“Then you’ll say, ‘This is what God says: Watch closely. I’m going to fill every person who lives in this country—the kings who rule from David’s throne, the priests, the prophets, the citizens of Jerusalem—with wine that will make them drunk. And then I’ll smash them, smash the wine-filled jugs—old and young alike. Nothing will stop me. Not an ounce of pity or mercy or compassion will slow me down. Every last drunken jug of them will be smashed!’”

The “Everything Will Turn Out Fine” Sermon

My head is reeling, my limbs are limp, I’m staggering like a drunk, seeing double from too much wine— And all because of God, because of his holy words.

God Puts the Human Race on Trial

This is a Message that the God of Israel gave me: “Take this cup filled with the wine of my wrath that I’m handing to you. Make all the nations where I send you drink it down. They’ll drink it and get drunk, staggering in delirium because of the killing that I’m going to unleash among them.”

“Tell them, ‘These are orders from God-of-the-Angel-Armies, the God of Israel: Drink and get drunk and vomit. Fall on your faces and don’t get up again. You’re slated for a massacre.’

The Sheer Nothingness of Moab

“Turn Moab into a drunken lush, drunk on the wine of my wrath, a dung-faced drunk, filling the country with vomit—Moab a falling-down drunk, a joke in bad taste. Wasn’t it you, Moab, who made crude jokes over Israel? And when they were caught in bad company, didn’t you cluck and gossip and snicker?

“Get out of Babylon as fast as you can. Run for your lives! Save your necks! Don’t linger and lose your lives to my vengeance on her as I pay her back for her sins. Babylon was a fancy gold chalice held in my hand, Filled with the wine of my anger to make the whole world drunk. The nations drank the wine and they’ve all gone crazy. Babylon herself will stagger and crash, senseless in a drunken stupor—tragic! Get anointing balm for her wound. Maybe she can be cured.” * * *

“The Babylonians will be like lions and their cubs, ravenous, roaring for food. I’ll fix them a meal, all right—a banquet, in fact. They’ll drink themselves falling-down drunk. Dead drunk, they’ll sleep—and sleep, and sleep . . .  and they’ll never wake up.” God’s Decree. “I’ll haul these ‘lions’ off to the slaughterhouse like the lambs, rams, and goats, never to be heard of again. * * *

“I’ll get them drunk, the whole lot of them— princes, sages, governors, soldiers. Dead drunk, they’ll sleep—and sleep and sleep . . .  and never wake up.” The King’s Decree. His name? God-of-the-Angel-Armies!