Ezekiel - Lesson 32

Lesson 32, Timber, Felling the Pharaonic Tree, Ezekiel 31, 1 to 18. Who could forget the cold winters in the prairies of Saskatchewan where I grew up in Canada? But up there we learned that rather than letting minus 40 degrees master you and at that temperature Fahrenheit and centigrade readings coalesce, you have to let the weather work for you. In winter, we would go to the bush either on our own land or on land our neighbors wanted to clear to chop down trees for firewood for our kitchen stove. We had no central heating or running water at our house. Winter was a great time to cut wood. For one thing, wielding an axe was hard work. If you would keep your face covered, there was no problem staying warm even in minus 25 to minus 30 degree weather. For another, in winter trees are frozen through and through and the wood is very brittle, so it took much less effort than it would have in the heat of summer. Once out there, we could look for the tallest trees to get as much for our efforts as we could and chop away. But 300 miles north of the U.S. border where summers are short and the annual precipitation averages 14 inches, even the tallest trees were not impressive. Not compared to the massive oaks and maples we have in Illinois, the primary native species available were poplars, trembling aspens, and near sloughs we might find some taller water poplars. We viewed a 25-foot tree as a real prize. But this did not stop us from pretending we were real lumberjacks chopping down 100-foot Douglas firs in the mountains of British Columbia or the Sequoia redwoods for us in the fantasy world that was California. I will never forget the sound of the axe on wood in the cold and the crack of the tree as it started to fall and then my brother calling out, timber! The tree we encounter in Ezekiel 31 was nothing like these pathetic specimens we were salvaging. This was a real tree, a cedar of Lebanon, which represented the most desirable tree of all, not only because it was magnificent to see, but especially because of the quality of the wood, as we learn from the descriptions of Solomon's building projects in 1 Kings 5-7 and from Neo-Assyrian and Babylonian, Nebuchadnezzar's records. Our text concerns Egypt, where there are few, if any, natural trees. But the lumber of Lebanon was one of the reasons why the pharaohs of Egypt cultivated good relations with the Phoenicians. This ensured them lumber needed to build their ships, their palaces, and their temples. Ezekiel's oracle concerning this cedar of Lebanon does not value the tree for its lumber. Rather, the metaphor viewed the tree as the proverbial symbol of flourishing and power and influence. We encountered the metaphor earlier in chapter 17, verses 22-24, where the cedar with origins in Lebanon had taken on messianic connotations, representing the revived Davidic kingship through a descendant of Jehoiakin. Thus has the Lord Yahweh declared, I myself will take a sprig from the highest crown of the cedar and plant it. From the top of its shoots I will pluck a tender sprig, and I myself will plant it on a high and towering mountain. On the high mountain of Israel I will plant it, that it may bear branches and produce fruit and become a magnificent cedar. Every winged bird will nest under its shelter. In the shelter of its boughs it will perch. Then all the trees of the countryside will know that I am Yahweh. I bring down the tall tree, I exalt the low tree, I cause the green tree to wither, and I make the withered tree thrive. I am Yahweh, I have spoken, and I will act to fulfill my word. That was a magnificent tree. But here the prophet picked up an idea that had taken up three verses there and expanded it into a satirical judgment oracle illustrating the principle in 1725. Then all the trees of the countryside will know that I am Yahweh. I bring down the tall tree, and I exalt the low tree. Except that this time this recognition formula is missing. The specified point of this prophecy is not that people will recognize Yahweh, but that hubris will bring its own reward. And when this magnificent tree falls, the sound of its crash and of the voice of Yahweh shouting timber will reverberate through the world. Like many of Ezekiel's prophecies, after the opening preamble verses 1 to 2a, this oracle has three parts yielding a four-part structure. Preamble 1 to 2a, an ode to the Assyrian, or should we say pharaonic cedar, verses 2b to 9, the felling of the Assyrian, or should we say pharaonic cedar, verses 10 to 14, and then the destiny of the Assyrian, or should we say pharaonic cedar, verses 15 to 18. We can easily recognize the start of the last two parts because both segments begin with a new citation formula. Thus has the Lord Yahweh declared in verses 10 and 15. Since verse 15 speaks of Yahweh causing lamentation and mourning, we could