Isaiah 40:18–26

18–20  So who even comes close to being like God?

To whom or what can you compare him?

Some no-god idol? Ridiculous!

It’s made in a workshop, cast in bronze,

Given a thin veneer of gold,

and draped with silver filigree.

Or, perhaps someone will select a fine wood—

olive wood, say—that won’t rot,

Then hire a woodcarver to make a no-god,

giving special care to its base so it won’t tip over!

21–24  Have you not been paying attention?

Have you not been listening?

Haven’t you heard these stories all your life?

Don’t you understand the foundation of all things?

God sits high above the round ball of earth.

The people look like mere ants.

He stretches out the skies like a canvas—

yes, like a tent canvas to live under.

He ignores what all the princes say and do.

The rulers of the earth count for nothing.

Princes and rulers don’t amount to much.

Like seeds barely rooted, just sprouted,

They shrivel when God blows on them.

Like flecks of chaff, they’re gone with the wind.

25–26  “So—who is like me?

Who holds a candle to me?” says The Holy.

Look at the night skies:

Who do you think made all this?

Who marches this army of stars out each night,

counts them off, calls each by name

—so magnificent! so powerful!—

and never overlooks a single one?