Hosea knew what it
meant for a city to be overthrown. He knew
what it looked like for enemy forces to outflank troops, to press hard and
conquer. He lived most of his life
threatened by exile and slavery at Assyrian hands, living among a people that
had imposed the same on others. When he
talked about something being overthrown he knew what kind of violent
destruction he was talking about. When
he says that God’s heart is overthrown, that’s not throw away language.
God’s
heart is overthrown. God’s heart is
outflanked. On one side tugs his
fatherly love for the people of Israel, the son he has brought from Egyptian
slavery and tenderly nurtured, not merely nourished and cared for like an
animal on a leash, but infused with his likeness and adopted as his special
nation, being brought up with human cords, the freedom a parent tries to form a
child to exercise. Fed? Yes.
Protected? Yes. But also nuzzled against God’s cheeks and taught
to live lives of freely offered worship.
God’s fatherly
love tugs, and on the other side presses the reality of infidelity and
sin. Israel refuses the hard work of
freedom in virtue, of the life-giving dependence on committed familial love
with its Creator and turns to the Ba’als.
The people shun relationship and embrace a god who offers easy rewards: if
you participate in fertility rituals (which even if they hadn’t been idolatrous
were pretty sinful judging by the accounts we have), then you’ll have crops and
descendants.
Love for
his people and hatred for sin press on and overthrow God’s heart. When mortals are overthrown, we’re done for,
but God is a God of life. There is no
failure He cannot reverse. He is God and
no mortal; His overthrown heart is so radically holy it can respond with
nothing but forgiveness.
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