TAKE UP A LAMENT concerning the princes of Israel 2and say:
“ ‘What a lioness was your mother
among the lions!
She lay down among the young lions
and reared her cubs.
3She brought up one of her cubs,
and he became a strong lion.
He learned to tear the prey
and he devoured men.
4The nations heard about him,
and he was trapped in their pit.
They led him with hooks
to the land of Egypt.
5“ ‘When she saw her hope unfulfilled,
her expectation gone,
she took another of her cubs
and made him a strong lion.
6He prowled among the lions,
for he was now a strong lion.
He learned to tear the prey
and he devoured men.
7He broke down their strongholds
and devastated their towns.
The land and all who were in it
were terrified by his roaring.
8Then the nations came against him,
those from regions round about.
They spread their net for him,
and he was trapped in their pit.
9With hooks they pulled him into a cage
and brought him to the king of Babylon.
They put him in prison,
so his roar was heard no longer
on the mountains of Israel.
10“ ‘Your mother was like a vine in your vineyard
planted by the water;
it was fruitful and full of branches
because of abundant water.
11Its branches were strong,
fit for a ruler’s scepter.
It towered high
above the thick foliage,
conspicuous for its height
and for its many branches.
12But it was uprooted in fury
and thrown to the ground.
The east wind made it shrivel,
it was stripped of its fruit;
its strong branches withered
and fire consumed them.
13Now it is planted in the desert,
in a dry and thirsty land.
14Fire spread from one of its main branches
and consumed its fruit.
No strong branch is left on it
fit for a ruler’s scepter.’
This is a lament and is to be used as a lament.”
Original Meaning
BY NOW, WE ARE familiar with the versatility with which the prophet delivers his message. Here, while continuing the pictorial speech of the last few chapters, Ezekiel moves from prose into poetry, adopting the form of a lament or dirge.
A lament was a common and distinctive form of song, frequently sung at a funeral, extolling the virtues of the departed and grieving the tragic circumstances surrounding the person’s death. A classic example is found in 2 Samuel 1:19–27, where David mourns the deaths of Saul and Jonathan. In the hands of the prophets, however, the genre underwent a change of perspective, for the catalogue of virtues of the departed became a list of faults, while the tragic circumstances of the demise were projected into the future rather than simply recorded from the past.1 To conduct a “funeral service” for a still-living patient may not always be considered in the best of taste,2 but it is an effective way of communicating the certainty with which a death is anticipated! This certainty is particularly striking following on from Ezekiel 18, where the wicked man has been summoned to turn and live.
Ezekiel’s lament is made up of two distinct images: a lioness and her cubs, and a vine and its branches. At first sight, these images seem distinct and unconnected. However, both were familiar images for the royal tribe of Judah, and the images are brought together, albeit in a different way, in Jacob’s blessing of a ruler who would come from the tribe of Judah (Gen. 49:9–11).3 When the familiar imagery was combined with the familiar meter (and musical style?) of lament, it would have been immediately apparent to Ezekiel’s listeners that what they heard was “a lament concerning the princes of Israel” (Ezek. 19:1).4
The first image is of a mother lioness who produces a number of cubs.5 Out of them, she chooses one to be the leader of the pack. He behaves in lionlike fashion, tearing the prey and even consuming people (19:3). As a result, he is hunted by the nations,6 captured, and carried off to Egypt (19:4). In his place, she appoints a second cub, who acts with even greater destructiveness (19:6–7). He too is hunted by the nations, captured, and carried into exile, this time to Babylon.
As with the imagery of Ezekiel 16–17, historical facts are built into the picture, resulting in an occasionally incongruous mixture of metaphor and reality. The first cub clearly represents Jehoahaz, who, after a brief three-month reign in 609 B.C., was carried off to Egypt by Pharaoh Neco (2 Kings 23:33–34). His reign is described as tearing the prey and devouring men (Ezek. 19:3). This carnivorous blood lust is sometimes understood not as a blameworthy feature, but simply as describing the normal growth and development of the king within the chosen metaphor.7 However, given the extension of the metaphor in 19:6 and further in 22:25, where the behavior is clearly reprehensible, that seems unlikely. Rather, it seems probable that Ezekiel exploited an ambiguity that is inherent within the metaphor.
