A Lament over Social Breakdown Turns to Waiting

The gleaner finds no cluster, and the institutions weave a bribe

Woe is me: the speaker is as after summer fruit and vintage, no cluster to eat, no firstripe fig. The good man is perished; there is none upright among men. They lie in wait for blood; each hunts his brother with a net. The language is lament hyperbole, not a census proving that no decent person exists.

That they may do evil with both hands earnestly, the prince asks, the judge asks for a reward, and the great man utters his mischievous desire; so they wrap it up. Best of them is a brier. Visitation and perplexity come. Collusion, not isolated villains, is the social texture.

Household suspicion is voiced, then the speaker looks up

Trust ye not in a friend, put ye not confidence in a guide; keep the doors of thy mouth from her that lieth in thy bosom. Son dishonors father, daughter rises against mother, daughter-in-law against mother-in-law; a man's enemies are the people of his own house.

This is the sound of collapsed trust, not a standing command to distrust spouses, children, parents, or in-laws. It also does not require a victim to remain with an unsafe household member or to disclose plans to an abuser. Therefore I will look unto the LORD; I will wait for the God of my salvation: my God will hear me. Waiting does not forbid reporting crime, seeking protection, or using trustworthy help.