When the stones of the temple of Jerusalem were still being assembled amid dust and doubt in the shadowed aftermath of exile, Zechariah looked to the heavens and lifted his eyes to heavens. Around 520 BCE, when returned Jewish captives from Babylon grappled with rebuilding not just walls, but souls, Zechariah’s visions, vivid and otherworldly, cut through the mundane as if they had been unfurled by the wind.
In particular, Chapter 5 marks a sharp turn from earlier promises of restoration to unflinching portraits of judgment and purification The flying scroll and the woman in the ephah (a type of jar), two visions depicting the community’s hidden sins, theft and false oaths, idolatry and moral decay, offer a divine blueprint for restoration.
In unpacking these symbols today, we discover echoes that resonate in our fractured age, urging us to confront our own impurities.
As soon as the first vision begins, a scroll appears, enormous and frightened, approximately thirty feet long by fifteen feet wide, measuring twenty cubits by ten. As if it were a predator, this parchment flies across the sky, encrusted with curses that pulse with holy fire on both sides. The interpreting angel declares this a curse over the entire land, targeting thieves and perjurers, those who steal under cover of night or falsely swear by God’s name.
The scroll invades homes with the force of a divine SWAT team, devouring wood and stone until nothing remains but rubble. This is a reminder that Scripture is a sword and scalpel, promising life to those who obey, death to those who refuse. As Rashi argued, it was the Torah’s own curses from Deuteronomy 28 being activated, a covenant enforcer against economic cheats who exploit the vulnerable during reconstruction.
From Matthew Henry onward, Christians link it to Revelation’s sealed scroll, which foreshadows the final reckoning at the end of time.
Secularly, the imagery borrows from ancient Near Eastern curse rituals, such as Aramaic bowls etched with spells to trap demons or Hittite treaties invoking house-devouring gods. Zechariah subverts these pagan tools by channeling them into monotheistic fury that is ruled alone by Yahweh. A critique of post-exilic greed amid Persian-era land grabs, the scroll’s size echoes the Holy of Holies in Solomon’s temple, suggesting that sacred space is profaned by profane acts.
There is a metaphor for this in our current world, where unchecked vices erode foundations, leaving societies in ruins. However, hope flickers, the curse clears space for blessings, much as demolition precedes construction.
As the skies shift, a humble grain basket is transformed into a cosmic prison by transforming into an ephah. As it is raised into view, a woman sits inside, embodying the essence of wickedness, her form crammed and confined. As the angel thrusts her down, he seals the lid with a talent of lead, heavy as guilt. In the next vision, two women appear carrying the ephah eastward to Shinar, ancient Babylon, where a house awaited on a pedestal.
This is sin’s deportation, evil personified and exiled to its cradle of chaos, the land of Babel’s tower and golden idols, which is a symbol of grace in disguise. God removing the tumor so healing can begin. As conceived by Jews, the woman represents collective iniquity, such as corrupt commerce or lingering paganism that must be dealt with in order to prevent further spread.
Henry viewed her as idolatry’s harlot, banished like Revelation’s Babylon, while dispensationalists see a revival of Mesopotamian evil during the end times.
With a secular perspective, the scene is replete with Mesopotamian motifs, such as winged females similar to Ishtar’s attendants who carry sacred burdens or Ugaritic rituals which bury impurities. The ephah, a measure of abundance, twisted into sin’s sarcophagus, critiques economic injustice, false scales in the marketplace mirroring the basket’s deceptive capacity, referencing Genesis 11’s hubris, which is a reference to how empires have historically encouraged vice.
A feminist reading complicates the gendered symbol, “wickedness” as a feminine Hebrew noun subverting goddess worship, contained rather than empowering chaos, but it could reinforce stereotypes if not critically analyzed. As a result, it advocated cultural severance under Persian tolerance, which dealt with its pull on returnees, Babylonian habits persisting for centuries.
Together, these visions form a diptych of divine housekeeping, judgment as prelude to joy. Zechariah assures his hearers, and us, that God abhors half-measures, that sin must be eradicated, not linger in compromise. From within the scroll razes, while from outside, the ephah relocates, ensuring a sacred area for temples and presence. Ashadowing the atonement is Christ, who bears the curse and seals iniquity in his tomb as the atonement.
Accordingly, it is a form of social hygiene that expels toxins for the benefit of the community, and is relevant to modern reckonings with systemic racism and environmental neglect.
There is nothing heroic in the prophet, just heavenly mechanics at work. No human heroics, just divine mechanics. During this age of moral ambiguity, October 2025’s headlines scream division, from geopolitical fractures to personal scandals. Zechariah whispers, “Wait, watch, the curse flies, the basket lifts.” It challenges complacency, invites confession, and promises that removal is the key to restoration.
Whether we are believers or skeptics, we are invited to a canvas that has been washed clean, where faithfulness rebuilds what judgment has destroyed.
At the end of Zechariah 5, there is no horror, instead it is a detox divinely-style, commas of conviction leading to periods of peace. The scroll and ephah, strange as fever dreams, map the messy path to wholeness, reminding us that true progress hinges on purity. Please lift your eyes, friend, to determine what wickedness weighs your ephah? What theft tempts your oath? The visions continue, beckoning us to a land unburdened, a world remade.
God bless you all. Until next time: Courage.
