In the fourteenth year of King Hezekiah, Sennacherib king of Assyria attacked all the outlying fortress cities of Judah and captured them. King Hezekiah sent a message to the king of Assyria at his headquarters in Lachish: “I’ve done wrong; I admit it. Pull back your army; I’ll pay whatever tribute you set.”
Micah 1:8The MessageThis is why I lament and mourn. This is why I go around in rags and barefoot. This is why I howl like a pack of coyotes, and moan like a mournful owl in the night. God has inflicted punishing wounds; Judah has been wounded with no healing in sight. Judgment has marched through the city gates. Jerusalem must face the charges. * * * See the chapter |
19 Cross References
When Mordecai learned what had been done, he ripped his clothes to shreds and put on sackcloth and ashes. Then he went out in the streets of the city crying out in loud and bitter cries. He came only as far as the King’s Gate, for no one dressed in sackcloth was allowed to enter the King’s Gate. As the king’s order was posted in every province, there was loud lament among the Jews—fasting, weeping, wailing. And most of them stretched out on sackcloth and ashes.
In the midst of the shouting, I said, “Let me alone. Let me grieve by myself. Don’t tell me it’s going to be all right. These people are doomed. It’s not all right.” For the Master, God-of-the-Angel-Armies, is bringing a day noisy with mobs of people, Jostling and stampeding in the Valley of Vision, knocking down walls and hollering to the mountains, “Attack! Attack!” Old enemies Elam and Kir arrive armed to the teeth— weapons and chariots and cavalry. Your fine valleys are noisy with war, chariots and cavalry charging this way and that. God has left Judah exposed and defenseless.
I’m doubled up with cramps in my belly— a poker burns in my gut. My insides are tearing me up, never a moment’s peace. The ram’s horn trumpet blast rings in my ears, the signal for all-out war. Disaster hard on the heels of disaster, the whole country in ruins! In one stroke my home is destroyed, the walls flattened in the blink of an eye. How long do I have to look at the warning flares, listen to the siren of danger?
I wish my head were a well of water and my eyes fountains of tears So I could weep day and night for casualties among my dear, dear people. At times I wish I had a wilderness hut, a backwoods cabin, Where I could get away from my people and never see them again. They’re a faithless, feckless bunch, a congregation of degenerates. * * *
“I’m lamenting the loss of the mountain pastures. I’m chanting dirges for the old grazing grounds. They’ve become deserted wastelands too dangerous for travelers. No sounds of sheep bleating or cattle mooing. Birds and wild animals, all gone. Nothing stirring, no sounds of life. I’m going to make Jerusalem a pile of rubble, fit for nothing but stray cats and dogs. I’m going to reduce Judah’s towns to piles of ruins where no one lives!” * * *
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