The comparison of kings and lions was old and well established, yet the imagery contains the possibility of powerful men acting like wild beasts that have the capacity to empty the land (2 Kings 17:26). A poetic figure that in some contexts is strongly positive (Gen. 49:9; Deut. 33:20) can in other contexts become a figure of fierce cruelty (Prov. 28:15; Nah. 2:12–13). In terms of the brevity of Jehoahaz’s reign, this negative characterization is probably somewhat stylized, yet he may have begun the policies for which his successor Jehoiakim is criticized in Jeremiah 22:13–17.
The second lion behaves similarly to the first, tearing prey and devouring men (Ezek. 19:6). In addition, he “broke down their strongholds8 and devastated their towns,” behavior that breaks out of the metaphorical realm (i.e., behavior appropriate to lions) into the literal realm (i.e., behavior appropriate to kings). The lament is unclear as to whose towns are devastated and which land is terrified of him. Normally, such language would apply to the lion’s foes. Yet it is sufficiently ambiguous to cover the actual destruction wreaked on the lion’s own country, Judah, whose towns and cities were destroyed as a result of the foolish policies of successive kings.9 This second lion too, having behaved like a wild animal, was hunted down.
The identity of the second lion has been the object of much debate. The primary choices are Jehoiachin, with whom Ezekiel was exiled, or Zedekiah, his successor, who was exiled in 586 B.C. If the lion metaphor is taken as a separate unit, then Zedekiah is probably the best choice.10 However, if the entire chapter is viewed as a two-image picture, with a change of metaphor between the first and second images, then Jehoiachin fits best as the second lion, while Zedekiah is then reserved for the second image, that of a vine and its branches.11 Although much attention has been devoted to the question, the meaning of the passage is not significantly altered by which identification is adopted; the point is that the current rulers of Judah are simply the latest outcroppings of the rock of oppression and pride from which they were hewn.
In the second image, a vine is planted in a vineyard12 beside abundant waters. The perfect conditions provided for her lead to abundant growth, and in particular many strong branches suitable for a ruler’s scepter (19:11). It towers high above the clouds13 but, as may be expected, pride goes before a fall, and the lofty vine is uprooted, withered by the east wind and stripped of its fruit (19:12). Its strong branches are burned, and the vine is replanted in the desert, in a dry and thirsty land (19:13). Indeed, the destructive fire itself comes from one of the branches and consumes its fruit; the result is that no strong branch is left suitable for a ruler’s scepter (19:14).
Once more, the picture is not difficult to decode. The vine is Judah, planted by the Lord in perfect conditions. As a result, she produces many scions capable of ruling. But pride is her downfall. In wrath, the Lord uproots her and withers her, replanting her outside the Promised Land, back in the desert of exile. The fire, which started in one of the branches (Zedekiah), results not simply in a loss of the fruit (destruction of land/people) but also in the annihilation of all the other strong branches (potential rulers). In Zedekiah, the Davidic dynasty will come to a sudden end, at least for the present.
Echoes of chapter 17 are evident throughout this second picture. Both describe a vine planted in conditions suitable for growth (17:5–6), then uprooted in wrath (17:9) and shriveled by the east wind (17:10). The tall tree is brought low (17:24). Though the focus is different, placed on divine action rather than human action, the conclusion for Zedekiah is the same: no escape.
