The religion of these peoples

is nothing but smoke.

An idol is nothing but a tree chopped down,

then shaped by a woodsman’s ax.

They trim it with tinsel and balls,

use hammer and nails to keep it upright.

It’s like a scarecrow in a cabbage patch—can’t talk!

Dead wood that has to be carried—can’t walk!

Don’t be impressed by such stuff.

It’s useless for either good or evil.”

6–9  All this is nothing compared to you, O God.

You’re wondrously great, famously great.

Who can fail to be impressed by you, King of the nations?

It’s your very nature to be worshiped!

Look far and wide among the elite of the nations.

The best they can come up with is nothing compared to you.

Stupidly, they line them up—a lineup of sticks,

good for nothing but making smoke.

Gilded with silver foil from Tarshish,

covered with gold from Uphaz,

Hung with violet and purple fabrics—

no matter how fancy the sticks, they’re still sticks.

10  But God is the real thing—

the living God, the eternal King.

When he’s angry, Earth shakes.

Yes, and the godless nations quake.

11–15  “Tell them this, ‘The stick gods

who made nothing, neither sky nor earth,

Will come to nothing

on the earth and under the sky.’ ”

But it is God whose power made the earth,

whose wisdom gave shape to the world,

who crafted the cosmos.

He thunders, and rain pours down.

He sends the clouds soaring.

He embellishes the storm with lightnings,

launches wind from his warehouse.

Stick-god worshipers looking mighty foolish,

god-makers embarrassed by their hand-made gods!

Their gods are frauds—dead sticks,