classify this as a lament, another funeral dirge. As in laments outside Ezekiel, this time the prophet began by describing the tree's glorious past, 2b to 9. And then he recounted the moment this tree came crashing down and landing up in Sheol where dead people go. But unlike 19.1 and 19.24, 26.17, 28.12, and 32.2, Ezekiel never called this a kina lament, nor did he hint at anyone weeping over the demise of Pharaoh. Well, if this was not a typical lament, it was not a typical judgment oracle either. It is hard to find any condemnation in verses 2b to 9, the first part. Indeed, if the prophecy had ended with verse 9, we would interpret this as a genuinely positive song of praise for the Pharaoh. But the change of tone in verse 10 is shockingly abrupt. Because you towered high, it sent its shoots up to the clouds, and its heart became proud because of its height. To which Yahweh responded, Therefore I will deliver you into the hands of the chief of nations. This suggests that once more Yahweh was responding to overweening hubris, pride. Since the pattern was fully developed in Ezekiel's satirical oracles against the king of Tyre in chapter 28, we should probably interpret this as another satirical, metaphorical presentation. As in chapter 28, Yahweh employed the teak, the technique of intensified reversal, to tell a story of a colossal fall. Like the king of Tyre, plagued by bloated self-esteem and hubris, the Pharaoh was brought down to the ground. No, not merely to the ground. He was consigned to the farthest recesses of the netherworld, where the most despicable sorts of people, dead people, live. Yes, I use that expression intentionally. The preamble, 1.1-2a. In the eleventh year, in the third month, on the first day of the month, the following message of Yahweh came to me. Human, say to Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, and to his pub. Well, according to the opening date notice, this oracle came to Ezekiel in Babylon on the first day of the third month of the eleventh year of King Jehoiakim's exile, Ezekiel's own as well. That is, June 21, 587 BC, two months after he had received the one in 30, 20-25. Although Ezekiel's real audience was his fellow exiles, verse 2 identifies the rhetorical target as Pharaoh and his hubris, his pomp. Here the word homo no may refer to his people or his wealth, but because the oracle focuses on the Pharaoh himself, particularly his pride, it seems to refer primarily to his pomp, his arrogance, his insolence. We'll see this also in the very last verse. Let's look then at the ode to the Assyrian tree, verse 2b-9. In 2b-3a we have the introduction. Human, say to Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, and to his pomp, to whom do you compare in your greatness? Look, Assyria. To whom do you compare in your greatness? Yahweh's opening question reinforces the sense that Pharaoh himself rather than Egypt as a whole was the rhetorical target. This is confirmed in verse 10 where Yahweh identified the problem. Because you towered high, it sent its chutes up to the clouds and its heart became proud because of its height. In this metaphor, the tenor, that is the addressee you, is clearly Pharaoh, but the antecedent of the it is the vehicle, that is the tree. The opening question, to whom do you compare in greatness, seems innocent enough. Normally the word who refers to an individual or group of persons.

We often do this in an Olympic gymnastics event. Who is the Nadia Comaneci of the group of athletes? Or if it's a swimming event, who is the Michael Phelps in this championship heat today? As if to put words into Pharaoh's mouth, Yahweh immediately answered the question himself. Look, Assyria. From a literary perspective, the response occurs where prophetic satires tend to put words into the accused's mouth. Compare 28.2 and 29.3, making it appear that the Pharaoh viewed the Assyrians as the standard of greatness. What that meant, the ode to the pharaonic tree will clarify. Rhetorically, the ode that Pharaoh sang in response to the question is brilliant. On the surface, the subject was Assyria, but narcissist that he was, it does not take us long to realize that he was singing about himself. He actually thought of himself as the most magnificent cedar in the forests of Lebanon. Indeed, there had never been a ruler like himself. This sounds familiar. How often did we not hear, I am the greatest president this country has ever had. At the same time, we recognize that portraying Assyria as a mighty cedar was not unrealistic. The context requires a symbol of imperial greatness with which Egypt could be compared. No standard would have been more suitable than Assyria, whose memory would surely still have been vivid in the minds of Ezekiel and his hearers. After all, this great cedar had been felled by Nabopolassar, Nebuchadnezzar's father, within the