Taking it Hard 

A prophet is not welcome in the prophet’s own hometown.  No, I don’t mean me … though when I told Ryan and Mark this was the text I would preach while they were both away, I added that I had really enjoyed working with them and would miss them very much when I was run out of town on a rail.  The text this week strikes fear in our hearts, especially when you may have to hear about it for 20 minutes. 

 

It did the same for the people of Israel when Amos first laid out such vivid prophetic words.  Jesus said, when preaching in his home congregation – and it wasn’t going well – “A prophet is not welcome in his own hometown.” (Lk 4:24)  The words of the prophet really aren’t very welcome in OUR hometown either, are they?  Which probably says less about the prophet and more about us.

 

Amos is the earliest book collecting the words of a prophet.  There were earlier prophets, of course – there had always been prophets – but this gathered teaching was the first of its kind.  In the 8^th and 7^th centuries before the common era (or before Christ, if you prefer), prophecy was big.  There were a lot of prophets being moved to speak, and the words they spoke were shared and repeated and carried far and wide.  In the 19^th and 20^th centuries of our modern times, these same prophetic gems were re-gathered and shared in the faith communities.  Especially in the arenas of social justice, in the search for equality and peacemaking, the words of the prophets – God doing a new thing by calling a wandering people back to faithfulness – were widely acclaimed.

 

And in between – those 25 centuries in the middle?  Not as much.  Jewish and Christian scholars and preachers alike tend to be a little leery of working with the prophets.  We – the congregations, the students – want words of comfort and hope.[1]  And you don’t find a lot of that in Amos. 

 

This is not a prophet with a comforting hopeful message.  This prophet had a tough job:  Tell them exactly what they don’t want to hear, but what is exactly true.  (Hard to believe prophets ever took the job at all, isn’t it?)

 

What was the prophet’s job?  What does a prophet do?  A prophet is not a fortune-teller.  He doesn’t have a crystal ball or a magic potion or a secret passageway.  A prophet doesn’t predict the future.  A prophet couldn’t tell you it would rain (or not) the next day, or that the crops would come in, or that a victory would come.

 

Prophecy is communication.  A prophet is in such a deep relationship with God, so intensely connected to the heart and will of the Divine, that he is charged with the task of talking to the people of God in God’s own behalf.

 

Most often, communication from the prophet took the form of a reminder.  Amos doesn’t cite the laws word-for-word, but clearly refers to the tradition of law the people had learned early in their relationship with the Lord their God.  It’s not like he was presenting anything new.  In its most simplified context, prophecy reminds the people – us – of what we already know.

 

‘God gave you this foundation (laws, commandments, promises, covenants),’ the prophet said.   You have done this and this instead.  And at the same time, you have not done these things.  I’m pretty sure you know that God isn’t pleased about that.  You can repent – not just be sorry, but actually change things.  Or you can give up your relationship with God.  You choose.  God will wait.’

 

You can see why the prophet’s job would be an unpopular one … and that these texts are not our favorites.  We don’t like our God like this.  ‘This isn’t the God I know,’ we argue.  ‘This is the Old Testament God.  We’re New Testament people.’  True – but only in part.  As Christians, we claim the name and teachings of Jesus Christ, and are called to offer our lives as living witness to his relationship with God and the world.  And where do you think Jesus learned how to be in relationship with God? 

 

From the Old Testament, that’s where.  From the Hebrew Scriptures, and the words of the prophets, the songs of the psalmists, the teachings of the law and history of the people of Israel.  We can’t act like two-thirds of the Bible doesn’t exist. 

 

Maybe we would be better served – maybe GOD would be better served – if we spent less time saying that this God is a God we’re not sure we like, and more time concerned about being the kind of people GOD likes.

 

The way the words of Amos are recorded tells us a bit about the task of the prophet, and about the faults of the people.  We see in this writing the traditional “messenger formula”:  “Thus says the Lord.”  We see in this that the prophets “seldom rebuke or argue; they seldom entreat or exhort; they have come with an announcement of what God is about to do,” and they lay it before the people unvarnished, in all its challenge.[2]  Remember the prophet doesn’t predict the future, doesn’t tell fortunes.  The prophet names the people’s sins and offers the painful vision of life should those sinful ways be left unrepentant, unchanged.

 

Later prophets would anticipate “the day of the Lord” as a day of great victory, when the enemies would be destroyed, when their faithfulness to God’s covenant would be rewarded with prosperity and a promised land.  It is much tougher for us to read as if the ‘end’ is ours … when the “enemy”, to be destroyed, is us.  We are less willing to hear and admit that our own unfaithfulness – our own actions against others, or our inaction in defense of others – has so separated us from God that the relationship threatens to be swallowed whole. 

 

There was certainly more than one occasion where God’s prophets had to get this community back in line.  But this text in Amos is the first time Israel’s unfaithfulness may leave them with more than a defeat in battle.  This time, the people of God may no longer be the people of God.[3] 

 

Nowhere is there such stark condemnation– not even of those who oppressed the children of God in Egypt – as when the people of God themselves are the oppressors.  Being the elect, being in covenant as God’s people, means that more is expected of them.  Of us. 

 

Last week the letter to the Colossians said again, ‘Remember who you are.’  This is not new to us.  We know who and “whose” we are.  We have been reminded time and again, in word, in action, in table and in community.  And yet - we miss the mark, and badly.

 

We don’t like this text.  And the minutes that I’ve been standing here talking about it probably haven’t made it any better.  We don’t like being aware of an ‘end’, and we certainly don’t like thinking that we bring it on ourselves.

