Before we embark on our full (and sometimes depressing) study of Micah, let’s pause to consider the big picture. We’ve already looked at the historical context in the previous post. Here, we want to look at the overall tone and structure of the book itself. As mentioned earlier, reading the prophets is quite different than reading stories with a plot line that moves characters through time. The book of Micah is neither a story nor a theological treatise; it is a collection of oracles that appear to have been delivered at different times (and scholars, of course, argue over which of the oracles can legitimately be attributed to Micah himself).

As with other prophetic books, so much of Micah is doomsaying, predicting first the disaster that will befall Samaria and Israel to the north, then Jerusalem and Judah to the south. Large blocks of text describe in detail the people’s sin and disobedience, and what they must suffer because of it. But this must not blind us to the small but significant rays of hope and redemption that alternate with the gloom, for this is the hope upon which the gospel stands.

Chapter 2, for example, declares that God is going to bring disaster upon his people, and that they should not listen to the false prophets who declare reassuringly that God would never do such a thing. And yet destruction and exile are not the last word:

I will surely gather all of you, Jacob;
    I will surely bring together the remnant of Israel.
I will bring them together like sheep in a pen,
    like a flock in its pasture;
    the place will throng with people. (2:12, NIV)

Similarly, even though it is prophesied that “Jerusalem will become a heap of rubble” and the temple mount a ruin (3:12), this is not the last word either, for “in the last days,”

the mountain of the Lord’s temple will be established
    as the highest of the mountains;
it will be exalted above the hills,
    and peoples will stream to it. (4:1)

The final chapter begins with the prophet describing the day in which there are no faithful people left in the land, everyone in power is corrupt, and even families are divided within themselves (7:1-6). And yet the prophet still waits on God, still believes in divine deliverance:

Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
    Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
    the Lord will be my light. (7:8)

Remember that the name “Micah” means “Who is like Yahweh?” And that, in fact, is the hope-filled theme on which the book ends:

Who is a God like you,
    who pardons sin and forgives the transgression
    of the remnant of his inheritance?
You do not stay angry forever
    but delight to show mercy.
You will again have compassion on us;
    you will tread our sins underfoot
    and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea.
You will be faithful to Jacob,
    and show love to Abraham,
as you pledged on oath to our ancestors
    in days long ago. (7:18-20)

The people will be punished severely for their faithlessness — but the God of compassion will not abandon his promise to Abraham and Jacob. Were this not the case, the decimation of the northern kingdom by Assyria and the southern kingdom by Babylon would be the end of the story, with God’s people scattered to the winds.

No: God will preserve a remnant, forgive sin, show the love and mercy for which he has been known throughout the earlier generations of his people. A ruler will come from Bethlehem (5:2). Of him, the prophet writes:

He will stand and shepherd his flock
    in the strength of the LORD,
    in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.
And they will live securely, for then his greatness
    will reach to the ends of the earth. (5:4)

The prophet’s hope is also ours. We look to the one from Bethlehem to know God’s love and mercy. The difference is: we know his name.