Isaiah 25:10The Message
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27 Cross References
We’ve heard—everyone’s heard!—of Moab’s pride, world-famous for pride— Arrogant, self-important, insufferable, full of hot air. So now let Moab lament for a change, with antiphonal mock-laments from the neighbors! What a shame! How terrible! No more fine fruitcakes and Kir-hareseth candies! All those lush Heshbon fields dried up, the rich Sibmah vineyards withered! Foreign thugs have crushed and torn out the famous grapevines That once reached all the way to Jazer, right to the edge of the desert, Ripped out the crops in every direction as far as the eye can see. I’ll join the weeping. I’ll weep right along with Jazer, weep for the Sibmah vineyards. And yes, Heshbon and Elealeh, I’ll mingle my tears with your tears! The joyful shouting at harvest is gone. Instead of song and celebration, dead silence. No more boisterous laughter in the orchards, no more hearty work songs in the vineyards. Instead of the bustle and sound of good work in the fields, silence—deathly and deadening silence. My heartstrings throb like harp strings for Moab, my soul in sympathy for sad Kir-heres. When Moab trudges to the shrine to pray, he wastes both time and energy. Going to the sanctuary and praying for relief is useless. Nothing ever happens.
For here’s what God told me: “I’m not going to say anything, but simply look on from where I live, Quiet as warmth that comes from the sun, silent as dew during harvest.” And then, just before harvest, after the blossom has turned into a maturing grape, He’ll step in and prune back the new shoots, ruthlessly hack off all the growing branches. He’ll leave them piled on the ground for birds and animals to feed on— Fodder for the summering birds, fodder for the wintering animals.
But here on this mountain, God-of-the-Angel-Armies will throw a feast for all the people of the world, A feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines, a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts. And here on this mountain, God will banish the pall of doom hanging over all peoples, The shadow of doom darkening all nations. Yes, he’ll banish death forever. And God will wipe the tears from every face. He’ll remove every sign of disgrace From his people, wherever they are. Yes! God says so!
That’s why God flamed out in anger against his people, reached out and knocked them down. The mountains trembled as their dead bodies piled up in the streets. But even after that, he was still angry, his fist still raised, ready to hit them again. He raises a flag, signaling a distant nation, whistles for people at the ends of the earth. And here they come— on the run! None drag their feet, no one stumbles, no one sleeps or dawdles. Shirts are on and pants buckled, every boot is spit-polished and tied. Their arrows are sharp, bows strung, The hooves of their horses shod, chariot wheels greased. Roaring like a pride of lions, the full-throated roars of young lions, They growl and seize their prey, dragging it off—no rescue for that one! They’ll roar and roar and roar on that Day, like the roar of ocean billows. Look as long and hard as you like at that land, you’ll see nothing but darkness and trouble. Every light in the sky will be blacked out by the clouds.
The Message on Moab from God-of-the-Angel-Armies, the God of Israel: “Doom to Nebo! Leveled to the ground! Kiriathaim demeaned and defeated, The mighty fortress reduced to a molehill, Moab’s glory—dust and ashes. Conspirators plot Heshbon’s doom: ‘Come, let’s wipe Moab off the map.’ The city of Madmen will be struck mute, as killing follows killing. Listen! A cry out of Horonaim: ‘Disaster—doom and more doom!’ Moab will be shattered. Her cries will be heard clear down in Zoar. Up the ascent of Luhith climbers weep, And down the descent from Horonaim, cries of loss and devastation. Oh, run for your lives! Get out while you can! Survive by your wits in the wild! You trusted in thick walls and big money, yes? But it won’t help you now. Your big god Chemosh will be hauled off, his priests and managers with him. A wrecker will wreck every city. Not a city will survive. The valley fields will be ruined, the plateau pastures destroyed, just as I told you. Cover the land of Moab with salt. Make sure nothing ever grows here again. Her towns will all be ghost towns. Nobody will ever live here again. Sloppy work in God’s name is cursed, and cursed all halfhearted use of the sword.
“God, the Master, says: Because Moab said, ‘Look, Judah’s nothing special,’ I’ll lay wide open the flank of Moab by exposing its lovely frontier villages to attack: Beth-jeshimoth, Baal-meon, and Kiriathaim. I’ll lump Moab in with Ammon and give them to the people of the east for the taking. Ammon won’t be heard from again. I’ll punish Moab severely. And they’ll realize that I am God.” * * *
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