Weight Watcher

When we think of an apocalyptic judgment day, an image of people being blown away by the wind is not what comes to mind. We imagine trumpets and terror

and fire and storm; at least that’s how the movie makers portray it! But the ancient songwriter crafts a different image.

We’re at the end of time and all the peoples of the earth are gathered on an endless plain, trembling, waiting, listening. They look largely the same standing side by side, still. How can they be tested, evaluated, known? How will they be distinguished, one from the other?

He writes that the judgment of our souls comes not by fire and trumpets, but by a sifting wind. He draws on a rural picture, a harvest.

All the days of each plant are wrapped inside their seed. The kernel holds promise and consequence. It is filled with life, with plans for a future—this is how the psalmist identifies “the righteous.” They are energized by God, giving their whole being weight.

The chaff is dry casing. It is blown from the grain because there’s no substance to it. It is hollow. There are no roots to spread and no tree to grow. Nothing connects it to the future, and so, holding no life, the husks and shells disperse on the wind. Discarded.

This seems a more chilling judgment than the movie drama.