“Watch now. God’s Judgment Day comes. Cruel it is, a day of wrath and anger, A day to waste the earth and clean out all the sinners. The stars in the sky, the great parade of constellations, will be nothing but black holes. The sun will come up as a black disk, and the moon a blank nothing. I’ll put a full stop to the evil on earth, terminate the dark acts of the wicked. I’ll gag all braggarts and boasters—not a peep anymore from them— and trip strutting tyrants, leave them flat on their faces. Proud humanity will disappear from the earth. I’ll make mortals rarer than hens’ teeth. And yes, I’ll even make the sky shake, and the earth quake to its roots Under the wrath of God-of-the-Angel-Armies, the Judgment Day of his raging anger. Like a hunted white-tailed deer, like lost sheep with no shepherd, People will huddle with a few of their own kind, run off to some makeshift shelter. But tough luck to stragglers—they’ll be killed on the spot, throats cut, bellies ripped open, Babies smashed on the rocks while mothers and fathers watch, Houses looted, wives raped.
Isaiah 13:6The MessageWail! 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. * * * See the chapter |
39 Cross References
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.”
And here’s why: God is angry, good and angry with all the nations, So blazingly angry at their arms and armies that he’s going to rid earth of them, wipe them out. The corpses, thrown in a heap, will stink like the town dump in midsummer, Their blood flowing off the mountains like creeks in spring runoff. Stars will fall out of the sky like overripe, rotting fruit in the orchard, And the sky itself will be folded up like a blanket and put away in a closet. All that army of stars, shriveled to nothing, like leaves and fruit in autumn, dropping and rotting!
It’s God’s scheduled time for vengeance, the year all Zion’s accounts are settled. Edom’s streams will flow sluggish, thick with pollution, the soil sterile, poisoned with waste, The whole country a smoking, stinking garbage dump— The fires burning day and night, the skies black with endless smoke. Generation after generation of wasteland— no more travelers through this country! Vultures and skunks will police the streets; owls and crows will feel at home there. God will reverse creation. Chaos! He will cancel fertility. Emptiness! Leaders will have no one to lead. They’ll name it No Kingdom There, A country where all kings and princes are unemployed. Thistles will take over, covering the castles, fortresses conquered by weeds and thornbushes. Wild dogs will prowl the ruins, ostriches have the run of the place. Wildcats and hyenas will hunt together, demons and devils dance through the night. The night-demon Lilith, evil and rapacious, will establish permanent quarters. Scavenging carrion birds will breed and brood, infestations of ominous evil.
Wail, shepherds! Cry out for help! Grovel in the dirt, you masters of flocks! Time’s up—you’re slated for the slaughterhouse, like a choice ram with its throat cut. There’s no way out for the rulers, no escape for those shepherds. Hear that? Rulers crying for help, shepherds of the flock wailing! God is about to ravage their fine pastures. The peaceful sheepfolds will be silent with death, silenced by God’s deadly anger. God will come out into the open like a lion leaping from its cover, And the country will be torn to pieces, ripped and ravaged by his anger.
And also you priests, put on your robes and join the outcry. You who lead people in worship, lead them in lament. Spend the night dressed in gunnysacks, you servants of my God. Nothing’s going on in the place of worship, no offerings, no prayers—nothing. Declare a holy fast, call a special meeting, get the leaders together, Round up everyone in the country. Get them into God’s Sanctuary for serious prayer to God.
What a day! Doomsday! God’s Judgment Day has come. The Strong God has arrived. This is serious business! Food is just a memory at our tables, as are joy and singing from God’s Sanctuary. The seeds in the field are dead, barns deserted, Grain silos abandoned. Who needs them? The crops have failed! The farm animals groan—oh, how they groan! The cattle mill around. There’s nothing for them to eat. Not even the sheep find anything.
Sober up, you drunks! Get in touch with reality—and weep! Your supply of booze is cut off. You’re on the wagon, like it or not. My country’s being invaded by an army invincible, past numbering, Teeth like those of a lion, fangs like those of a tiger. It has ruined my vineyards, stripped my orchards, And clear-cut the country. The landscape’s a moonscape.
Blow the ram’s horn trumpet in Zion! Trumpet the alarm on my holy mountain! Shake the country up! God’s Judgment’s on its way—the Day’s almost here! A black day! A Doomsday! Clouds with no silver lining! Like dawn light moving over the mountains, a huge army is coming. There’s never been anything like it and never will be again. Wildfire burns everything before this army and fire licks up everything in its wake. Before it arrives, the country is like the Garden of Eden. When it leaves, it is Death Valley. Nothing escapes unscathed.
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.
“The Great Judgment Day of God is almost here. It’s countdown time: . . . seven, six, five, four . . . Bitter and noisy cries on my Judgment Day, even strong men screaming for help. Judgment Day is payday—my anger paid out: a day of distress and anguish, a day of catastrophic doom, a day of darkness at noon, a day of black storm clouds, a day of bloodcurdling war cries, as forts are assaulted, as defenses are smashed. I’ll make things so bad they won’t know what hit them. They’ll walk around groping like the blind. They’ve sinned against God! Their blood will be poured out like old dishwater, their guts shoveled into slop buckets. Don’t plan on buying your way out. Your money is worthless for this. This is the Day of God’s Judgment—my wrath! I care about sin with fiery passion— A fire to burn up the corrupted world, a wildfire finish to the corrupting people.”
“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.
And a final word to you arrogant rich: Take some lessons in lament. You’ll need buckets for the tears when the crash comes upon you. Your money is corrupt and your fine clothes stink. Your greedy luxuries are a cancer in your gut, destroying your life from within. You thought you were piling up wealth. What you’ve piled up is judgment.