The Prophet: Amos (7 page)

He had loved his father, but had been bitterly disappointed in him. Not once after he had learned the truth had he believed anything his father said.

And how many times had he lusted for revenge against Heled? He had even thought of ways to kill him, savoring the thought in his mind. If he could have found a way to kill the priest and escape, he might have done it!

From the time he was born until two years ago, he had been a thief, a party to the priests who testified falsely against those who brought perfect offerings to the Lord, only to have them rejected.

As for the sin of coveting, had he not coveted the priests’ power, freedom, and wealth? He had not so much wanted it for himself as he had wanted to see it ripped from the hands that had grasped it and held on at such cost to the people.

Amos saw what God wanted him to see and stood mortified by the sins of the people, sins he himself had committed on a daily basis.

And when God spoke, His next words were no surprise.

The people of Judah have sinned again and again, and I will not let them go unpunished! They have rejected the instruction of the Lord, refusing to obey His decrees. They have been led astray by the same lies that deceived their ancestors.

The hair on the back of Amos’s neck prickled. He dropped to his knees and covered his face. He rocked forward, covering his head with his hands. “No, Lord, please, don’t show me.” He drew his knees up under him. “Have mercy on us.”

But the images came upon him relentlessly, melting his heart and filling him with a sorrow and compassion he had never felt before when looking upon his own people. The compassion he’d felt until now only for his defenseless sheep. He wept.

“You there. You’re blocking us.” Hauled up, he was pitched aside and fell heavily. “Stay off the road!”

Heavy wheels crunched the rocks. Oxen blew out their breath. The voices of a thousand people mingled as Amos sat in the dust, his head in his hands.

“To what end, Lord? To what end will You destroy the people You chose?”

From the ruins I will rebuild it and restore its former glory, so that the rest of humanity, including the Gentiles—all those I have called to be Mine—might seek Me.

“What are you doing back so soon?” Bani rose from his money table. When he came close, he frowned. “What’s happened? Is Ithai well?”

“I have not seen Ithai or Elkanan in months. Remember, they had finished their business with Joram before I returned with my flock. They came here to Jerusalem before I did.”

Ahiam closed the gate of a stall, a lamb in his arms. “The boys went home to Tekoa not long after the new moon festival.”

Amos looked at his two brothers. “The Lord spoke to me. I have seen visions.”

Ahiam laughed. “Go sleep off the wine over there.” He walked away with the lamb.

“You’ve probably had a fever.” Bani searched Amos’s face. “You do look ill.”

“I have seen the destruction of Jerusalem.”

“You’re mad. With Uzziah on the throne?” Bani shook his head. “Jerusalem is secure, and our borders are protected.”

“But I’m telling you the truth! I saw—”

“Fever-induced dreams, Amos.” Bani gripped his arm. “That’s all. Besides, why would God speak to you, a shepherd? You’re not a member of the priests’ guild. You’re not a Levite. When God speaks, He talks to one of the trained prophets or priests. Go over there. Sit. You look tired.” He led Amos to the bench beneath the canopy where their tables were set up for business.

Amos saw the open box with its neat rows of coins and shuddered.

Bani slapped him on the back. “Have some wine, little brother. Eat something. Forget about whatever you thought you saw. You’ll feel better.” Bani poured him a cup of wine and offered him bread and dates. “You spend too much time alone with that flock of yours, little brother. You always have.”

The hum of conversations merged with the bleating sheep until the sounds seemed the same. Amos clutched his head.
Am I going mad that men are beginning to sound like sheep, or sheep are beginning to sound like men?

Ahiam returned. “Heled is not pleased to see you, Amos. Joram gave him a bad report when he returned from Tekoa, and Heled hasn’t forgotten.”

Amos raised his head. “If you don’t end your dealings with that thief of a priest, you and your family will suffer for it.”

Ahiam’s face hardened. “Live your life, Amos, and leave mine in peace.” He gave a hard laugh. “If we took your advice, we’d all be living in the hills, half starved and seeing visions.”

“Leave him alone, Ahiam.”

“He makes trouble for us. Even when he can keep his mouth shut, he allows his contempt to show. Look at him!” Ahiam leaned toward Amos. “You look like a beggar.”

“He’s given both our sons a start on flocks of their own.”

“A lot of good it will do them if he keeps on as he has. Everything we’ve
all
worked for, for over two generations, will be gone!” He glared at Amos. “It happened before. Remember what Father told you. It can happen again. Don’t think it can’t.” He jerked his head. “You forget who holds the power around here.”

Amos rose, shaking with rage. “God holds the power!”

Chin jutting, Ahiam came close enough to stand nose to nose with Amos. “And
He
gave it to
them
to use as
they
will.”

Amos stood his ground. “The people of Judah have sinned—”

“All of a sudden, you’re the judge?” Ahiam gave him a hard shove. “Go home. Prophesy to your sheep.”

“Listen to me,” Amos cried out in desperation.

