Wonder, Woe, and the Glory That Covers the Seas

Habakkuk, Part 4: God’s endgame will see the Earth he made brimming with his glory.

Photo by Artur Ament on Unsplash

Those who belong to the Lord do so by faith alone. This has always been the case; this has always been how God’s people endure. But faith is never blind. For some reason, this notion persists as a modern explanation of what it is to have faith in something. Faith personified is a person on the edge of a vast cliff, who jumps without any real reason to do so. It’s a leap in the dark, in hopes that something or someone will catch them. This, to be sure, is not biblical faith — that might be a caricature of faith, but it’s not the real thing. Faith isn’t “irrational” or “against reason.” It’s resting in something or someone above and beyond our reason. In other words, true faith doesn’t throw caution to the wind and jump out of an airplane without a parachute. It jumps, knowing full well who packed the parachute and who put it on you.

1. A Confidence in God’s Character Amid Confusing Circumstances

Accordingly, faith is an act wherein we take God at his word, despite our surroundings. It always follows on the heels of God’s words and promises, embracing what God has revealed about himself and his grace, even when the facts of our situation seem to contradict that revelation. Even when everything else seems so very contrary, faith continues to trust in a God who is trustworthy. This has been Habakkuk’s experience, as the Lord himself beckons him to “live by faith.” Supplementing this divine invitation are five “woes” (Hab. 2:6, 9, 12, 15, 19), or prophetic warning signs, each of which was directed at the Chaldeans and the reprehensible decorum. These warnings were intended to remind them that no matter how big and mighty they are, there was someone mightier, infinitely so — someone who had already mixed a divine cocktail of justice just for them (Hab. 2:16).

Through these words to his troubled prophet, God, in no small way, showcases his supremacy over all things, including kings and nations that refuse to follow or acknowledge him. There is nothing and no one outside of God’s jurisdiction. “He changes times and seasons,” Daniel tells us, “he removes kings and sets up kings; he gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding” (Dan. 2:21). Even the evil impulses of humankind that are so very apparent in our day “will not,” asserts Christopher Ash, “ever go one tiny fraction beyond the leash on which God has put it.”¹ Although the purpose of God behind what we see remains a mystery to us, even still, faith is tethered to what God’s Word says is true, not necessarily what we can see.

Thus, in another sense, God’s words of warning are also words of promise for Habakkuk and the rest of Judah, filling their hearts and their mouths with hope and confidence that can only come from the outside. This brings us back to the notion that faith isn’t blind or irrational belief. Rather, it’s a belief in the words of the one true God. To the reeling and trembling citizens of Judah, daunted by the imminent Babylonian incursion led by Nebuchadnezzar, Habakkuk’s words, which are God’s words, imbue them with the faith to live. As dark as the days may get, heaven’s throne is still occupied (Hab. 2:20), a sentiment which is as necessary now as it was then. The prophet’s analysis of the “arrogant man” (Hab. 2:5) feels hauntingly familiar, with all the elements of grief and disaster uncannily paralleled in our own day. In other words, God’s words to a doubting prophet and a reeling nation are words for us, right now, in our turmoil and trouble — words that give us something sturdy in which to put our faith. But what does that even mean?

2. A Posture of Certainty in a Climate of Restlessness

Just before God gives his prophet that timeless anthem about the righteous living by faith, he offers a glimpse at what the inverse of that looks like: “Behold, his soul is puffed up; it is not upright within him” (Hab. 2:4). In contrast to the peaceful life of faith is the “puffed up” life of the proud and the self-consumed. It’s the sort of life that resists any idea that God is needed, if he even exists at all. It’s a crooked existence, wherein every thought and intention is turned in on the self. This, to be sure, was an apt description of the Chaldeans, who, at the time, were using the world stage as their own personal sandbox, running roughshod through other empires and collecting nations as if they were trophies at field day (Hab. 2:5). Seeing this unfold prompted Habakkuk to cry out, “How long?” How long will you let injustice go unchecked? Why are the wicked prospering and the righteous languishing?²

As tempting as it might be to wallow in that question, God exposes the lives of the self-consumed and self-interested for the sham that they are. They are “never at rest.” They “never [have] enough.” All their striving leaves them with “nothing” (Hab. 2:13). Whatever gain or success “an arrogant man” may achieve is ultimately empty, no matter how much he gathers for himself. Nebuchadnezzar and the grunts of Babylon were on a quest of insatiable attainment. The more they accumulated, the deeper their desire grew. They could never amass enough “stuff” to satisfy their domineering appetite because their aspirations kept getting wider, as wide as the underworld itself (Hab. 2:5). This is the eventual consequence when your faith is fixed on things you can acquire: you never have enough, and you always want more.