exile's own lifetime in 609 BC. The next chapter will confirm that Ezekiel viewed Assyria as the imperial power par excellence. In Ezekiel's last oracle in the book against Egypt, 32, 22 to 32, we will find Assyria at the end. Although we know from the framework, verses 2 and 18b, that the king of Egypt sang this ode about himself and to himself, on the surface, verses 3 to 16, seem to describe the glory and fall of Assyria. See the framework in verses 2 and 18. Indeed, some scholars suggest that verses 3 to 9 originally circulated as an independent hymn to Assyria itself, celebrating her role during the 8th to 7th centuries BC as the axis and guardian of an ideal and harmonious world. However, even if that was the case, here Yahweh has taken that ode and transformed it to proclaim his own message concerning Egypt as the imperial successor to Assyria. What about the lyrics of the ode? As we notice with reference to the king of Tyre, 28, 1 to 10, verses 3 to 9 present the king in an entirely positive light. There's no hint of guilt at all. This strategy is fundamental to prophetic satire. Yahweh will portray the addressee in the most glowing terms possible, which set the stage for the colossal fall. Although ancient reliefs usually associate Assyrian kings with the date poem, the cedar was well known as an ancient Near Eastern symbol of majesty, valued far and wide for the construction of palaces and temples, including in Egypt. The Carnic reliefs of Seti, I, 1318 to 1304 BC, depict chiefs of Lebanon felling tall cedars in submission to him. In his autobiography, When Amun, whose dates are about 1090 to 1080 BC, the Egyptian visiting Phoenicia, he recounted being sent to Lebanon to procure lumber for a ceremonial barge for Amun-Re, king of the gods. From Assyria, Tiglath-Pileser I, 1114 to 1076 BC, he recounted how he cut down the cedars and transported the beams home for his palaces and the temples of his gods. And in Ezekiel's own day, the Babylonian Nebuchadnezzar boasted of his exploitation of this valuable resource. On that day, Nebuchadnezzar boasts, Lebanon, the mountain of cedars, the luxuriant forest of Marduk, I cut with my pure hands. What no former king had done, I did. I cut through the high mountains. I crushed the stones of the mountains. I opened up passes. I prepared a passage for the transport of the cedars for the king of Marduk. Strong cedars, thick and tall, of splendid beauty, supreme, their fitting appearance, huge yield of the Lebanon, I bundled together like reeds of the river bank, and I perfumed the Arach to canal with them. And I sent them up in Babylon like Euphrates poplars. That's Nebuchadnezzar's prose ode to his role as a lumberjack cutting down cedars. Well, verses 3-9 describe this fantastic tree. But the first three phrases, with beautiful branches giving protective shade, towering high, this functions as a thesis statement for the remainder of this first segment. They introduce hearers, readers, to three dimensions of the tree's magnificence, which the prophet developed in reverse order. So here the beginning of the ode, verses 4-5a, the magnificent height of the cedar. Look, Assyria, a cedar in Lebanon, with beautiful branches giving protective shade, towering high with its crown among the clouds, waters nourished it, the deep caused it to grow tall, sending its streams around its bed, and causing its channels to flow to all the trees of the field. So it towered over all the trees of the field. Well, nourished by abundant subterranean waters to home, the trees crown. Compare 17-3, 22, where we saw the same word samarit, rose above all the trees of the field and disappeared in the clouds. This tree drew its nourishment, energy, and life from the waters beneath the earth. The use of the word to home reminds us of Genesis 7-11 and 8-2, where Yahweh opened the taps of the underground source along with the windows of heaven and released the waters that inundated the world, sending its waters through natural streams, necharoth, and man-made irrigation ditches to aloth. This great deep provided an unlimited resource for nourishing the tree in the bed where it was planted. This language would have been at home in both Egypt and Mesopotamia, where Ezekiel and his audience lived. That's the extraordinary height of the cedar. In 5b we learn of the extraordinary health of the cedar. Offering a horizontal view of the cedar's magnificence, verses 5b-6 expound on the phrase giving protective shade in verse 3. Here's the description, 5b, its branches multiplied and its boughs grew long because of the abundant waters in its conduits. In its branches all the birds of the sky made their nests, and under its boughs all the wild animals bore their young, while in its shadow lived all the great nations. Well, in addition to causing the crown to reach upward into the sky, the waters