The Prophet: Amos (14 page)

“Listen to the message that the Lord has spoken!”

“He’s back again,” people muttered.

“Who is he?” visitors to the city asked.

“Just a self-proclaimed prophet. He never says anything good.”

“He just harps on and on about our sins.”

“Don’t pay any attention. He’s mad.”

Someone bumped Amos. “Go back to your sheep!”

Another bumped, harder this time, almost knocking him from his feet. “We’re not a bunch of sheep you can herd.”

Another shoved him. No one made an effort to stop them.

Amos raised his staff. “Listen, O Israel. You have sinned against the Lord your God!”

The youths backed off, laughing and cursing him.

“Why don’t you shut up!” someone shouted. “We spend more time worshiping the Lord than you do! All you do is talk and talk.”

Others took up the cry. “He talks and talks.”

Others laughed. “And nothing happens.”

Amos looked at his tormentors. “Can two people walk together without agreeing on the direction? Does a lion ever roar in a thicket without first finding a victim? Does a young lion growl in its den without first catching its prey? Does a bird ever get caught in a trap that has no bait? Does a trap spring shut when there’s nothing to catch? When the ram’s horn blows a warning, shouldn’t the people be alarmed?”

“And I suppose you’re the trumpet?”

Men and women laughed. “Listen to him trumpet doom!”

Amos kept on. “Does disaster come to a city unless the Lord has planned it?”

“What disaster, Prophet? Where?”

“Just ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

People walked away.

Amos raised his voice. “Indeed, the Sovereign Lord never does anything until He reveals His plans to His servants the prophets. The lion has roared—”

“Sounds more like a mewing kitten to me!”

More laughter.

“So who isn’t frightened? The Sovereign Lord has spoken—so who can refuse to proclaim His message?”

“Go back to your cave in the hills!”

“No wonder he speaks of lions and birds. He lives like an animal.”

Amos paced on the temple steps. “Announce this to the leaders of Philistia and to the great ones of Egypt: ‘Take your seats now on the hills around Samaria, and witness the chaos and oppression in Israel.’”

“You said Philistia was to be destroyed! Have you changed your mind?”

“False prophet!”

“He makes no sense.”

“‘Therefore,’ says the Sovereign Lord, ‘an enemy is coming! He will surround them and shatter their defenses!’” Amos shouted, his throat raw from speaking. “Then he will plunder all their fortresses.” Filled with the Spirit of the Lord, Amos strode up a few steps, standing below the entrance to the temple of Bethel. “This is what the Lord says: ‘A shepherd who tries to rescue a sheep from a lion’s mouth will recover only two legs or a piece of an ear.’ So it will be when the Israelites in Samaria are rescued—” Amos’s voice caught—“with only a broken bed and a tattered pillow.”

Tears ran down his cheeks. “‘Now listen to this, and announce it throughout all Israel,’ says the Lord, the Lord God of Heaven’s Armies. ‘On the very day I punish Israel for its sins, I will destroy the pagan altars at Bethel. The horns of the altar will be cut off and fall to the ground.’”

The ground beneath Amos trembled.

“Did you feel that?” someone spoke in alarm.

Amos’s lungs filled. Fire and strength poured through his body. “And I will destroy the beautiful homes of the wealthy—their winter mansions and their summer houses, too—all their palaces filled with ivory—” Amos roared like a lion—
“says the Lord!”

Another tremor, longer this time.

People looked at one another. “What’s happening?”

The ground rolled; the earth quaked.

Some cried out. Others screamed.

A low rumble sounded from the depths of the earth. The giant stones of the temple grated against each other. People poured outside, shrieking with terror. They covered their heads. A section of the portico fell with a mighty crash, shattering stone in all directions. People fled down the steps. Some tripped and fell, tumbling, taking others down with them. A dozen disappeared beneath the falling wall of a temple brothel. Broken lamps spread ignited oil that fed on the expensive Babylonian draperies, and smoke billowed from summer houses.

People knocked one another down in their panic. A woman in her finery lay trampled at the base of the temple steps.

Bumped and jostled by the fleeing crowd, Amos fought to maintain his balance.

Oh, God, don’t let it be too late. Have mercy upon them! Have mercy.
. . .

Amos saw a mother and child trampled on the street. By the time he reached them, they were dead.