 

Now let me interrupt myself, and your thoughts, to say No.  No, I do not believe, nor am I saying, that God “does things to us” because we’re “bad.”  That’s not what I’m saying, and that’s not what the text is saying.  No.  I do not believe, nor am I saying, that bad things happen in the world in retribution for someone being a bad person.  I don’t think a hurricane happens in the gulf coast because a city has a big parade and party once a year.

 

What I do believe, what I am saying, what the text is saying, is that we are a deeply flawed and frequently unfaithful people.  And when we are, that unfaithfulness rips the fabric of our relationship with God.  And when that relationship with God is torn apart, when we throw it aside, we will be left as desolate as a darkened noonday, as grieved as a parent who has lost a child, as shaken and weakened as the earth after a quake.  Does God wreak this havoc, take our loved ones, destroy the earth in punishment for our sins?  I couldn’t do the work I do if I believed that is how God works.

 

What I do believe, what I am saying, what I believe Amos said 3000 years ago is that nothing tears apart our relationship with God, nothing pushes us so far out of connection with the one who loves us more than anyone else, as when we actively do not love each other.  When we oppress another, or when we fail to liberate them.  When we do what we should not, or neglect to do what we should, we give up on our covenant with God.

                                    

“But we would never!” we protest.  We don’t even have scales to weigh out wheat.  We live in the suburbs; we don’t farm.  We can’t even do the things these people in the text are accused of doing.  How can this be us?

 

In a modern translation, a paraphrase of the Bible, called The Message, verse two concludes with God saying, “I am no longer acting as if everything is just fine.”  Religion itself was being abused:  “Religion only served to reassure people that everything was alright, when in fact it was not.”[4]  God sees the lives of the supposed faithful and wonders, “How is this okay?”

 

The University of Colorado campus police are investigating written threats recently left in the biology labs on campus.  The evolutionary biology labs.  Threats left under the name of a religious-themed group, addressing the debate between evolution and creationism.  “There were no overt threats to anybody specifically by name,” the commander said.  “It basically said anybody who doesn’t believe in our religious belief is wrong and should be taken care of.”[5] 

 

How is this okay?  I don’t care which side of the debate you’re on, or even if you’ve given any thought to the debate at all.  But to threaten someone who doesn’t agree with you?  To bodily, physically threaten someone for holding a different opinion and pursuing a different path?  There’s a rip in that fabric right now.  “I am no longer acting as if everything is just fine.”

 

There was a landmark settlement this week in the Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles.  $660 million dollars was offered in recompense for years and years of clergy sexual abuse.  A group of people who stood up to authority, who spoke the truth in the face of power, are receiving a reward.  But the people who hurt them, who wounded more than a body, but wounded the very spirit they were called to nurture and protect, will never have to publicly admit their wrong.[6] 

 

How is that okay?  I’ll grant you that the Protestant Church is just as sullied as the Catholic, and I’ll grant you that a monetary settlement will hopefully finance some self-care and bettering of lives.  But when a victim gets money and an oppressor retains silence, can we call it justice?  The fabric rips just a bit more.  “I am no longer acting as if everything is just fine.”

 

In 1992, a Boston College graduate student spent seven weeks in a Philadelphia homeless shelter, in research for his dissertation.  Going back a few months later, he was surprised to find few if any of the people he’d spent those weeks with.  He created a database and tracked those moving in and out of the shelter system.  He showed that the impossible task of caring for the hundreds of thousands of homeless could be narrowed down. 

 

80% of the people in the shelter system stayed a maximum of two nights and moved on.  And those vitally important shelters do strive and meet the needs of that 80%.  The what about the other 20%?  They are considered too expensive, too much trouble, too complicated and the more permanent solutions that could be found for them are almost completely ignored.[7] 

 

How is that okay?  20% of the 700,000 who are homeless each night in this country[8] means that we are completely ignoring 140,000 people every single day.  The fabric seems to be ripping again.  “I am no longer acting as if everything is just fine.”

 

If you think prices are bad here, don’t go to Zimbabwe.  Prices of everyday goods in that country are up 4500%.  Even those who have money “can’t afford a loaf of bread in what was once called the breadbasket of southern Africa.”  Those active in the Movement for Democratic Change, working to bring aid and equality to all in the nation are beaten and jailed. 

 

The country is facing 85% unemployment, and 90% of the community is at the poverty level.  This week, 4000 people will die from HIV/AIDS compounded by malnutrition.  This year, without aid, 4 million people will starve.[9]  How is this okay?  Because they’re halfway around the world, already poor, already dying, not in our homes, not within our borders … it’s okay not to care?  One more rip, I think.  “I am no longer acting as if everything is just fine.”

 

Do we see how severe the threat is that comes from the prophet?  Do we ‘get’ just how it might feel to long for God’s word, to run every direction and be completely unable to find it?

 

We do not hold the scales unfairly.  We do not sell less but charge more.  We live comfortable lives and love our families and do our jobs well and we go to church!  How does Amos apply to us?  We don’t like this word end … that in our relationship with God there may be an end in sight. 

 

To say “end – nothing more beyond this -- is one of those absolutes we resist when it involves us, if we can comprehend it at all.”  But we have to face the absolutes.  Acting as if they don’t exist doesn’t make them go away. 

 

Just as Amos could not control the actions of the community – only offer them words of judgment and redirection – we cannot control the absolutes.  But we believe in a God that does.  And if God has waited this long – holding the absolute power of life and of death, of creation and of end … If God has for this long waited for the people of faith to behave as they already know they should … perhaps there is yet time for us.

In its most simplified context, prophecy reminds the people – us – of what we already know.  ‘God gave you this foundation (laws, commandments, promises, covenants).  You have done this and this instead.  And at the same time, you have not done these things.  I’m pretty sure you know that God isn’t pleased about that.  You can repent – not just be sorry, but actually change things.  Or you can give up your relationship with God.  You choose.  God will wait.’

 

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