of the great deep nourished the tree so that it sent out branches in great profusion in all directions. But these branches were not only beautiful to admire. Like the cedar of 1723, this tree offered shelter for animals. All kinds of birds nested in its boughs, and all the land creatures bore their young beneath it in its protection. The last line of verse 6 adds a political dimension to this metaphor, all the great nations congregated to its shadow. This description obviously paints an idealized picture of the tree from the perspective of Assyrian emperors themselves. Although they spoke of themselves as the protectors of the people, they had through brute force terrified them into submission by watching how they dealt with conquered subjects. No one who had experienced the brutality of the Assyrian hordes would have portrayed them this way. But anything is possible in art. In this imaginative literary cartoon, Assyria and its imitator Egypt viewed themselves as the benevolent patrons of the entire world. Aren't they lucky to have them as their patrons? In verses 7 to 9, we read of the incomparable beauty of the cedar. It was beautiful with its height, with the length of its branches. Because its roots were beside abundant waters, cedars in the garden of God cannot compare with it. Cypresses cannot match its branches, nor can plain trees rival its boughs. No tree in the garden of God was its equal in beauty. I made it a beautiful thing in the profusion of its branches. All the trees of Eden were envious, those that were in the garden of God. Finally, Ezekiel expanded on. It was a beautiful of branch in verses 2 and 3. With its roots sunk down to the limitless supply of water, in the length and profusion of its branches, the Assyrian tree exceeded even the cedars, cypresses, plain trees in the paradise of God. This is unearthly utopian. Its incomparable beauty evoked images of Eden described in Genesis 2.9, as a garden filled with trees renowned for their beauty, their fruit, and their life-giving power, and the knowledge that they offered. However, in verse 9, the prophet declared that, like the trees in the garden, the great cedar's glory was not of its own making, or even of simply the natural making of the underground waters. Yahweh had endowed it with superlative beauty that evoked jealousy, passion, kinah, among all the other trees in the garden. This theological comment serves an important rhetorical function, reminding hearers of the divine imprimatur on the cedar's grandeur. God had raised up this tree. But to this point, the ode has overlooked any hint of wrongdoing on the tree's part. Assyria, and now Egypt, drew their vitality and glory immediately from the subterranean waters. But ultimately, their glory derived from God the Creator. Although the prophet received this vision of Assyria's, or is it Egypt's, glory by inspiration from Yahweh, that's the prophet's inspiration, his audience would have recognized immediately how appropriate it was. In the Babylonian era epic, we find this remarkably similar description of the majestic maesu tree. Where is the maesu wood, the flesh of the gods, the proper insignia of the king of the world, the pure timber, tall youth who is made into a lord, whose roots reach down onto the vast ocean through a hundred miles of water to the base of Aralu, whose top knot above rests on the heaven of Anu. But this motif of a protective and nourishing cosmic tree was a common feature in Mesopotamian mythological imagination. In the Gilgamesh epic, we read of the Hulupu tree, and even more interesting, in the myth of Inanna, the goddess discovers the tree on the banks of the Euphrates and transplants it in her sacred garden in Erech, where it grows profusely, attracting the mythical zoo bird which resides in its crown, the evil Lilith which lives in its middle, and the snake which resides at its base. But we find stories like this in Norse mythology as well. Their Yggdrasil sank its roots down to Niflamr, the netherworld where giants and demons lived. Its trunk, the realm of humans, wound around by the ocean snake, was in Midgard, middle earth, and its crown extended to Asgore, the residence of the gods. It's amazing. People all over the world have stories like this. They're fascinated by tall trees. While these comparisons are attractive superficially, we should not be seduced into thinking that Ezekiel simply offered an Israelite version of that story. The differences in the accounts are much more important than the similarities. First, Ezekiel's metaphor was profoundly theopolitical rather than mythological, and the appeal to the garden of God, Eden, carried no mythological baggage. However, because Ezekiel's audience will have been familiar with the story of Genesis 2, it provided a useful standard by which to measure the glory of Assyria and Egypt. For Ezekiel, the