Surrounded by screams of terror, Amos braced himself and raised his staff
.
“Repent before it’s too late!” Dust billowed around him
. “Repent!”

The din of chaos and terror swallowed his voice.

Even when the earthquake ended, dust continued to billow from collapsing buildings and portions of the city wall. The screaming subsided, and people moved around in shock, climbing over the debris-filled streets as they called for loved ones. Many were trapped inside buildings.

Every few hours, the earth trembled again, with less violence than before. But with each aftershock, the people’s fear rose. Some panicked and fled the city, leaving the helpless to cry pitifully for help. Others worked frantically to uncover family members. Many died, crushed beneath their ashlar houses.

Amos stayed to help. “There’s another over here!” He lifted stones carefully so that he wouldn’t cause others to fall inward on the moaning person beneath the pile.

“Amos . . .” A soft groan came from beneath the rubble, a bloody hand extended.

Amos worked quickly, carefully, and uncovered Issachar.

“Amos . . .” He grasped Amos’s hand tightly. His mouth moved, but no words came. His eyes pleaded as he coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His hand gripped tighter, eyes filled with fear. He choked.

Amos stayed with him until his struggle ended. Then he rose to help others. “Here! There’s another here!”

People scrambled over fallen stones. Some came to help. Others used the confusion to steal whatever they could grab.

“Stop, thief! Stop him! He’s stealing from my shop!”

A young man raced down the street, leaping over rubble as a goldsmith cried for help. Amos ignored the thief as he lifted another stone. A naked prostitute stared up at him with dead eyes. The man who had shared her bed had been crushed beneath a wall.

“Help me. . . .” A weak voice came from farther back, inside the tumbled structure.

A hand protruded from a narrow hole, fingers moving as though to seek the light. “Help me, please.” A woman’s broken voice.

Amos took her hand. “I’m here.” Her fingers tightened as she sobbed. After removing several stones and fallen timbers, he reached her. He grabbed a Babylonian drapery to cover her. She cried out in pain as he lifted her and carried her over the rubble. Placing her gently on the stones of the courtyard, he left her among other wounded.

A priest appeared at the top of the temple steps, his vestments dust covered. He scrambled over the fallen stones and made his way down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he looked at Amos, face ashen with shock. “Did you do this to us, Prophet?”

“Am I God that I can make the world tremble?”

“The horns of the altar are broken! And the golden calf . . .”

Amos felt exultant. “What? You mean it couldn’t run away and save itself?”

“Blasphemy!”

“Look around you, Priest. Look and be warned! If you set up that golden calf again, worse will befall the people. You will be the goat that leads them to slaughter!”

Another aftershock rattled the doors of the temple, and the priest’s eyes went wide with fear. Dodging falling stones, he stumbled away, joining another holy man who had managed to run from the temple with the first wave of terrified worshipers, and now sat bereft and confused. Watching Amos, they leaned close and talked.

Amaziah came out of the temple. Clearly shaken, he stared at Amos.

“Come and help your people!” Amos shouted, but the old man ducked inside again.

Night began to fall. Dozens of people still needed help. Amos worked through the night, resting when he could not go on. When he could do no more, he made his way to the city gate that stood open, damaged.

Guards shouted orders. “Heave! Again! Heave!” Rock tumbled.

Bodies had been laid out in a line outside the walls, awaiting burial.

This is not the vision I saw, Lord. This was not devastation. This was only a sound shaking, a warning to listen
.

He overheard two merchants. “Jerusalem is worse off than we are.”

Jerusalem! Horrified, Amos ran down the road. Had Bani and Ahiam survived? What of their wives and children?

Stumbling, he stopped to pull the hem of his long robe up between his knees and tuck it securely into his belt. His fear had overtaken his reason. He couldn’t run all the way to Jerusalem. Setting off again at a brisk walk, he tried to restrain his panic.

Nearly three hours later, he reached the top of a hill and leaned on his staff to catch his breath, seeing Jerusalem in the distance. Solomon’s Temple caught the sunlight and shone brilliant white and gold. Amos gave a cry of relief.

Tents dotted the hillsides, sheltering the hundreds who had left the city until the aftershocks subsided. Everywhere was the din of human voices as people searched for friends and family members. Donkeys brayed. Camels bellowed.