Bridging Contexts
THE OPTIMISM OF contemporary culture. The genre of lament is not a familiar one to contemporary readers, especially in an American context. We live in a culture that is inherently optimistic, which cannot accept the possibility of a definitive verdict of death. We believe in surprising comebacks, in victory snatched from the jaws of defeat, and especially in happy endings. The writer Christopher Lasch comments: “American historical writing takes little account of the possibility of tragedy—missed opportunities, fatal choices, conclusive and irrevocable defeats. History has to have a happy ending.”14
Perhaps the closest we normally come to encountering this genre in our culture is in the character of Ebenezer Scrooge, who has become traditional Christmas viewing in one film incarnation or other of Charles Dickens’ novel A Christmas Carol. Like the princes of Israel, Scrooge hears ahead of time the sound of his own funeral. In keeping with the dictates of our culture, however, Scrooge receives the warning in time and is reformed, resulting in the requisite happy ending.
For Judah under Zedekiah, there is no prospect of a happy ending. Her fate is sealed, along with his; doom, defeat, and despair await them. The lions will be trapped; the vine will be chopped down from its lofty position and replanted not in the Promised Land but in a dry and desert land. The ruler’s scepter is gone. Even though there is ultimate hope, as Ezek. 17:22–24 makes clear, the present situation is one of unmitigated doom. What makes it worse is the fact that it is unmitigated doom in spite of God’s good promise. For back in Genesis 49:8–12, a passage with close links in imagery to Ezekiel 19, God promised that the scepter would never depart from the line of Judah, whom he compares to a young lion. But even God’s promises cannot be presumed on, if taken out of context. The scepter will indeed depart from Judah, at least for the present time, because of the sins committed by those who held it.
Often the optimism of our culture carries over into the church. During a conversation on the difficulty of church planting in England, an American pastor once remarked to me, “Given $60,000 and two years, I can plant a church here in the United States.” Of course, such invincible optimism is not all bad. The pessimism that characterizes my own British culture adopts as its favorite text, “[This is] the day of small things” (Zech. 4:10). It needs to hear the words of Jeremiah: “Ah, Sovereign LORD, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you” (Jer. 32:17). We should indeed believe that with God all things are possible. But to be true to God’s Word, optimism must always be optimism in God’s power combined with a healthy pessimism in our own abilities. God can do all things with or without us; without him, we can do nothing (compare Ps. 127:1–3).
Even where that basic point is affirmed in theory, cultural optimism sneaks into our assessment of the church and its mission in practice. Our natural tendency inclines us to believe that small churches ought to grow into larger churches, that missionaries ought to see significant numbers of converts, and that our ministries will certainly prosper, provided we faithfully follow biblical guidelines. This is particularly evident in the exclusive adoption of the biblical imagery of farming and harvest by the church growth movement in their description of missions.
The logic of the argument goes as follows: The church’s mission is to gather God’s harvest; like any good farmer, God seeks to maximize his production; his strategy (and therefore ours) will be to send workers to where the harvest is most ripe.15 The possibility of God’s calling people to the kind of ministry exercised by Isaiah or Ezekiel may be acknowledged, but it is immediately discounted as an unusual situation.16 According to this position, the norm ought to be successful ministry! But where does such confidence come from? Is it not a version of the view of history described by Christopher Lasch, only given a Christian spin, so that it issues in the conviction that church history must have a happy ending?
A reality check. Ultimately, of course, church history does have a happy ending. The final chapters of Revelation assert that no matter what happens in between now and then, the church’s position is ultimately secure. In the person of Christ, the promise of God that the scepter will not depart from the line of Judah will be ultimately fulfilled. As the bride of Christ, we are being prepared for the day when Christ will return to make all things new. But does that ultimate optimism allow for, indeed require, a similar optimism for the present, the time between the times? Can we say that we should expect the progress of the church to be smoothly and consistently in a forward direction?