superlative cedars of Lebanon, which Nebuchadnezzar had called the luxuriant forests of Marduk, these represented simply the foremost political force of the day, in whose shade the creatures and the nations found protection. Its magnificence also evoked jealousy among rival powers. Indeed, we find the closest analog to Ezekiel's allegory in Nebuchadnezzar's account of a dream he had that Daniel needed to interpret. In Daniel 4, 7 to 10, here's what the text says, I saw a tree of great height in the midst of the earth. The tree grew and became mighty. Its top reached heaven, and it was visible to the end of the earth. Its foliage was beautiful, its fruit abundant. Beneath it the beasts in the field found shade, and the birds of the sky dwelt in its branches. All creatures fed on it. Now, for Ezekiel, the issue of fruit was irrelevant, which probably eliminated comparison with the tree of life in the garden of God, or the sacred tree in ancient mythology, which was thought to nourish humans and animals. The tree represented one of the most common iconographic and mythological symbols and could be exploited for a variety of purposes, as a symbol of deity, as a protective cosmic symbol, as a symbol of life and prosperity. However, Ezekiel's cedar bore its own distinctive political stamp, and we will see this in the next episode, the judgment of the Assyrian, or is it the pharaonic cedar, verses 10 to 14. Therefore, thus has the Lord Yahweh declared, because you towered high, its sentence shoots up to the clouds, and its heart became proud because of its height. Therefore, I will deliver it into the hand of the chief of nations. He will certainly act toward it according to its wickedness. I have banished it. Foreigners, the most barbaric of nations, have cut it down. They left it lying on the mountains. In all the valleys, its branches have fallen. Its boughs were broken off in every ravine of the earth. All the peoples of the earth went down from its shade and left it lying. On its fallen trunk, all the birds of the sky lodge, and on its branches dwell all the wild animals, that no well-watered trees might grow tall in stature, nor send up their tops into the clouds. Nor shall any watered tree stand next to them in height. Indeed, all of them have been consigned to death, to the netherworld, in the company of humans who descend to the pit. The opening, therefore, lacaine, followed by, thus has the Lord Yahweh declared, in verse 10, signals a shift in this prophecy from the ode to the pharaonic cedar to a pointed announcement of judgment. The prophets switch from the second person of direct address in the first statement, you, to the third person in the first sentence. Because you towered high, its sentence shoots up into the clouds. This reflects the tension between the primary significance of the allegory, portrayal of the glory of Assyria, and its secondary application here, the fall of Egypt. The prophet's tone has also changed significantly. In the ode, Ezekiel painted his literary portrait of the cedar with consistently positive strokes. If this marshal, this metaphor, this figurative story contained any negative hint at all, it was the jealousy of the rest of the trees in the garden over this cedar's grandeur. But that would have been their problem, not the cedar's. The prophet had been toying with his audience, drawing them into the mind of the rhetorical addressee and impressing them with his virtues. Suddenly, without warning, he jolted them away from this dream world to the present political reality with a radical reinterpretation of the scene. Shockingly, we should not admire this cedar. We should condemn it. Yahweh's purpose to this point had not been to praise the tree, but to set the stage for the divine lumberjack. Ezekiel began his denunciation of the tree with a direct accusation, because, the song may credit the tree's glory to the subterranean waters and only to Yahweh, but the tree was not interested in ultimate causes. Instead of acknowledging its depth, the cedar prided itself in its magnificence. Like the cherub on the mountain of God in 2817, this tree succumbed to the temptation of pride, hubris, arrogance. And its tree, that is the tree's heart, was lifted up in its height. It's as if the heart in our body takes the place of the head. It rises because it is so ambitious. But the words have a sinister meaning. To be high of height and heart means to be haughty, calling for judgment. In verse 11, we hear Yahweh's response to this hubris. The alternation of verbs between past and future tenses is perplexing, but it seems to reflect the prophet's continued tension between the primary referent of the allegory, Assyria, whose demise 22 years ago was well known, and the new application of this song to Egypt, whose fall he was now predicting. Turning the tables, Yahweh declared