted— blasphemous even! And the people I live with talk the same way, using words that corrupt and desecrate. And here I’ve looked God in the face! The King! God-of-the-Angel-Armies!” Then one of the angel-seraphs flew to me. He held a live coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. He touched my mouth with the coal and said, “Look. This coal has touched your lips. Gone your guilt, your sins wiped out.” And then I heard the voice of the Master: “Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?” I spoke up, “I’ll go. Send me!” * * *
“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.
Advertisements