It is easy to see this hubristic prototype carried forward in our day as well, since we live in a climate of restlessness. We are inundated with advertisements and messaging that tell us all we need is “a little bit more” — more trinkets, more gadgets, more followers, more stuff, or more money, etc. But, in many ways, the history of humanity serves as one long record of the disease of “more” and all its devastating hazards.

For example, the fourth century B.C. Macedonian ruler Alexander the Great donned the crown in his twenties and was swiftly consumed by ambition and a thirst for conquest. By age thirty, he had expanded his kingdom as far as Greece, to Egypt, to India, leading many historians to consider him one of the greatest military strategists the world has ever seen and a man with one of the most obviously hubristic nicknames. But despite his accolades, the ancient historian Plutarch records that the great Alexander was beside himself when he was told about the infinite worlds theory, crying, “Is it not a matter for tears that, when the number of worlds is infinite, I have not conquered one?”³ By thirty-two, Alexander was dead, leaving behind a kingdom of chaos and reckless ambition.

Fast forward 2,300 years to the 2016 Golden Globe Awards, where the renowned actor Jim Carrey presented the award for best motion picture. As he approached the microphone to announce the nominees, he gave a short speech that was insightful, humorous, and devastating all at once:

You know, when I go to sleep at night, I’m not just a guy going to sleep. I’m two-time Golden Globe winner Jim Carrey, going to get some well-needed shuteye. And when I dream, I don’t just dream any old dream. No, sir. I dream about being three-time Golden Globe-winning actor Jim Carrey, because then I would be enough. It would finally be true, and I could stop this terrible search for what I know ultimately won’t fulfill me.

This echoes his sentiments from a 2005 interview with The Ottawa Citizen, where he famously said, “I think everybody should get rich and famous and [do] everything they ever dreamed of so they can see it’s not the answer.”⁴ Indeed, the answer to humanity’s relentless, terrible search isn’t more possessions or more notches in our belts; it’s the Word of God. The Word is always the answer to humankind’s frenzied quest for fulfillment. Its pages are the morsels upon which the Redeemer welcomes one and all to partake (Deut. 8:3; 32:46–47), since, among many other things, it tells us all about the dramatic reversal of fortunes that brings about his people’s redemption:

Shall not all these take up their taunt against him, with scoffing and riddles for him, and say,
Woe to him who heaps up what is not his own —
for how long? —
and loads himself with pledges!
Will not your debtors suddenly arise,
and those awake who will make you tremble?
Then you will be spoil for them.
Because you have plundered many nations,
all the remnant of the peoples shall plunder you,
for the blood of man and violence to the earth,
to cities and all who dwell in them.
(Hab. 2:6–8)

Those who’ve been oppressed are welcome to “take up a taunt” against their oppressors. The very people who’ve been collected like knick-knacks on a shelf can stand in confidence because, according to the Word of the Lord, a seismic irony is in the works. Those who have gone about plundering will themselves be plundered, and God’s “remnant,” that is, those who “live by faith,” will be witnesses to the realization of this promise. After all, it was the Son of God himself who once said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God” (Matt. 5:3). The kingdom of God and the fullness thereof, belongs not to the “puffed up” accumulators or the prideful empire-builders or the self-exalting glory-seekers, but to the poor and lowly sufferers, who subsist on faith in the Word; who put their trust in the God who “became poor, so that [they] by his poverty might become rich” (2 Cor. 8:9). In a climate of insatiable ambition and relentless pursuits after “more,” faith takes its repose on the words of God alone.

3. A Spirit of Reverence in a Culture of Defiance

If one isn’t careful, there is a tendency to let verse 6 go to one’s head. The invitation to “take up a taunt” (מָשָׁל) against those who have held us down is very appealing. The bully is getting his comeuppance, only, in this case, the bully isn’t a troubled middle school boy but all of Babylon. Nevertheless, we can easily imagine all of Judah feeling a rush of excitement when they first heard these words. But for as much as they were inclined to jeer and demean the Chaldeans, these words were meant to provoke a different attitude. God’s impending judgment on the “puffed up” isn’t an invitation for condescension or ridicule, but for reverence. As we are told, “The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him” (Hab. 2:20).

