The Prophet: Amos (15 page)

“The safest place I can be is in the will of God, Ahiam.”

“They will kill you.”

“I can’t think about that. I must speak. I am compelled to do so. The Word burns in my soul like a consuming fire.” God cared passionately about His people. God fathered and mothered mankind, and yet His children wandered away in the wilderness. “I must call out to them, Ahiam.” God had sent him to call Israel home to Him, to warn them of punishment if they refused. For to keep going the way they were meant eternal death, separation from God for all time.

Amos took up his belt, wound it around his waist, and tied it securely. “Do not make me question what God calls me to do.” He put on his sandals.

Ahiam followed him out the door. “You’re my brother, Amos. We’ve had our differences, but . . . I love you.”

An admission choked out and all the more precious. Amos embraced him tightly. “Better if you love God.” He took his staff and left.

A cry went up from the watchtower as Amos came up the road to Bethel. “The prophet! The prophet returns!”

He stopped when a dozen well-armed warriors poured out the gate. Heart in his throat, he clutched his staff. Did they intend to arrest him? Would they drag him into their temple this time, place him on trial, and execute him?

The warriors took their places in two perfect lines on either side of the road, backs rigid, eyes straight ahead. The elders waited before the gate. Amos drew air into his lungs, straightened, and walked forward. He stopped, face-to-face with the judges and elders. A crowd gathered on the wall and behind the open gates.

“You have returned to us.”

He could not tell if they were pleased or dismayed, but the fear in their eyes was evident. “Yes. I have returned.” These people burdened his heart and mind.

“Do you have more to tell us?”

“I will speak only what the Lord gives me to speak.”

They all began talking at once. They praised and pleaded, cajoled and flattered. Foolishly, they thought a prophet held the power to bring about natural disasters.

He raised his hands. “Quiet! Listen to me. It is the Lord you should fear. Not I. I bring you His Word, but power rests in
His
hands!”

“But will you be our advocate?” One of the judges came forward. “Will you plead for us before God?”

He had not been called by God to be their advocate, but to warn them to repent, to tell them of what lay ahead if they did not. Though they slay him, he must speak the truth. Life and death lay before them; they must choose. “The eyes of the Lord watch over those who do right, and He hears their prayers.”

“Will God leave us alone? Or does He intend to bring further disaster on us?”

Amos looked around at the faces pressed close and waiting for his answer. “The Lord has told you what He will do if you don’t repent. He turns His face against those who do evil, and He will erase the memory of them from the earth.”

A nervous twitter ran through the crowd. An elder spoke. “When you first came to us, all your prophecies were against our enemies. Why do you now turn against us? Why do you call down destruction upon a city devoted to worship?”

Angry, Amos stepped toward the accuser. “I have spoken openly for two years, and you have not heard a word of what I’ve said!” He thrust out his staff, pointing up the street. “If that golden calf you love had any power at all, would it have been toppled from its altar?” People moved back from him as he searched their faces. “The Sovereign Lord never does anything until He reveals His plans to His servants the prophets. I have told you the Word of the Lord
. If
you listen,
if
you learn,
if
you turn your hearts and minds fully to the Lord your God, perhaps He will change His mind and withhold judgment.”

“Then teach us,” someone called from the back. “I will listen.”

“So will I!”

“As will I!”

So many spoke in quick agreement. Was their acquiescence a sign of repentance? Or were they merely attempting to mollify a prophet they mistakenly believed had the power to turn away God’s wrath?

“I will tell you what the Lord says: My people have forgotten how to do right. Their fortresses are filled with wealth taken by theft and violence.” He saw the subtle change of expression in some of their faces: a stubborn tilt of chin, glittering eyes. The hint of rebellion stood all around him. He did not retreat. “You may fool me with your words. But do not think you can fool God. He sees your hearts and knows your inner thoughts. And He will judge you accordingly.”

“Stop your shoving!” someone grumbled.

A man in front of Amos lurched aside as someone behind him shoved forward. A diminutive man with a scruffy beard stepped up, ignoring the muttered curses directed at him. “It would be my honor if you would come with me, Prophet! I have a booth. You can share it with me.”

“Get out of here, you little weasel, before we skin you and hang you up on a wall.”

The little weasel did not retreat at rough handling. He fought the hands trying to pull him back and kicked one man in the shins while shouting at Amos. “What better place to present your case than in the marketplace? Everyone comes there!” Six to one was no match and he disappeared in the throng, trailed by threats of what might happen to a man who dared insult a prophet who could bring on an earthquake.

The elders wanted Amos to talk only to them, but God’s message was for everyone.

Amos looked over the crowd toward the little man. “What’s your name?”

“Naharai ben Shagee,” the man called from the back of the crowd.

The elders cast dark glances, but it did no good. Naharai’s head appeared for an instant at the back; first to the left and then to the right as he jumped up and down in an attempt to see over others’ heads.

“Pay him no attention.”

“He’s no one important.”

Amos headed into the crowd. Men moved away from him, afraid, and then closed in behind, squabbling quietly about Naharai’s interruption. “Please, stay and talk with us.”

Amos found Naharai. “About that booth.”