Merchants lined the road to Jerusalem with their booths.

“Tents of the finest goatskin!”

“Water jars!”

“Oil lamps!”

“Blankets.”

Supplies had been brought from other towns and were being dispensed by soldiers keeping order.

The Sheep Gate stood open and still intact. Amos pressed his way through the throng and headed toward the Temple Mount. If he didn’t find Bani and Ahiam near their stalls, he would go to their homes.

He spotted his brothers repairing a pen while young boys kept the nervous sheep contained. “Bani! Ahiam!” He ran and embraced each of them. “You are alive!” He drew back and looked them over. “You are not hurt?”

“You’re shaking, little brother.” Bani took Amos by the arm and made him sit. Dipping a gourd cup into a barrel of water, he held it out.

“I came as soon as I heard. . . .” Amos drank deeply. “Bethel was struck also. The damage is horrendous.” He wiped droplets of water from his beard.

Ahiam looked up at the Temple. “God did this because King Uzziah sinned.”

Amos raised his head. “Sinned? How?”

“Three days ago, he went into the Temple with a censor in his hand and lit the incense.”

It was a great sin, indeed, to usurp the privileges ordained by God to the priesthood. Had Uzziah attempted to take over the Temple and do things his own way just as Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, had done?

Bani handed Amos another cup of water. “The priests were in an uproar trying to stop him.”

Ahiam pointed. “I was over there when the king came up the hill. I knew something was happening, so I followed the entourage inside. Several of the priests met the king and argued with him.”

“I heard the uproar from here. It sounded like a riot. I went running to see what was going on.”

“Even the high priest couldn’t dissuade Uzziah,” Ahiam said. “The king intended to make a fragrant offering to the Lord, and no one was going to stop him.”

“The minute he lit—”

“Let
me
tell him!” Ahiam gave Bani a shove. “I was there, not you.”

“So tell him!”

Amos grew impatient. “One of you tell me; it matters not which.”

Ahiam waved his hand. “The moment King Uzziah lit the incense, he was covered with leprosy. I’ve never heard a man scream like that. The judgment of the Lord was on him and he knew it! The priests rushed him out of the Temple.”

“And then the earthquake started.”

“Only minor damage to the Temple,” Ahiam said, “though I thought it would come down on our heads.”

“Some areas of the city were hit hard. Hundreds are homeless.”

“Your homes?”

“Both need repair, but at least we still have roofs over our heads. And our wives and children are safe.”

“Where is King Uzziah now?”

“No one knows for sure. In seclusion. Somewhere outside the city, safe and guarded. His son, Jotham, brought guilt offerings yesterday and today.”

“And the priests have been in constant prayer since it happened.”

Ahiam straightened and went back to work fitting two rails together. “Our situation has changed over the past few days.”

Somewhat rested, Amos stood and gave him a hand. “How do you mean?”

Bani answered. “Heled was killed. Squashed like a bug under a fallen building.” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “At a money changer’s office.”

Amos saw that fear of the Lord had taken root in Ahiam’s eyes. For Amos, it was a spark of hope in a sea of darkness.
Let it grow, Lord. Let it flourish into awe and worship so that my brothers might not sin against You again
. “God sees what men do. He knows their hearts.”

“So you have said. Perhaps you should tell me again what you saw. I failed to listen last time you were here.”

Amos did tell him. All day, they talked. When he went to Bani’s house, the family gathered. They listened, quiet and intent, grim-faced and with a fear that went deeper than what had been aroused by the earthquake.

Amos awakened in the predawn hours. The clay lamp cast a soft glow. Ahiam sat silent, staring at him.

Sitting up slowly, Amos looked back at him, and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Stay here, Amos. Stay in Jerusalem. Speak to our people about what the Lord has told you.”

Amos shook his head. God had already sent a prophet to Jerusalem. “Listen to Isaiah. I must go where God called me to go.”

Ahiam lowered his eyes. “If all you say is true . . .”

“If?”

Ahiam lifted his head. “A prophet is seldom recognized by his own family, Amos. You know how I’ve doubted you.” He grimaced. “Because you’re my brother. My
younger
brother. I’ve known you since you were a baby. You’ve always been hotheaded and opinionated. And now you—” he struggled for words—“you speak with authority. I believe you, Amos, but God help my unbelief.”

