The word of the Lord came to Ezekiel with a riddle. The prophet was told to speak a parable to the house of Israel, a people already in exile, already tasting the bitterness of broken promises. The riddle was not a gentle story for children. It was a political indictment wrapped in images of eagles, cedars, and vines.
A great eagle came to Lebanon. It had great wings, long pinions, and feathers of many colors. It took the top of the cedar, cropping off the highest young twig, and carried it to a land of trade, a city of merchants. That eagle was the king of Babylon. The twig was Jehoiachin, the young king of Judah, taken to Babylon along with the princes of the land.
The same eagle took also of the seed of the land and planted it in fruitful soil beside many waters. It set it as a willow tree, and it grew into a spreading vine of low stature. Its branches turned toward the eagle, its roots were under him. That vine was Zedekiah, the king whom Nebuchadnezzar placed on the throne of Judah. He was made to swear an oath, to enter a covenant of loyalty to Babylon. The kingdom was made low, kept in check, but allowed to stand.
Then another great eagle appeared, with great wings and many feathers. The vine bent its roots toward this new eagle, shot forth its branches toward him, as if seeking water from the beds of its own plantation. That second eagle was Egypt. Zedekiah sent ambassadors to Pharaoh, asking for horses and a great army. He broke the covenant he had sworn with Babylon, despising the oath he had made in the Lord’s name.
The Lord asked a question through Ezekiel: Shall it prosper? The answer was no. The vine would not be watered by Egypt. It would be pulled up by the roots, its fruit cut off, its fresh leaves withered. Not by a strong arm or a great army could it be raised from its roots. The east wind would touch it, and it would wither in the beds where it grew.
The Lord made the meaning plain. The king of Babylon had come to Jerusalem, taken its king and princes, and brought them to Babylon. He took a member of the royal family, made a covenant with him, and put him under oath. He removed the mighty men of the land so that the kingdom would remain low and could not rebel. The covenant was the condition of survival.
Zedekiah despised that oath and broke that covenant. He gave his hand in pledge and then turned to Egypt. The Lord swore by his own life: Zedekiah would die in Babylon, in the place of the king who made him king. Pharaoh with his mighty army and great company would not help him when the siege mounds were raised and the forts built. The covenant breaker would not escape.
The Lord declared that the oath Zedekiah despised and the covenant he broke would be brought upon his own head. The Lord would spread his net over him, take him in his snare, bring him to Babylon, and enter into judgment with him there for his trespass against the Lord. His fugitives would fall by the sword, and those who remained would be scattered to every wind.
But the riddle did not end with judgment. The Lord himself would take of the lofty top of the cedar and set it. He would crop off a tender young twig from its topmost branches and plant it on a high and lofty mountain, the mountain of the height of Israel. That cedar would bring forth boughs, bear fruit, and become a goodly cedar. Every bird of every wing would dwell under it, finding shade in its branches.
All the trees of the field would know that the Lord had brought down the high tree, exalted the low tree, dried up the green tree, and made the dry tree flourish. The Lord had spoken and would do it. The broken covenant of a rebellious king would not be the last word. The Lord would plant his own branch, and it would stand.