Church history to date hardly seems to support such a notion. What we need is a strong reality check. Areas where the early church was strong are now virtually without a gospel witness; areas that were at the heart of the Reformation now see empty churches and cold hearts. Is that indeed a call for God’s workers to go elsewhere? The apostle Paul would not seem to support such an idea. He warned Timothy about the prospect of hard times ahead in ministry, with hearers who would rather turn aside to myths than hear the truth. However, instead of urging him to move on to find “whiter harvests,” he told him to keep his head, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, and discharge the duties of his ministry (2 Tim. 4:1–5).
The truth is that there is no “norm” in God’s work. He calls some to white harvests and notable “success.” He calls others to faithful labor with little or no visible reward. Still others live in a day of cold, hard hearts, in which the lack of faithfulness of God’s people can only result in disaster for the church, unless God graciously sends revival. Sometimes he chooses not to send revival, and a church dies. In the short term, even if not in the long term, the possibility is real that church history may indeed be a record of tragedy—of missed opportunities, of fatal choices, of conclusive and irrevocable defeats. We may need to learn how to lament and weep before the Lord and recognize our sins and those of our fellow Christians that have caused God to depart from our midst. In the midst of the pain of our lamentation, however, our confidence may yet be placed in God’s faithfulness. As Lamentations 3:22–24 puts it:
Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”
Contemporary Significance
GOD’S WONDERFUL PLAN? “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.” So runs one part of the presentation of the gospel known as “The Four Spiritual Laws,” which has been popularized by Campus Crusade for Christ. This encouraging thought is certainly in line with our culture’s optimistic outlook, but is it true? Can we legitimately tell people that God has a wonderful plan for their lives?
Criticism of the statement often runs along the lines that since some of the people to whom we speak are not going to be saved, it is inappropriate to tell them that God’s plan for their life is wonderful. What is so wonderful about a plan that ends up in hell? But is it even legitimate to say to Christians, “God has a wonderful plan for your life”? May we legitimately address Christians with the proof text of this position, the Lord’s words in Jeremiah 29:11: “I know the plans I have for you . . . plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future”?
In one sense, of course, we may. Ultimately, God does have a wonderful eternity prepared for his people. “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9). But the more pressing question involves the here and now, the in-between time. The assertion that God has a wonderful plan for our lives often rings hollow when measured up against the realities of day-to-day life. Our lives are frequently more desert than well-watered place. We seem to spend more time at Marah, where the wandering Israelites found the water too bitter to drink, than at Elim, the place of rest with its twelve springs and seventy palm trees, overflowing with abundance (see Ex. 15:22–27).
If we have been sold a promise as Christians that “it’s a wonderful life,” then we may spend much time struggling with that reality. We may live in permanent denial of life’s unpleasant realities or blame ourselves for failing to measure up, because if we were “really spiritual” life wouldn’t be this way. The truth is, however, that our present existence is frequently less than wonderful, and the Bible never pretends that it ought to be otherwise. Jeremiah’s words were addressed to people living in exile, experiencing in its full harshness the bitterness of life, who needed to be assured that in the midst of the distress, there was still hope for the future. He goes on to denounce those who promise short-term relief (Jer. 29:21–23)! Those who are living comfortably back in Judah, on the other hand, are addressed not with hope but with a message of certain destruction (e.g., Ezek. 24:8–10).
That destruction was coming on Judah in part because of the sins of their royal leaders. Proud and violent, they had led the people astray from God. Now God was indeed announcing his plan for their life, but it was not what they would call wonderful. Instead, it is a lament, a messenger of sure and certain death. That death would fall not only on the individuals concerned but also on the present Davidic house as a whole. There would be no more second chances, no replacement for Zedekiah as head of the line of David. Just as Isaiah’s prophecy of a shoot growing from the stump of Jesse proclaimed the coming of the chain saw of God’s judgment on the existing royal line (Isa. 11:1; how else, after all, would you end up with a “stump”?), so also Ezekiel surveys the recent history of the Davidic monarchy and writes on it in large letters, “Failure.”
