Everywhere Jesus went, people asked questions — and some of the questions were dishonest. The folks who asked them didn’t want to learn anything; they were trying instead to embarrass him, trip him up, or get him in trouble with the authorities. These people tended to be members of the religious establishment who felt undermined by his preaching and popularity, people like the Pharisees, the temple authorities, and the experts in Mosaic law.

But some of the questions were honest. One legal expert, for example, asked Jesus for his opinion on a theological matter: “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?” (Mark 12:28, NIV). In response, Jesus quoted two texts from the books of Moses — Deuteronomy 6:4-5 and Leviticus 19:18 — teaching that the two greatest commandments were first, to love God, and second, to love your neighbor as yourself.

The lawyer agreed wholeheartedly, and Jesus affirmed him for his wisdom. Unfortunately, many of Jesus’ other hearers still had a lot to learn about which neighbors deserved their love.

In the Sermon on the Mount, for example, Jesus teaches, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven” (Matt 5:43-45a). The people, apparently, had already been taught a distorted view of neighbor-love that justified hating anyone they considered outsiders or enemies, a view Jesus needed to correct if they were to understand the grace of God.

It’s easy to imagine that this self-righteous hatred of enemies was already common in Micah’s day. One could, after all, put together a string of logic from the Psalms and other texts that would go something like this: God hates sin but loves his people because they’re the righteous ones; the people’s enemies are wicked and therefore also God’s enemies; the people are therefore justified in hating their enemies.

If it’s true that the people to whom Micah preached already thought that way, then imagine how surprised and offended they would have been to hear him say the following:

Lately my people have risen up
    like an enemy.
You strip off the rich robe
    from those who pass by without a care,
    like men returning from battle.
You drive the women of my people
    from their pleasant homes.
You take away my blessing
    from their children forever.
Get up, go away!
    For this is not your resting place,
because it is defiled,
    it is ruined, beyond all remedy. (Mic 2:8-10, NIV)

Because of their continual unjust, unrighteous behavior, God’s own people had become the “enemy… like men returning from battle.” The exact nature of the behavior Micah is describing isn’t clear, but one can guess at the general outlines of it. The phrase “without a care” is used in other places to describe the blessing of being able to live “securely” in the Promised Land. People should be able to pass by without a care, but the targets of Micah’s preaching are making this impossible.

And what are the people doing to violate that security? One possibility is that the rich and powerful are seizing the cloaks (here translated as “robe”) of the less fortunate who owe them money. This is expressly forbidden in the law (e.g., Exod 22:26-27), because a poor person’s cloak is the only barrier they have against the cold, especially at night. Imagine loaning a homeless person money, then taking their only coat when they don’t pay you back. That’s probably about the size of it.

The rich are also driving women out of their homes. Micah is probably referring to widows. Here, I imagine a woman losing her husband and unable to pay the rent — and the heartless landlord puts her and her children out on the street. This too would be a violation of the kind of compassion God required of his people.

God will no longer let this injustice continue. Those who have driven out widows and fatherless children will themselves be driven out in turn. Those who have robbed these women and children of their homes and land will no longer be able to call the land their own home. Get up, God commands, and get out. This land is not your resting place.

It’s divine and tragically poetic justice.