Wild Weekends and Unholy Holidays

“Haul your mother into court. Accuse her! She’s no longer my wife. I’m no longer her husband. Tell her to quit dressing like a whore, displaying her breasts for sale. If she refuses, I’ll rip off her clothes and expose her, naked as a newborn. I’ll turn her skin into dried-out leather, her body into a badlands landscape, a rack of bones in the desert. I’ll have nothing to do with her children, born one and all in a whorehouse. Face it: Your mother’s been a whore, bringing bastard children into the world. She said, ‘I’m off to see my lovers! They’ll wine and dine me, Dress and caress me, perfume and adorn me!’ But I’ll fix her: I’ll dump her in a field of thistles, then lose her in a dead-end alley. She’ll go on the hunt for her lovers but not bring down a single one. She’ll look high and low but won’t find a one. Then she’ll say, ‘I’m going back to my husband, the one I started out with. That was a better life by far than this one.’ She didn’t know that it was I all along who wined and dined and adorned her, That I was the one who dressed her up in the big-city fashions and jewelry that she wasted on wild Baal-orgies. I’m about to bring her up short: No more wining and dining! Silk lingerie and gowns are a thing of the past. I’ll expose her genitals to the public. All her fly-by-night lovers will be helpless to help her. Party time is over. I’m calling a halt to the whole business, her wild weekends and unholy holidays. I’ll wreck her sumptuous gardens and ornamental fountains, of which she bragged, ‘Whoring paid for all this!’ They will soon be dumping grounds for garbage, feeding grounds for stray dogs and cats. I’ll make her pay for her indulgence in promiscuous religion— all that sensuous Baal worship And all the promiscuous sex that went with it, stalking her lovers, dressed to kill, And not a thought for me.” God’s Message!

“At that time”—this is God’s Message still— “you’ll address me, ‘Dear husband!’ Never again will you address me, ‘My slave-master!’ I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, get rid of all the dirty false-god names, not so much as a whisper of those names again. At the same time I’ll make a peace treaty between you and wild animals and birds and reptiles, And get rid of all weapons of war. Think of it! Safe from beasts and bullies! And then I’ll marry you for good—forever! I’ll marry you true and proper, in love and tenderness. Yes, I’ll marry you and neither leave you nor let you go. You’ll know me, God, for who I really am. * * *

In Time They’ll Come Back

Then God ordered me, “Start all over: Love your wife again, your wife who’s in bed with her latest boyfriend, your cheating wife. Love her the way I, God, love the Israelite people, even as they flirt and party with every god that takes their fancy.”

The people of Israel are going to live a long time stripped of security and protection, without religion and comfort, godless and prayerless. But in time they’ll come back, these Israelites, come back looking for their God and their David-King. They’ll come back chastened to reverence before God and his good gifts, ready for the End of the story of his love.

No One Is Faithful

Attention all Israelites! God’s Message! God indicts the whole population: “No one is faithful. No one loves. No one knows the first thing about God. All this cussing and lying and killing, theft and loose sex, sheer anarchy, one murder after another! And because of all this, the very land itself weeps and everything in it is grief-stricken— animals in the fields and birds on the wing, even the fish in the sea are listless, lifeless. * * *

“You’ve ruined your own life, Israel— but don’t drag Judah down with you! Don’t go to the sex shrine at Gilgal, don’t go to that sin city Bethel, Don’t go around saying ‘God bless you’ and not mean it, taking God’s name in vain. Israel is stubborn as a mule. How can God lead him like a lamb to open pasture? Ephraim is addicted to idols. Let him go. When the beer runs out, it’s sex, sex, and more sex. Bold and sordid debauchery— how they love it! The whirlwind has them in its clutches. Their sex-worship leaves them finally impotent.”

“They crown kings, but without asking me. They set up princes but don’t let me in on it. Instead, they make idols, using silver and gold, idols that will be their ruin. Throw that gold calf-god on the trash heap, Samaria! I’m seething with anger against that rubbish! How long before they shape up? And they’re Israelites! A sculptor made that thing— it’s not God. That Samaritan calf will be broken to bits. Look at them! Planting wind-seeds, they’ll harvest tornadoes. Wheat with no head produces no flour. And even if it did, strangers would gulp it down. Israel is swallowed up and spit out. Among the pagans they’re a piece of junk. They trotted off to Assyria: Why, even wild donkeys stick to their own kind, but donkey-Ephraim goes out and pays to get lovers. Now, because of their whoring life among the pagans, I’m going to gather them together and confront them. They’re going to reap the consequences soon, feel what it’s like to be oppressed by the big king.

Ephraim was a trained heifer that loved to thresh. Passing by and seeing her strong, sleek neck, I wanted to harness Ephraim, Put Ephraim to work in the fields— Judah plowing, Jacob harrowing: Sow righteousness, reap love. It’s time to till the ready earth, it’s time to dig in with God, Until he arrives with righteousness ripe for harvest. But instead you plowed wicked ways, reaped a crop of evil and ate a salad of lies. You thought you could do it all on your own, flush with weapons and manpower. But the volcano of war will erupt among your people. All your defense posts will be leveled As viciously as king Shalman leveled the town of Beth-arba, When mothers and their babies were smashed on the rocks. That’s what’s ahead for you, you so-called people of God, because of your off-the-charts evil. Some morning you’re going to wake up and find Israel, king and kingdom, a blank—nothing.

Israel Played at Religion with Toy Gods

“When Israel was only a child, I loved him. I called out, ‘My son!’—called him out of Egypt. But when others called him, he ran off and left me. He worshiped the popular sex gods, he played at religion with toy gods. Still, I stuck with him. I led Ephraim. I rescued him from human bondage, But he never acknowledged my help, never admitted that I was the one pulling his wagon, That I lifted him, like a baby, to my cheek, that I bent down to feed him. Now he wants to go back to Egypt or go over to Assyria— anything but return to me! That’s why his cities are unsafe—the murder rate skyrockets and every plan to improve things falls to pieces. My people are hell-bent on leaving me. They pray to god Baal for help. He doesn’t lift a finger to help them. But how can I give up on you, Ephraim? How can I turn you loose, Israel? How can I leave you to be ruined like Admah, devastated like luckless Zeboim? I can’t bear to even think such thoughts. My insides churn in protest. And so I’m not going to act on my anger. I’m not going to destroy Ephraim. And why? Because I am God and not a human. I’m The Holy One and I’m here—in your very midst.

“I will heal their waywardness. I will love them lavishly. My anger is played out. I will make a fresh start with Israel. He’ll burst into bloom like a crocus in the spring. He’ll put down deep oak tree roots, he’ll become a forest of oaks! He’ll become splendid—like a giant sequoia, his fragrance like a grove of cedars! Those who live near him will be blessed by him, be blessed and prosper like golden grain. Everyone will be talking about them, spreading their fame as the vintage children of God. Ephraim is finished with gods that are no-gods. From now on I’m the one who answers and satisfies him. I am like a luxuriant fruit tree. Everything you need is to be found in me.” * * *