The fulfillment of God’s ultimate plan. None of Israel’s kings, not even the greatest, David himself, had been able to establish God’s kingdom on earth. All of them ultimately failed. None of them could lead God’s people into their rest. So the prophet takes out his correction fluid and whites them out as the source of hope. In spite of God’s promises, all that is left is a lament. What a depressing truth for Ezekiel’s hearers! It means that all of their present hopes in any existing human figure must be crushed, and they must depend entirely on something new that God will do. Nor is there any direct statement in this passage of what form this “new thing” will take.
But the links back to Ezekiel 17 remind us not to forget how that chapter ends, with the promise of a fresh start, a new sprig from the cedar, a new Son of David, who will bring in nothing less than a new world (17:22–24). Isaiah’s old prophecy likewise was not simply a statement that God would reduce the house of David to a stump, but that out of that stump a new shoot would grow, through whom God’s purposes would be fulfilled (Isa. 11:2–16). Though Ezekiel laments the fate of the house of David, which is as good as dead, he serves the God who brings life from the dead. God’s promises cannot ultimately be destroyed by human weakness and failure, not even by a long history of weakness and failure. In the end, every one of his promises to David will not fail but will be fulfilled in the true Son of David, Jesus Christ.
This passage thus gives both comforting and challenging news for all of us. What makes it challenging news for us is the fact that the same verdict delivered against the house of David stands against us and all of our best efforts. It is not simply the rulers of old who abused their position of power who have fallen short of the glory of God, it is all of us. Like the line of the kings of Israel and Judah, our personal histories are littered with a trail of wrecks. No matter who you are, no matter how squeaky clean your image, when God looks at your life, he writes across it in large letters, “Failure” (cf. Rom. 3:23).
Worst of all, that is true not simply of your most wicked moments, but of your best. It is not just when you are stabbing somebody in the back, or gossiping or stealing or committing adultery that you offend God. It is when you are helping a little old lady across the street, while underneath there is the sneaking thought, “Is anybody seeing what a wonderful person I am?” It is while you are praying in a prayer meeting, or giving to the poor, or feeding the hungry, while all along there is a corner of your heart that is a little impressed with your own goodness and that feels God ought to be impressed too.
Like Judah of old, what you need is not just another (slightly better) version of the same. We make New Year’s resolutions and plans to quit this bad habit and abandon that sin and start to do this good thing and generally overhaul our lives. We think, “Next year, I’ll be a little better than this. This year wasn’t so great, perhaps, but next year things will be different.” Ezekiel’s lament tells us that New Year’s resolutions aren’t enough, just as a new Davidic king wouldn’t be enough. God will have to do something far more radical to save us.
The good news is that in Jesus Christ God has done precisely such a radical new work. In spite of the failure of all of Judah’s kings, good as well as bad, God sent another King, the true “Lion of the tribe of Judah” and “Root of David” (Rev. 5:5). In spite of your personal repeated failure, God has triumphed in Christ to win the salvation of all his people. But this Lion, far from tearing the prey and devouring men (Ezek. 19:6), has conquered by appearing as a Lamb, who has been slain on behalf of his people (Rev. 5:6).
The appearance of this Lamb of God opens a window into heaven that transforms our experience of present realities. Though the present we live in and the immediate future we face may be bleak and forbidding, “a dry and thirsty land” (Ezek. 19:13), that fact no longer devastates us because this world is not our home. It is merely our place of pilgrimage on a journey to our real home. Though now we lament, soon we will go to the place where laments will be no more. Though we now suffer, soon we will be worshiping at the feet of the Lamb in heaven. Though we place no confidence in the flesh, knowing that the glory of this world is passing away and people here will continually disappoint us and fail us, we have full confidence in God and in the efficacy of his promises. We believe that the ruler’s scepter has been given into the hand of the Lord Jesus Christ, and ultimately he will rule the nations as King of kings and Lord of lords (Rev. 19:15–16). In that promise lies a sure and certain hope that our failures are not the end of the story. God’s faithfulness is.