Isaiah 25:11The Message
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26 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.
People with a big head are headed for a fall, pretentious egos brought down a peg. It’s God alone at front-and-center on the Day we’re talking about, The Day that God-of-the-Angel-Armies is matched against all big-talking rivals, against all swaggering big names; Against all giant sequoias hugely towering, and against the expansive chestnut; Against Kilimanjaro and Annapurna, against the ranges of Alps and Andes; Against every soaring skyscraper, against all proud obelisks and statues; Against ocean-going luxury liners, against elegant three-masted schooners. The swelled big heads will be punctured bladders, the pretentious egos brought down to earth, Leaving God alone at front-and-center on the Day we’re talking about.
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.
“We’ve all heard of Moab’s pride, that legendary pride, The strutting, bullying, puffed-up pride, the insufferable arrogance. I know”—God’s Decree—“his rooster-crowing pride, the inflated claims, the sheer nothingness of Moab. But I will weep for Moab, yes, I will mourn for the people of Moab. I will even mourn for the people of Kir-heres. I’ll weep for the grapevines of Sibmah and join Jazer in her weeping— Grapevines that once reached the Dead Sea with tendrils as far as Jazer. Your summer fruit and your bursting grapes will be looted by brutal plunderers, Lush Moab stripped of song and laughter. And yes, I’ll shut down the winepresses, stop all the shouts and hurrahs of harvest.
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