To “keep silence” (הָסָה) is the equivalent of “to hush.” It’s akin to that moment when a judge enters the courtroom. Whereas, moments before, lawyers are chatting with their clients and fidgeting with papers, and the whole gallery is abuzz with whispers, when the bailiff announces, “All rise, Judge So-and-So presiding,” a reverent silence takes over the room. Why? Because of the judge’s position and authority. Those who defiantly and disrespectfully carry on chatting, fidgeting, or doing their own thing are liable to be fined or even held in contempt of court. God’s words to his prophet evoke a similar tone. They are as ominous as they are decisive. But rather than inciting us to belittle those who are in the crosshairs of judgment, these words should stir us to reverential silence:

Woe to him who heaps up what is not his own —
for how long? —
and loads himself with pledges!
Will not your debtors suddenly arise,
and those awake who will make you tremble?
Then you will be spoil for them.
Because you have plundered many nations,
all the remnant of the peoples shall plunder you,
for the blood of man and violence to the earth,
to cities and all who dwell in them.
Woe to him who gets evil gain for his house,
to set his nest on high,
to be safe from the reach of harm!
You have devised shame for your house
by cutting off many peoples;
you have forfeited your life.
For the stone will cry out from the wall,
and the beam from the woodwork respond.
Woe to him who builds a town with blood
and founds a city on iniquity! . . .
Woe to him who makes his neighbors drink —
you pour out your wrath and make them drunk,
in order to gaze at their nakedness!
You will have your fill of shame instead of glory.
Drink, yourself, and show your uncircumcision!
The cup in the Lord’s right hand
will come around to you,
and utter shame will come upon your glory!
The violence done to Lebanon will overwhelm you,
as will the destruction of the beasts that terrified them,
for the blood of man and violence to the earth,
to cities and all who dwell in them.
(Hab. 2:6–12, 15–17)

The Chaldeans operated in defiance of everyone else but themselves. Theirs was a kingdom founded on blood and oppression, overwhelming and dispatching anyone who dared to oppose them. They didn’t give a second thought to women, children, beasts, or even trees (Hab. 2:17), letting nothing prevent them from pillaging and ransacking wherever they pleased. But as safe and secure as they thought they were, none other than “the Lord of hosts” stood against them (Hab. 2:13), having already appointed “a day” in which “all that is proud and lofty . . . shall be brought low” (Isa. 2:12). At over two-hundred twenty occurrences throughout the Old Testament, depending on your translation, “the Lord of hosts” is one of the most frequently cited titles for the God of Israel. It is suggestive of his supreme majesty and cosmic authority over all things. Consequently, Babylon can defy and disregard him all they want; the Lord of hosts won’t be ignored or defied for long. The Judge has made his entrance (cf. Ps. 24:7).

God’s words, therefore, to Habakkuk, Judah, and us are a divine reminder that he who is Lord of everything is still Lord of our moment. “Who is this King of glory?” inquires the psalmist, answering, “The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory!” (Ps. 24:10). He is the one who is enthroned, before whom the whole earth, every creature and creeping thing, is beckoned to keep silence (Hab. 2:20). “The Lord is in his holy temple,” the psalmist echoes elsewhere, “the Lord’s throne is in heaven; his eyes see, his eyelids test the children of man” (Ps. 11:4). God the Judge isn’t reclining or sitting idly by as the days grow dimmer or as humanity’s defiance intensifies. Rather, he is already “doing a work in [our] days” (Hab. 1:5), a work, deep and mysterious though it is, that our faith clings to, that provokes our reverence.

4. A Future of Hope in a World of Idols

The details of the “work” that God is doing remain more than a little murky. Even Habakkuk wasn’t privy to every last syllable of God’s plans for the world. But to this troubled prophet, who was no stranger to doubt, God did clarify one thing about the future — namely, that no matter how strong evil becomes, how overwhelming injustice seems, or how widespread corruption grows, the earth will one day be filled with his glory (Hab. 2:14). Be it Babylon, Rome, the Third Reich, or any force of evil that storms across the globe, nothing can rival the glory of the Lord that’ll flood the world one day, “as the waters cover the sea.” And even though he doesn’t tell us exactly how this is going to happen, this is God’s endgame: the Earth he made brimming with his glory. The fullness of his love, perfection, joy, peace, and presence will overflow the world, just as it did in Eden.

