The fall of Jerusalem, accompanied by the destruction of the temple in 586 B.C., was immeasurably devastating to God’s covenant people. One may liken its impact to that of the events of September 11, 2001 upon Americans everywhere. Readers will recall quite vividly the sense of shock and disbelief and the sickening feeling that came upon them as they watched the events of that terrible day unfold. Those emotions are very much akin to what God’s people felt as they witnessed the pagan Babylonians ransack the beloved city of David and destroy the cherished temple of his son Solomon.

For many in the world of the Old Testament, the destruction of a temple held great theological significance. Such an act reflected poorly on the god or gods associated with that temple. After all, according to the common thinking, no god would tolerate his “house” to be desecrated by an enemy, any more than any homeowner would stand idly by and watch his house about to be set on fire by intruders.

This was one of the reasons God raised up his messengers—his prophets—and placed them in strategic locations during these chaotic times. Jeremiah was situated in the center of turmoil—in Jerusalem, trying desperately to reason with leaders, both political and spiritual, who seemed determined to ignore the voice of God regardless of the cost to them or their nation.

Daniel was most likely a teenager when he and his three friends found their world violently interrupted as they were transported nearly 1,000 miles to the world and culture of the Babylonians. Eventually all of them rose to places of leadership and influence despite their foreign origin. And all distinguished themselves because of their radical, uncompromising faith in their God—a God not limited by circumstances such as a fiery furnace or a lions’ den.

And then there was Ezekiel. Ezekiel received his prophetic call in “the fifth year of the exile of King Jehoiachin” (Ezekiel 1:2). He was taken to Babylon in the second stage of the Babylonians’ invasion of Judah, which occurred in 597 B.C. Ezekiel conducted his ministry “among the exiles by the Kebar River” (1:1). He became a preacher to a “congregation” of individuals who no doubt were experiencing a wide spectrum of emotions—from sadness to guilt to cynicism to anger to frustration to disillusionment. Many questioned God—his love, his justice, his fairness, his plan, his timing—and unloaded their feelings on his messenger. Many found their dreams—indeed their very identity—brutally shattered.

For those who felt thus shattered, Ezekiel was the right man to be with them in their pain. No one knew what it meant to be shattered more than he did.

The book of Ezekiel begins with a reference to the “thirtieth year” (1:1), which most likely refers to Ezekiel’s age. This detail should not be overlooked; in fact, it is a vital part of understanding Ezekiel’s “shatteredness.” Ezekiel came from a family of priests (1:3), and 30 was the age at which priests began their sacred duties. (Numbers 4:3, 23, 30 indicates that 30 was the age at which Levites, a group that would have included priests, began their service.) Yet this priest was unable to do so because he had been cruelly torn from the city and temple where he longed to serve. The would-be servant of the holy God found himself nearly 1,000 miles away in the land of defiled pagans.

Instead of the daily routine of sacrifices and offerings for which a priest was responsible, Ezekiel found himself carrying out some of the most bizarre object lessons recorded in Scripture. Consider, for example, his portrayal of the siege of Jerusalem and his extended demonstration (well over a year!) of the magnitude of Israel’s and Judah’s sin (Ezekiel 4:1-8). Like the promising athlete who suffers a career-ending injury in his rookie season, Ezekiel likely felt confused and apprehensive about the sudden career change that was thrust upon him. No wonder, following his call, he describes himself as responding “in bitterness and in the anger of my spirit” (3:14).

Ezekiel, though in exile, at least had the consolation of having his wife alongside him. We know this, ironically, because the only place Ezekiel’s wife is mentioned in the book is in the passage that records her death (24:15-24). If Ezekiel had been heartbroken at being denied the opportunity to pursue his life’s work, what would have been his initial reaction at hearing this word from the Lord: “Son of man, with one blow I am about to take away from you the delight of your eyes” (v. 16)? And then came these startling instructions: “Yet do not lament or weep or shed any tears. Groan quietly; do not mourn for the dead. Keep your turban fastened and your sandals on your feet; do not cover the lower part of your face or eat the customary food of mourners” (vv. 16, 17).

The text gives no hint of any kind of reaction from Ezekiel to God’s stunning announcement. Nothing beyond his continued faithfulness to the mission he had been given is indicated: “So I spoke to the people in the morning, and in the evening my wife died” (v. 18). Ezekiel did what he was supposed to do, and God did what he had promised to do. Ezekiel’s abnormal expression of no emotion or sorrow initiated a question from his bewildered audience: “Won’t you tell us what these things have to do with us?” (v. 19). And then came the explanation: in her death, Ezekiel’s wife was actually sharing in his ministry as never before. Ezekiel’s wife symbolized the beloved Jerusalem temple (v. 21). In both cases, an object of fervent love and devotion was to be tragically taken from the individual or individuals who held the object in such high regard. Ezekiel’s silent grief represented the sense of utter shock and disbelief that such a tragedy as the destruction of the temple could ever occur. In this way, said the Lord, “Ezekiel will be a sign to you; you will do just as he has done” (v. 24).

But why was such a drastic act necessary? Couldn’t God simply fulfill his word and carry out his judgment on the people as he had already promised to do through so many other prophets? Why did Ezekiel have to pay such a heavy price to convey a message of judgment to people who were already in captivity?

Obviously such questions can never be answered to our complete satisfaction. The prophetic calling often carried with it a degree of commitment that leaves the modern Christian shaking his head in amazement. Certainly Ezekiel was learning the heart of God in a deeply personal way (much as Hosea did through his marriage to the wayward Gomer). In doing so, this priest-turned-prophet actually carried out a priestly role—a task he perhaps had given up on ever being able to complete. It was one thing to offer up an animal on an altar; it was quite another to sacrifice the one you love to convey to a stubborn audience the coming devastation they had brought upon themselves.

In a sense, Ezekiel’s experience foreshadowed that of God himself, who allowed his Son to be taken and crucified as the ultimate “sign” of his unfathomable love for a rebellious humanity.

And what about Ezekiel’s interrupted duties in the temple? Read the conclusion of the book of Ezekiel, where the prophet is given the opportunity to take part in a magnificent vision of a restored temple (chapters 40–48). Consider how Ezekiel is granted the privilege of witnessing worship in this awe-inspiring structure. Christopher J. H. Wright comments on what it was like for Ezekiel to be given this grand tour and to hear his guide say, “This is the Most Holy Place” (Ezekiel 41:4): “What a moment for the aging priest-prophet to savour [sic], even if only in a vision—to be in the place where he had dreamt of serving God but had probably never stood in physical reality.”

Thus this prophet’s dreams were not, in the long run, shattered after all—only reshaped according to the Lord’s greater, grander design. Jesus made much the same point when he told his disciples, “No one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life” (Mark 10:29, 30). The lesson is a humbling one for us today, but no less relevant: what God withholds or denies he repays and restores in ways his servants cannot begin to imagine. |L