a sermon on Amos
Amos 5:6-15
for ‘Prophetic Books: Amos’ at Garrett-Evangelical
—–
The book of Amos is a book of prophetic oracles primarily collected from the 8th century BCE. Amos was from the southern kingdom of Judah, and preached in the northern kingdom of Israel. We don’t know much about him outside of where he is from and what he does for work – he was most likely a sheep breeder, so above the status and education level typical of a shepherd, but below the elite classes. In our modern construction of class, he could be defined as truly middle class. It was a time of prosperity for Israel and Judah, as the region had stabilized from the split of the two kingdoms. With this military peace and economic stability came a rise in comfort, and luxury. From the outside, everything in these two kingdoms seems to be going well. But the reality on the ground was widespread systemic oppression, an expanding gap between the well-off and everyone else, and rumblings of violence from other nations. There was wealth, but there was no justice. There was military peace, but harm between neighbors. There were temples, but a broken relationship with God.
Prophesy is the act of declaring God’s message to those who need to receive it, often those in power. It isn’t predicting the future, but instead noticing and naming the consequences that come from injustice. Prophets usually aren’t very popular, and Amos’ prophetic work only spanned between a few weeks and a year. His core message was not one of hope, but truthful judgment by God. The people have turned from God, and spend their energy on gathering material wealth at the cost of the marginalized, on keeping supremacy over those perceived to be lower than them, on being “first among the nations” in terms of military strength but not civil or social rights. This is breaking covenant with God, who made all of Creation abundant and good, who chooses to be in relationship with us, and who wants us to rest in Godself, not in our false constructions of control. Amos is calling the people back to a focus on justice and righteousness, not false worship and oppressive systems. And if they don’t, there will be dire consequences. God judges us on how we relate to each other. This judgment can be a sign of love.
Love does not mean freedom from accountability. Relationships are conversations, mutual agreements, mutual care. Accountability can help us stay in relationship, even during tension, if it is a life-giving relationship. There should be equity, not equality. And the distinction between equity and equality is important when we think about our relationship with God, because we are human, flawed and Divine, and God is so much more expansive than we can even imagine. Equity in a relationship with God means that we receive more than we can give, because we need more care. And that is holy. There’s a reason one of the common images for God is that of a loving Parent, who tends to our bodies and spirits as we learn and grow and stumble. In return, we can model that care in our relationships with our neighbors, with strangers, with siblings, with lovers. It isn’t an equal relationship, but the needs of all are met.
Since God is in relationship with us, as we mourn and rage when those close to us are hurting, God mourns and rages when we hurt each other. Because in broken relationships, in broken structures, the needs of a few are met at the expense of all. And that is the reality of the world Amos lived in, and the reality of the world we live in. In this specific passage, for Amos, labor is exploited, justice is exploited, bodies are exploited. Amos is decrying the unfair legal system, where those speaking for justice are ignored, while bribes change hands. Where those in need are turned away, but money is instead invested in pleasure fields and houses that will never be used, and are inaccessible to the people whose labor built them. Where the tax system is harder on those without money than those with money. Where the state has control over violence, and property is put before people.
We can notice parallels to our own world. I think about Chicago’s cash bail system, where, if you can pay, you are released until your trial, but if you can’t pay, you will be kept in jail until your trial, risking the loss of housing, of employment, of relationships. I think about our tax system, which rewards extreme wealth – I paid more for my Amazon Prime subscription than the company paid in federal income taxes this last year. Corporations are not people, but we have given them the same (or better) legal protections.
I think about how scientific reports for climate change are received, as alarmist, swept to the side, not taken seriously by politicians and those with economic power, when the consequences to our abuse and exploitation of Creation are real, already happening, and impacting the most marginalized. And how even in today’s text selection, the hymn of praise related to God’s Creation – the constellations and the waters and the seasons – was taken out of the lectionary.
I think about our labor systems, where we rely on underpaying migrant workers or prisoners to harvest crops, where we work at stores we can’t afford to shop at, where unpaid internships are a requirement to gain experience, but aren’t accessible if you are among the majority of people who can’t afford to work for free. Where our worth is conflated with your labor.
