They treat me like those who descend into the grave. I am like a helpless man,adrift among the dead, like corpses lying in the grave, whom you remember no more, and who are cut off from your power.
It shatters in pieces like a clay jar, so shattered to bits that none of it can be salvaged. Among its fragments one cannot find a shard large enough to scoop a hot coal from a fire or to skim off water from a cistern.”
Has the potter no right to make from the same lump of clay one vessel for special use and another for ordinary use?But what if God, willing to demonstrate his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience the objects of wrath prepared for destruction?
“ I thought,‘ I will no longer see the LORD in the land of the living, I will no longer look on humankind with the inhabitants of the world.My dwelling place is removed and taken away from me like a shepherd’s tent. I rolled up my life like a weaver rolls cloth; from the loom he cuts me off. You turn day into night and end my life.