that Pharaoh would be handed over to the chief, ail, literally, ram of the nations. To Ezekiel, that ram was Nebuchadnezzar, the emperor over many nations. Functioning as Yahweh's agent of divine justice, the Babylonians' strength would match Pharaoh's arrogance. With the last verb of verse 11, the prophet's gaze returned to the paradigmatic tree, Assyria, whom Yahweh had already driven away. If Pharaoh wanted to compare his greatness with that of Assyria, let him also compare their respective demises. It's a brilliant rhetorical strategy. In verses 12 to 14, Yahweh's involvement receded into the background while the actions of third parties against the tree took center stage. The prophet identified the agents of divine punishment as foreigners, zarim, strangers, and characterized them as the most barbarous of nations, aritze goyim, scary people. He portrayed them as crude and ecologically irresponsible lumberjacks who chopped the tree down, apparently for the sheer joy of cutting it down, and then left its trunk lying on the mountains and its broken branches strewed up and down the hills and valleys in the ravines of the land. But the cedar's fall also meant the end of its beneficial, protective role. All the peoples of the earth—compare all the mighty nations in verse 6—all the peoples of the earth abandoned it. Instead of building their nests in its branches and burying their young under its boughs, the birds and animals sat exposed on its fallen remains. Verse 14 opens with a surprising purpose clause, that no well-watered trees might grow tall in stature, nor send their tops up into the clouds, nor shall any watered tree stand next to them in height. Indeed, all of them have been consigned to death and to the netherworld in the company of humans and who descend to the pit. Here the prophet resumed his description of Yahweh's reaction to the tree's arrogance announced in verse 11. For a brief moment, his comments on the action of the third parties, verses 12 and 13, had interrupted the flow of thought. In verse 14, Ezekiel expanded the scope of his vision beyond the Assyrian cedar by adding two strange expressions. All trees of water, call etzei mayim, and all drinkers of water, call shotei mayim. By this he meant any tree that had found nourishment from the subterranean depths as described in verse 4, and those for whom the fall of the cedar should serve as a warning against pride on account of the tree's height, and arrogantly reaching for the heavens. The phrase, all the well-watered trees, generalizes on the lesson that Egypt in particular was to learn. All trees should learn this lesson. Egypt, you should be the first to get it. Rhetorically striking, the last line of verse 14 warned, all who are tempted in their greatness not to forget their mortal humanity. In consigning them to death and the netherworld, Yahweh reaffirmed that he always has the last word. The sentence for the proud was simple, death. Far from symbolizing life and far from offering shelter to living creatures, such trees go down to the netherworld where they will join all the deceased human beings, who descend to the pit. Compare this with 2620 where we saw that expression. In short, the depths to which he cast the arrogant will be commensurate with the heights to which they have aspired. In verses 15 to 18, the subject becomes the ultimate demise of the Assyrian, that is the pharaonic, cedar. Thus has the Lord Yahweh declared, on the day it went down to Sheol, I shut off the water supply, and I covered it with a deep. I dammed up its streams, and the mighty waters were held in check. I made Lebanon mourn on account of it, and all the wild trees wilted on its account. At the sound of its fall, I made nations quake. When I sent it down to Sheol with those who go down to the pit, then all the trees of Eden, all the choice and best of Lebanon, all that drink water found relief in the netherworld. They also descended to Sheol with it, to the victims of the sword, that is, its arm. Those who had dealt had dwelt in its shade in the midst of the nations. To whom do you compare like this in glory and magnificence among the trees of Eden? Still you will be brought down to the netherworld with the trees of Eden. In the midst of the uncircumcised you will lie, along with the victims of the sword. This applies to Pharaoh and all its pomp, the declaration of the Lord Yahweh. He gives it his stamp again. Once more the prophet signals a new movement in the oracle with, thus has the Lord Yahweh declared. The last frame of this literary cartoon of the Egyptian colossal trees fate is depressing in the extreme. The prophet uses a long list of words to describe where Egypt landed up, all of which reflect ancient Israel's perception of the place where the dead live. Again, I use the expression intentionally. This is Sheol, the pit, the cistern, the