“If you made any sense, I might.” Ahiam glanced back over his shoulder. “Send him home.” He nodded to Bani. “We’ve got a business to run here.” Turning his back on them, he walked toward a customer looking over the lambs. Smiling, he spread his arms in greeting.

Bani drew Amos aside and spoke quietly. “Go back to my house. A few nights’ rest in a good bed and some of my wife’s cooking and you’ll be yourself again.”

Amos knew he would never be the same again. Everywhere he looked, he saw things differently than he had before the Voice had spoken to him.

Dream or no dream, his life had changed forever.

Amos left the Temple Mount and its stalls of sacrificial animals, passing tables where money changers stacked shekels and half shekels. He went down to the market square where bellowing camels with tasseled harnesses stood laden with huge packs of merchandise. The animals were lined up behind owners who displayed their wares on woven rugs. The scents of dung and spices mingled while vendors shouted their wares, competing with one another as possible customers wandered the bazaar. Shekels clinked and money boxes slammed shut. Donkeys burdened with bundles were pulled along by hard-faced men, cursing and making threats if others did not make room.

Bludgeoned by sound, Amos sought quieter streets. He wandered along narrow alleys lined with booths. Vendors haggled with customers over prices while competitors called enticements to steal patrons away.

“Good shepherd!” one called to Amos. “Come, come! You need a new pair of sandals. Those look worn through. I will give you a good price.”

“I will give you a better price.”

“He’s a thief. Don’t listen to him. I have better—”

“Here! Come look at what I have to offer.”

The narrow street widened, and Amos stopped to watch stonemasons working on a new house, a foreman shouting instructions to his crew. A few doors down, a carpenter worked on a cart. Wheels of all sizes lined the wall of his shop. Another man planed a table while his wife showed a bench to a woman with three children.

On another street, metalworkers pounded ingots into utensils while coppersmiths pounded trays. A goldsmith displayed earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and cylinders ready for engraving into family seals. Weavers sold cloths and rugs on another street, while the next was lined with bakers. Amos’s stomach clenched with hunger, but he didn’t stop. He had no money with which to buy. Distracted, he took dried grain from his scrip to ease the ache in his belly.

He wandered into the valley of cheese makers and back up to the canopied stalls with baskets of barley and wheat, jars of oil and jugs of wine, bins of olives and baskets of early figs. Combs of golden honey dripped into bowls, while nearby another merchant called out balm for sale.

Rug merchants and basket weavers called out to him as he passed. A tentmaker haggled with a customer.

Jerusalem was, indeed, a city of wealth and commerce. The people seemed to want for nothing. What they lacked had little to do with the body and everything to do with the heart and soul. All their strength was spent on what they could hold in their hands.

Pausing, Amos listened to a young man play a lyre for a customer while his father attached strings to a kinnor. The customer pointed to a beautifully carved ten-string nebel displayed alongside a row of bone pipes. The boy picked it up and began to play it. At a signal, the boy handed the instrument to his father. He allowed the customer to hold it, pluck the strings, and stroke the carved wood. Amos picked up some reed pipes and admired them. The lust to own would seal the bargain. He put them down quickly and walked away.

Amos went through a gate and down a pathway. Weary, he sat in the shade of a mustard plant and leaned against a wall. Hyssop grew from between the stones. Across from him was the Mount of Olives. It was quiet here, quiet enough to think, though pondering what he had just seen was the last thing he wanted to do. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“I see sin, Lord.” Enticing, tempting, seeming to delight and bring satisfaction. “I see it. I see!”

Pride promised pleasure and security, but would bring despair and death instead.

Amos walked home in the moonlight. He went to the fold and entered by the narrow gate, walking quietly among the animals, checking each one. When the sun rose, he would let them out into the south pasture. Soon, it would be time to lead them away from Tekoa. One of the lambs heard his voice and came to him quickly, pressing against his leg. Amos hunkered down. “Yes, I’m home, little one.” He rubbed the lamb’s face.

Go prophesy to My people Israel.

Confused, Amos stood. “Israel?” He spread his hands, looking up at the sky.

“The northern kingdom, Lord? Samaria?”

Go to Bethel.

Why would God send him to speak to the ten tribes who had broken away from Solomon’s son Rehoboam? Hadn’t they followed after Jeroboam the son of Nebat, foreman of Solomon’s workforce? Why not call one from among the ten rebellious tribes to prophesy to their breakaway nation?

“I told my brothers I had seen visions, Lord. They didn’t believe me! They thought I was drunk or suffered delirium.”

The lamb bleated. The flock sensed his turbulent emotions and moved, restless, nervous.

“Shhhhh. It’s all right, sheep.” Amos lifted the lamb. He moved slowly among his animals, speaking softly, soothing their fears. He set the lamb down and moved to the gate. Drawing his reed pipe from his belt, he played whatever sweet melody came to mind. The sheep settled again.

Amos looked up at the stars. Before the visions began, he had believed that God didn’t notice him or what he did or thought. Now, he realized God saw and knew everything. Still, Amos didn’t understand why God would call a poor shepherd—a simple, ordinary man—to speak the Word of the Lord.