Habakkuk

“Though the fig tree should not blossom,

   nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail

   and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold

   and there be no herd in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord;

   I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

God, the Lord, is my strength;

   he makes my feet like the deer’s;

   he makes me tread on my high places.”

- Habakkuk 3:17-19

Habakkuk reads like a journal. Unlike most of the other prophets, he does not address the people of Israel directly. Rather, he records his own thoughts and conversations with God, his personal struggle with whether God can be good amid tragedy and suffering. He lodges his complaints in prayers of lament: first, what are you going to do about the injustice, idolatry, and evil of your people? God replies, I will send Babylon to judge them. Habakkuk complains again: but the evil of Babylon is even worse! God replies, I will eventually destroy Babylon as well.

Then comes a theophany (3:3-15). Habakkuk beholds God, the way the Israelites did at Mt. Sinai after generations of slavery, the way Job did after long discourses on his suffering. There are echoes here of those earlier theophanies, echoes of creation (Habakkuk 3:6, Job 38:4) and exodus (Habakkuk 3:5, 8). The point is, these stories are not just isolated events. They echo, from ancient Job to Moses to pre-exilic Habakkuk, because they are retellings of the one same story, the story of Who God Is and How He Works. And that is a story that never changes, because God is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He is a God who sees and gives purpose to suffering. Who does not forget us. Who comes with salvation and justice. He is far more powerful and sovereign than we grasp.

It is impossible to behold God and not leave changed. Habakkuk becomes someone who listens and who is willing to wait (3:16). He becomes someone who chooses transcendent joy in even the worst of circumstances. If you were to rewrite these verses, what would they look like? “Though the pandemic last forever, though we never gather in our church building again, though my kids never walk into school; though my work project fails; though the smoke stains the sky… I will take joy in the God of my salvation. He makes my feet like the deer’s; he makes me tread on my high places.” Where are your high places? When have there been theophanies in your life? What does it look like for you to choose to rejoice?