lower netherworld, to go along with other expressions like trap, of which we heard in 28a. With this account of the colossal trees' descent into the netherworld, Yahweh did not compose a full dissertation on the nature of Sheol or the state of the dead. To that subject he would return in 32, 17 to 32, a long dissertation on that subject. Yahweh's and the prophet's concern here was to highlight his total control not only over the fate of the cedar Assyria and secondarily Egypt, but also the reaction of the nations. Ezekiel began by describing the divinely induced reaction to the trees' descent. On the day that Yahweh sent the cedar down to Sheol, he also turned off the water supply that had nourished the other trees by capping the subterranean waters, damming the natural waterways, and holding in check the mighty waters, presumably a reference to the annual flooding of the Nile. Consequently, even the mountains of Lebanon, renowned for their rains and their massive trees, went into mourning as the trees all wilted and died. However, unlike the cedar, the other trees did not fall to the lumberjack's axe. Because they had counted on the cedar for their security, Yahweh had them die the slow death of starvation. Literally, he caused their wilting. In verse 16, the attention returns to the cedar's fate. It had arrived in Sheol, where it joined many other magnificent trees, including those from Eden and the finest specimens of the Lebanon who had preceded it. But with the pharaoh's arrival, those previously deceased trees all found relief. As we noted in 1422 and 1654, the verb nephel means to breathe easier, to be quieted, to be relieved. But why could they relax now that Egypt has arrived? That's a difficult question. How does that provoke relaxing, breathing easier? Well, in response, we must remember what Ezekiel had said at the end of the ode to the magnificent cedar in verse 9. All the trees of Eden were envious, those that were in the garden of God. The prophet probably wanted his hearers to imagine that these trees in Sheol were all surprised when the pharaoh of Egypt showed up.

In real life, the glorious cedar had invoked enemy, but once in Sheol, really, we're on the same level. The other trees had discovered that death was the great equalizer. They would never envy the cedar of Egypt again. In verse 17, the prophet observed that not all the trees in Sheol had been felled by the divine woodcutter. These newcomers joined the victims of Yahweh's punishing sword, further identified as his arm, apparently a reference to Assyria's and Egypt's allies. These nations that had previously found refuge in the shade of the cedar had preceded the tree to the netherworld and were there to welcome it when it arrived. The prophecy concludes in verse 18 by addressing Pharaoh directly once more. The time for word pictures had passed. By restating his opening question, Ezekiel jolted his hearers, the exiles sitting in front of him, back to reality. To whom do you compare in glory and magnificence among the trees of Eden? He had not been simply presenting a satirical allegory of the Assyrians who had once terrorized the world for his fellow exiles' entertainment. In their time, Pharaoh was the problem. If the Pharaoh of Egypt perceived himself as the heir of the Assyrians' emperor's imperial might, then let him also share in their fate and the fate of all the glorious trees, including those of Eden. As the Assyrians had experienced, the netherworld would reduce him to the lowest common denominator, nay, the lowest uncommon level. Pharaoh will be consigned an ignominious place to lie, shakav, in Sheol among the uncircumcised and the criminal victims of the sword. With the final statement, the prophet declared unequivocally the intent of this oracle. While the satirical tale may have described the fate of the Assyrians, it was directed at Pharaoh and his hubris. Yahweh's concluding signature sealed not only the oracle but also the Pharaoh's fate. And in so doing, through his prophet, he sought to undermine Ezekiel's fellow exiles' hopes in all Egyptian enterprises against the Babylonians in Judah. This satirical tale of the magnificent cedar of Lebanon reiterates many themes familiar from previous oracles against the nations. By now, some readers may tire of hearing these points over and over and over again. Some may remember how Yahweh had characterized the exiles, who of course claimed to be the people of Yahweh. At the time of Ezekiel's call, the Lord had said, I am sending you to the descendants of Israel, to the nation of rebels, who have rebelled against me. They and their fathers have been in revolt against me to this very day. Now the descendants are insubordinate and obstinate. I'm sending you to them and you shall say to them, thus has the Lord Yahweh declared. And as for them, whether they listen or