Naharai grinned broadly. “It’s right in the middle of the market. A good spot. I will show you.” He cast a triumphant look at the men standing in the gate before leading Amos away. “I saw you in the marketplace a few times. You never bought anything.”

“What do you sell?” Amos walked alongside him.

“Sandals.” He looked down. “You look as though you need a new pair.”

Amos cast him a baleful look. “Is it the Word of the Lord you hunger for, or my money?”

“Both!”

Surprised, Amos laughed.
Here, Lord, is an honest man!

One year passed into another, and then into another. The terror that came with the earthquake waned and people returned to their old ways. And still Amos kept on, teaching and preaching the Word of the Lord, praying constantly that the people would listen and repent.

Every day, Amos taught from the scrolls Beeri had copied and given to him before leaving Bethel. He pored over them, prayed over them, and discussed the Law with anyone who came to him. The Israelites argued over every word of it, turning it this way and that, trying to get out from under the Law. They had wax in their ears and scales over their eyes. Or was it merely their lust for sin that made them deaf and blind to the clarity of God’s message?

“Of all the nations and families on the earth,” Amos told his small gathering, “He chose us to be His people. The nations have witnessed what the Lord has done for us from the time He sent plagues upon Egypt and delivered us from slavery, then brought us into this land. More recently, the nations have seen how we have forgotten Him.”

“You there, Naharai!” A merchant stood over Naharai, hands on hips. “You invited him here, and look how he draws my customers away with all his prattle about law and judgment.”

“If your goods were worth anything, customers couldn’t be so easily drawn away!”

“Rodent!” He reached for Naharai.

Naharai evaded him easily, and shouted, “Ribai is a cheat! He mixes sand in with his grain.”

Some altercation occurred every day, not always at Naharai’s booth, but somewhere in the chaos of the marketplace. Yesterday, it had been two women arguing over the price of melons and cucumbers. Today it was the merchant who often sold moldy grain to those who had the least money. Those who walked and talked in awe of their gods on the temple mount preyed on one another here, and Ribai was one of the worst.

Amos rose when Ribai caught hold of Naharai. He used the crook of his staff to prevent a fist from landing.

The merchant swung around, face flushed. “Stay out of it, Prophet.”

“Those who shut their eyes to the cries of the poor will be ignored by the Lord in their own time of need. To cheat the poor is to spit in the face of God.”

“Mind your own business.” Ribai stormed back to his stall, shouting at his son to watch out for thieves.

“The Lord hears their prayers.” Amos returned to his place and sat. Only a few had come today to hear him read the Law. The young man who sat waiting only did so until Naharai could repair his sandals. And a mother had come with two boys, but left them behind so that she could barter for trinkets.

Now, another, dressed in fine linen and veils, approached. She stood listening as Amos read aloud. A servant held a shade over her while another peeled a pomegranate. When the slave girl stopped for a moment to listen intently to him, her mistress pinched her for neglecting her duties and threatened her with more abuse if she did not peel the pomegranate more quickly. Spotting a friend, the woman called her over.

Amos knew them. He had seen them often and been told by Naharai not to offend them. Wives and daughters of priests. They strolled through the market, demanding samples of whatever caught their fancy. And no one dared refuse. Like fat cows, they grazed continually. No one dared deny them.

The two whispered while Amos tried to teach. They laughed low and sneered. Another woman joined them, bejeweled with necklaces and earrings and tinkling bracelets.

Amos looked up at them. “The life of every living thing is in God’s hands, and the breath of all humanity. Remember the Word of the Lord, the Law written down by Moses. If we sin, the Lord will scatter us among the nations. But if we return to Him and obey His commandments, even if we are exiled to the ends of the earth, the Lord will bring us back to the place He has chosen for His Name to be honored.”

Naharai called the young man. He rose quickly, paid for his repaired sandals, and departed, leaving only the two boys who argued and shoved at one another.

Amos ignored them, continuing to address his words to the smug, indolent women who had come out of boredom and only wanted to mock. “You cannot live as you please, breaking God’s commandments at every turn, and still expect to receive His blessings.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we already live under God’s blessing,” one woman said with a derisive laugh.

“God is warning you now. Don’t count on your possessions to protect you in the coming day. Return to the Lord and the power of His strength.”

“Listen to this fool. . . .”

“You should not take whatever you want from the poor, but show compassion and mercy upon them.” What would it take to make these people listen? Another earthquake? Would they try God’s patience until the promised disasters came upon them?

The woman used her maid’s shawl to wipe pomegranate juice from her hands. “You should have a cup of wine, Prophet. Perhaps then you would not be so filled with gloom.” She tossed the shawl heedlessly aside.

“Always the same speech.” Her friend shrugged. “He never speaks of anything pleasurable.”

“A visit to the temple brothel would put him in better spirits.”

The women laughed together.

The first woman waved her hand airily at the two boys. “Don’t listen to him, my fine young fellows. What he wants to do is take all the pleasure from our lives and make us reunite with Judah. We don’t need Judah.”

Fire spread through Amos’s blood. “You fat cows! Keep fattening yourselves for the slaughter.”

Red-faced, the woman shoved her maid aside and stepped forward. “What did you call me?”