I think about how the only violence that is permissible is by the state. How we are more concerned about a dent on a cop car or a broken storefront window than we are about the mortality rate for Black and brown people when they interact with the police. How we are more concerned with public displays of queer affection than the fact that trans women of color have a life expectancy of 35 years. How we limit access to life-saving medical care through the cost of drugs and hospital visits, and complicated insurance systems.
All of these examples are violence, and none of this is how God wants us to live. Amos is so bold to say that these abuses of civil and social rights are as bad as the tragedy and violence of war. Relying on our own agency and control is a false promise. Relying on the wealth we’ve shored up is a false promise. These systems are not new, and they harm all of us. They harm our relationships with each other. We can track systems of oppression and marginalization through history, and the hold these structures have on us is overwhelming. And those in power don’t want us to talk about it, because when prophets challenge the status quo, they challenge human supremacy, usually male, usually white. In the face of so much seemingly insurmountable and insidious violence, so much distance from God’s dreams for us, it often feels easier to stay silent. A reaction to being overwhelmed, in addition to fight or flight, is to freeze. And in part of the reading for today, it might feel like Amos is giving permission to do that – “therefore, the one who is wise will keep silent in that time.” But as a queer person, who knows that Silence Equals Death, who knows that not talking about what’s wrong allows it to continue, I have a different read on that line. Amos isn’t telling us to be silent, but is telling us to disengage from these systems, as much as we can. Practice disobedience to the false gods we have made and engage with God.
God has come into our lives in so many ways – we tell stories of liberation, of Exodus, of manna, of fish – to show us that there is another way. Amos is not saying that stability, comfort, a quality of life, are bad things. He is saying that they are bad when we get those things through exploitation and not faith in God and our relationships. Because our first loyalty should be to God, and therefore, to each other. One of the reasons Amos’ prophesy is so urgent and so bleak is that every day there are hundreds of tiny opportunities to turn towards God, and God’s people ignore them. We ignore them, and the prophets remind us of covenant. They shake us out of our complacency, and hold us accountable for the ways we have failed to live up to the relationships God wants for us. Amos’ oracles are filled with lamentation, and grief, and I imagine him so sad and worried for his community, because it might be too late. The systems might be too entrenched for anything but an act of God to dislodge them.
In the face of systemic harm, so much pain – taking action, centering justice, turning towards God feels impossible. But I have to believe that Amos would not be preaching if all were lost. When we think about our relationship with God and neighbor, we have to center accountability, not exploitation, or fear. We are in relationship because we need each other, we need mutual care. And that is vulnerable. One of the things I notice in myself, when I start relying on the structures that give me privilege in the world, when I push down the inner voice of God that calls me to be better, is fear. I find the fear of vulnerability to be stronger than the harm of oppression. I would rather protect myself, pretend to be in control, to be okay, than to admit that I am dependent on God and the compassion of other people. I would rather devalue myself than uphold the boundaries and accountability in all relationships that honors my body and lived experience, and the lived experience of those around me. In our gut, we know when something feels off. And we also know that there are consequences to how we live in the world. There are consequences to harming other people, harming God, harming ourselves. We ignore it, but our bodies know. But there is another way to be.
“Seek God and live.” This is an active seeking of the alternative futures we know are possible. Futures where all of God’s creation is honored, and respected, and fruitful, and green. Where we take seriously that each of us is in God’s image, and what we do to those we marginalize is what we do to God. Where we set boundaries and name what isn’t healthy and what isn’t right, and then choose to do something else.
God, the Creator of all, the God we sing songs of praise to, who we lament to, wants us to rest in God. To stop being a self-fulfilling prophecy of destruction. God knows that this isn’t an easy task, that there are consequences, because systems of oppression are imprinted on our bones, on our history, but it is a life-giving task. It is a task of mending, of repairing. It is breaking cycles of violence and trauma. Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz, a Cuban theologian, defines a just world as one where “no one else will die.” What if we acted like that was possible? There has been so much violence, so much pain, and we grieve that fact. God grieves that fact, and sends us prophets to disrupt our complacency. To name paths of reconciliation, of reparations, of resilience. Let go of idols and false gods. Let go of fear. Pay attention to power, and to the needs of your neighbor. Repair broken relationships with each other, with God, with Creation. There is another way to be.
“Seek God and live.”
Reed Fowler 