Now listen to God's Message, you scoffers,
you who rule this people in Jerusalem.
You say, "We've taken out good life insurance.
We've hedged all our bets, covered all our bases.
No disaster can touch us. We've thought of everything.
We're advised by the experts. We're set." 16 But the Master, God, has something to say to this: "Watch closely. I'm laying a foundation in Zion,
a solid granite foundation, squared and true.
And this is the meaning of the stone:
a trusting life won't topple.
I'll make justice the measuring stick
and righteousness the plumb line for the building.
A hailstorm will knock down the shantytown of lies,
and a flash flood will wash out the rubble. 18 "Then you'll see that your precious life insurance policy
wasn't worth the paper it was written on.
Your careful precautions against death
were a pack of illusions and lies.
When the disaster happens,
you'll be crushed by it.
Every time disaster comes, you'll be in on it -
disaster in the morning, disaster at night."
Every report of disaster
will send you cowering in terror.
There will be no place where you can rest,
nothing to hide under.
God will rise to full stature,
raging as he did long ago on Mount Perazim
And in the valley of Gibeon against the Philistines.
But this time it's against you.
Hard to believe, but true.
Not what you'd expect, but it's coming.
Sober up, friends, and don't scoff.
Scoffing will just make it worse.
I've heard the orders issued for destruction, orders from
God-of-the-Angel-Armies - ending up in an international disaster.
Listen to me now.
Give me your closest attention.
Do farmers plow and plow and do nothing but plow?
Or harrow and harrow and do nothing but harrow?
After they've prepared the ground, don't they plant?
Don't they scatter dill and spread cumin,
Plant wheat and barley in the fields
and raspberries along the borders?
They know exactly what to do and when to do it.
Their God is their teacher.
And at the harvest, the delicate herbs and spices,
the dill and cumin, are treated delicately.
On the other hand, wheat is threshed and milled, but still not endlessly.
The farmer knows how to treat each kind of grain.
He's learned it all from God-of-the-Angel-Armies,
who knows everything about when and how and where.