Although this is the end toward which everything is moving, the kicker is that God doesn’t divulge “how” all of that is going to take place. He eschews any particulars or step-by-step revelations and opts for offering his prophet and his people a word of promise. This will be brought to bear, he declares. All things will be made new. Every scrap piece of wood and every blade of grass will soon throb with his glory. This is the breathtaking promise of a future full of hope, Habakkuk was invited to put his faith in, just as we are today.

Despite how bleak our moment is, our faith clings to something truer. What imbues us with hope and confidence amid all the brokenness and wreckage we see all around us is this word of promise, which fills us with faith and stands in sharp contrast to whatever we hope to gain from turning to idols. “What profit is an idol,” arraigns the Lord, “when its maker has shaped it, a metal image, a teacher of lies? For its maker trusts in his own creation when he makes speechless idols! Woe to him who says to a wooden thing, Awake; to a silent stone, Arise! Can this teach? Behold, it is overlaid with gold and silver, and there is no breath at all in it” (Hab. 2:18–19). God, of course, has the myriad idols of the Chaldeans in mind when he pronounces this “woe” upon them, as he exposes the disparity between himself — a living God who speaks, promises, and acts to move all history to his glory — and the wordless totems of Babylon (cf. Ps. 115:4–8; 135:15–18). What can a speechless trinket give you? What can you benefit from trusting in them? What can those blocks of wood do for sufferers and doubters? Indeed, nothing. They’re breathless and powerless, a searing picture of the false hopes with which we are still enamored today.

5. A Gospel of Glory That Breaks Through the Gloom

While we might not be prostrating ourselves before carved statues, we still bow to the same lie that something other than God can actually and truly fill us. We put our hopes in our finances, our friends, our abilities, or our careers to protect us, to validate us, and to regulate our future. We trust these things to give us the security or peace we crave. We run to pleasure, politics, fame, or distraction, as if they can deliver us. But this is no different than bowing to idols that can’t speak or offer anything of substance, let alone save. Whether it’s a little graven image or your 401(k), there’s no hope to be found in idols. But here’s the good news: unlike your dead idols, the God of the Word isn’t speechless, nor is he silent. He is enthroned in the heavens (Hab. 2:20), but he is not absent, nor is he indifferent. He is living, active, and working out all things so that “the earth will be filled with his glory” (Hab. 2:14), that is, when every broken thing will be made whole and everything sad will become untrue.⁵

Even though faith in all of that might look foolish right now, we can be sure of it because it has already begun in our midst. God’s glory has already pierced the darkness of this world in the person of Jesus Christ, who came from heaven to this earth as the “radiance of the glory of God” (Heb. 1:3). His life and death are the epitome of glory incarnate. He lived the perfect life we couldn’t, bore the judgment we deserved, and rose triumphantly over sin and the grave. He is the embodiment of God’s perfect purpose for the world; the Yes and Amen of every single one of his promises (2 Cor. 1:20). And when he returns, and he will, “the knowledge of the glory of the Lord will cover the earth, as the waters cover the sea.” This is the future that faith sees, even now. This is the certainty faith clings to as the days grow darker. This is the promise faith lives by when idols abound and hope seems dim. In a world flooded with noise, may we live by faith that isn’t blind but confident and certain in the one who gives us his promise, who gives us himself.

1. Christopher Ash, Trusting God in the Darkness: A Guide to Understanding the Book of Job (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2021), 124.

2. See, for example, Hab. 1:13; Jer. 12:1; cf. Job 12:6; 21:7–15; Ps. 37:1, 7; 73:3–12; 92:7; Mal. 3:15.

3. Plutarch, Morals, translated by Arthur Richard Shilleto (London: George Bell & Sons, 1888), 292. For what it’s worth, I first came across this illustration in Calvin’s commentary on this passage. See John Calvin, “Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai,” Commentaries on the Twelve Minor Prophets, translated by John Owen, Vols. 1–5 (Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1848), 4:88–89.

4. Jay Stone, “Carrey’s been busted—Being rich not the answer,” The Ottawa Citizen, December 16, 2005, F1-2.

5. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King: Being the Third Part of the Lord of the Rings (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965), 230.