The word of the Lord that came to Joel son of Pethuel.

Wake up, you drunkards, and weep! Wail, all you drinkers of wine; wail because of the new wine, for it has been snatched from your lips.

A nation has invaded my land, a mighty army without number; it has the teeth of a lion, the fangs of a lioness.

It has laid waste my vines and ruined my fig trees. It has stripped off their bark and thrown it away, leaving their branches white.

Mourn like a virgin in sackcloth grieving for the betrothed of her youth.

Grain offerings and drink offerings are cut off from the house of the Lord. The priests are in mourning, those who minister before the Lord.

The fields are ruined, the ground is dried up; the grain is destroyed, the new wine is dried up, the olive oil fails.

Despair, you farmers, wail, you vine growers; grieve for the wheat and the barley, because the harvest of the field is destroyed.

The vine is dried up and the fig tree is withered; the pomegranate, the palm and the apple tree— all the trees of the field—are dried up. Surely the people’s joy is withered away.

A Call to Lamentation

Put on sackcloth, you priests, and mourn; wail, you who minister before the altar. Come, spend the night in sackcloth, you who minister before my God; for the grain offerings and drink offerings are withheld from the house of your God.

Declare a holy fast; call a sacred assembly. Summon the elders and all who live in the land to the house of the Lord your God, and cry out to the Lord.

Alas for that day! For the day of the Lord is near; it will come like destruction from the Almighty.

Has not the food been cut off before our very eyes— joy and gladness from the house of our God?

The seeds are shriveled beneath the clods. The storehouses are in ruins, the granaries have been broken down, for the grain has dried up.

How the cattle moan! The herds mill about because they have no pasture; even the flocks of sheep are suffering.

To you, Lord, I call, for fire has devoured the pastures in the wilderness and flames have burned up all the trees of the field.

Even the wild animals pant for you; the streams of water have dried up and fire has devoured the pastures in the wilderness.

An Army of Locusts

Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy hill. Let all who live in the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming. It is close at hand—

Before them fire devours, behind them a flame blazes. Before them the land is like the garden of Eden, behind them, a desert waste— nothing escapes them.

With a noise like that of chariots they leap over the mountaintops, like a crackling fire consuming stubble, like a mighty army drawn up for battle.

At the sight of them, nations are in anguish; every face turns pale.

They charge like warriors; they scale walls like soldiers. They all march in line, not swerving from their course.

They do not jostle each other; each marches straight ahead. They plunge through defenses without breaking ranks.

The Lord thunders at the head of his army; his forces are beyond number, and mighty is the army that obeys his command. The day of the Lord is great; it is dreadful. Who can endure it?

Rend Your Heart

“Even now,” declares the Lord, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.”