not, for they are a rebellious household, they will know that a prophet has been in their midst. Ezekiel 2, 3 to 5. We also need to remind ourselves of the dangers of practical atheism, if not anti-theism, even as we routinely mouth the words of our creeds, as we seek to apply this prophet's message to our own context. Ezekiel keeps reminding us that we need to adopt his radically theocentric view of life and history. If the state of Ezekiel's audience made it necessary for him to repeat the same old messages over and over again, the same is probably true in our time. My father used to say, if it's worth preaching once, it's worth preaching twice. In fact, sometimes it may be necessary to preach it twice and three times and more. Like the previous oracles against the nations, this text teaches once more that first, Yahweh is the sovereign Lord of the cosmos and of history. He is able to manipulate the forces of nature with a snap of a finger, and he is able to bring down the high and the mighty with a mere breath, and you're gone. Nations are not autonomous, either in their origins or in their destinies. They are not self-made. They draw their vitality from resources built into the universe, and they derive their place by divine appointment. Yahweh planted this tree in Eden and endowed it with unsurpassed magnificence and beauty, but with such gifts come occasions for pride. Like a lumberjack, he brings down the tree and consigns it to the netherworld. He alone holds the keys, not only to one's place in history, but also one's position among the dead. This message needs to be affirmed in every age. Second, we who claim the name of Jesus must remember our primary citizenship is in the kingdom of God, and that in our speech and actions we need to reflect the values of that kingdom. Like Ezekiel's fellow exiles, the church must recognize the futility of reliance on any secular power. Its confidence must be in God alone. The events of the first two weeks of 2020 illustrated how seriously these issues are, as we watched a colossal political figure come crashing down. Many evangelicals had hitched their wagons wholeheartedly and uncritically to the outgoing president, despite his narcissism, crudeness, and offensive tweets. The images we saw in the media illustrate the monstrosity this creates. Many supported him reluctantly while holding their noses, thinking that he represented the lesser of two problematic options. And as for those who cast their votes on the side that won, this was no time for gloating. The warning of this chapter remains. There is always the danger that one style of hubris may be replaced by another style of hubris, and perhaps it may have a more civil tone, but be equally sinister and more seductive in its disposition to true righteousness, holiness, compassion, and mercy, as the Lord defines it. All I could say as one administration replaced another was, Lord, have mercy. And finally, pride in human accomplishments draws the fury of God. This lesson applies not only to the secular world of the nations, but especially to those who lead in the kingdom of God. Many centuries earlier, Moses had warned Israel of the devastating consequences of claiming, my power and the strength of my hand have produced this wealth. That's Deuteronomy 8, 17 to 20. The need for a warning against hubris in the Western church has seldom, if ever, been more urgent than it is today. Churches and their leaders may not gloat over their influence and their achievements without suffering divine fury any more than the pharaohs and emperors of the world may. How different is this picture from that which Jesus paints in the Beatitudes with which he opened his own constitutional address for his new kingdom in the Sermon on the How privileged are those who are poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heaven is theirs. How privileged are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. How privileged are those who are humble, modest, for they will inherit the earth. How privileged are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied. How privileged are those who are merciful, demonstrate chesed, for they will experience mercy. How privileged are those whose hearts are pure, for they will see God. How privileged are those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God. How privileged are those who are persecuted for their acts of righteousness, for the kingdom of heaven is theirs. How privileged are you when people mock you and persecute you and lie about you and say all sorts of evil things against you because you are my followers. This was Jesus' call to his followers to counter-cultural living. May we be salt and light to a world that has gone super-sour and dismally dark. May the light of Christ shine brightly from us like a beacon in the night to the praise and the glory of God.