“Nothing I’ve said has not been said before by God Himself. He made it known to us from the beginning. We’ve simply forgotten.” Amos shook his head. “No. Not forgotten. We
rejected
His Word. He told us of the blessings He would pour upon us if we followed Him. He also warned us of the cursings if we turned our backs on Him. It’s all there in the Scriptures.” Beeri had read them aloud to him. “Though the priests may speak little of it these days.”

“Even where there was obedience, Amos, there was hardship.”

“Of course. Life is hard. Knowing God makes a vast difference in how we live. Don’t you long to see that cloud overhead again? that pillar of fire that kept the darkness back?” How Amos longed for those days when there was physical evidence of God’s presence. But even then, men refused to believe. “When I have heard God’s voice speak to me, I have felt
alive,
Ahiam. Even when I have not rejoiced at the message I must carry, I rejoice that He still speaks to men, even simple shepherds like me.”

“If you asked God, would He listen to your prayer? Would He let you stay here among your brethren?”

“I did ask, Ahiam. I spent months out in the pastureland arguing and pleading with the Lord to take this burden from me.” He shook his head. “I must go back to Israel.”

“But you’ve told them what will come! You’ve done what God sent you to do.”

“They’ve yet to hear.”

“You told them! If they refuse to listen, then their blood is on their own heads. I’ve heard about the way you were treated. They welcomed the judgments upon the nations around them. They even rejoiced when they heard Judah would be overrun by enemies. Has anything changed?”

Amos shrugged. He had been popular for a while. He had drawn crowds until he told them what the Lord said about Israel. The priests had always watched him with jaundiced eyes, coveting the crowds who gathered to hear him speak. As long as the prophecies focused on the sins of the surrounding nations, they could say little against him without the people wondering why. But as soon as the Lord focused His judgment upon Israel, all restraints were removed. It had been easy to drive the frightened, angry flock back into the stall of the golden calf and serve them up to idol worship.

“They didn’t listen, did they?” Ahiam challenged. “Not any more than I did.”

“No. They didn’t. Perhaps the earthquake will open their eyes and ears as it has yours. Now is the time to speak. Now, before it’s too late.”

“For how long, Amos?”

“How long does it take to decide to turn back from destruction, Ahiam? One word from the Lord may be enough now to make them repent and trust in God again.”

“One decision isn’t enough, Amos. Don’t you understand? They will hear you for a day, a week, maybe a month or two. But they must decide each day what they will do. Each and every day, from now on.”

“What hope can they find in the protection of golden idols and pagan worship? It’s all smoke, Ahiam, sweet-smelling and deadly.”

“They may not find truth, Amos, but they find pleasure. God has allotted seventy years to men—maybe more, maybe less. That’s not long on this earth. And you said yourself, life is difficult. They have shaken off the burden of the Law. They won’t easily shoulder it again.” He rose. “They will turn on you, Amos. They will tear you to pieces like a pack of wolves.”

“Yes. Or they may repent.”

“Israel, Judah. We share the same blood. I believe you now, Amos, and yet, I don’t believe you. I want to believe God is the one who rules, but forty-five years in the shadow of the Temple has shown me how men work—men like Heled.”

“Heled is dead. You’re free.”

“Free of him. Free to wonder who will try to enslave me now.” Ahiam looked away, the muscle working in his jaw. “I can only hope to align myself with priests who fear the Lord.” He turned back to Amos. “As you did, Brother. As you taught Ithai and Elkanan. But there are precious few you can trust these days.”

“More today than yesterday!” The earthquake would shake men’s souls.

“Perhaps.” Ahiam gave him a tight smile. “Time will tell, won’t it?”

Amos put on his outer robe. “I must go.”

Ahiam grasped his arm. “Don’t. Stay here.” Tears filled his eyes. “Help us rebuild.”

A surge of emotion swept through Amos. If he stayed, he would be disobeying God. The priests of Israel would not easily release their hold on the lost sheep they had rustled from God and now held captive with lies. Amos’s eyes grew hot and moist, for he knew Ahiam did not understand the spiritual battle that raged in Amos. He missed his family. He loved Judah. But Amos felt the stirring within his soul. The call to go back to Bethel. If he didn’t . . .