"If you want to come back, O Israel, you must really come back to me. You must get rid of your stinking sin paraphernalia and not wander away from me anymore.
Then you can say words like, 'As GOD lives . . . ' and have them mean something true and just and right. And the godless nations will get caught up in the blessing and find something in Israel to write home about."
Yes, circumcise your lives for God's sake. Plow your unplowed hearts, all you people of Judah and Jerusalem. Prevent fire--the fire of my anger-- for once it starts it can't be put out. Your wicked ways are fuel for the fire.
"Sound the alarm in Judah, broadcast the news in Jerusalem. Say, 'Blow the ram's horn trumpet through the land!' Shout out--a bullhorn bellow!-- 'Close ranks! Run for your lives to the shelters!'
Send up a flare warning Zion: 'Not a minute to lose! Don't sit on your hands!' Disaster's descending from the north. I set it off! When it lands, it will shake the foundations.
Invaders have pounced like a lion from its cover, ready to rip nations to shreds, Leaving your land in wrack and ruin, your cities in rubble, abandoned.
Then I said, "Alas, Master GOD! You've fed lies to this people, this Jerusalem. You assured them, 'All is well, don't worry,' at the very moment when the sword was at their throats."
At that time, this people, yes, this very Jerusalem, will be told in plain words: "The northern hordes are sweeping in from the desert steppes-- A wind that's up to no good,
I'm doubled up with cramps in my belly-- a poker burns in my gut. My insides are tearing me up, never a moment's peace. The ram's horn trumpet blast rings in my ears, the signal for all-out war.
I looked--this can't be! Every garden and orchard shriveled up. All the towns were ghost towns. And all this because of GOD, because of the blazing anger of GOD.
Someone shouts, "Horsemen and archers!" and everybody runs for cover. They hide in ditches, they climb into caves. The cities are emptied, not a person left anywhere.
And you, what do you think you're up to? Dressing up in party clothes, Decking yourselves out in jewelry, putting on lipstick and rouge and mascara! Your primping goes for nothing. You're not going to seduce anyone. They're out to kill you!
And what's that I hear? The cry of a woman in labor, the screams of a mother giving birth to her firstborn. It's the cry of Daughter Zion, gasping for breath, reaching out for help: "Help, oh help me! I'm dying! The killers are on me!"