The Prophet: Amos (9 page)

“Who is this beggar who speaks insults?” Faces red with consternation, the Assyrians protested loudly. “Is this the way Ben-hadad’s servants are greeted when they come in peace?”

Amos came on. “You speak of peace, but war is in your hearts.”

“Be careful what you say. You may find your head on a pole!”

“Go back to Damascus!”

The people moved away from Amos, staring, as he cried out, “Go and tell your king what the Lord God has said! Get out of here!”

People whispered and then began talking. Some called out. Soon, the street was full as people surrounded Amos. Heart pounding, he shouted and raised his staff again. The people let him pass as he strode down the street. He was eager to get away from this place, away from them.

They called out questions. He didn’t answer.

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“He looks like a shepherd.”

“But did you hear him speak!”

“Just a madman talking.”

“I’ve never heard a man speak with such authority. Have you?”

The Lord’s judgment excited them. Hadn’t he felt the same?
“Let it come, Lord! Let it come.”

People shouted from all directions.

“Did you hear what the prophet said?”

“Damascus in ruins!”

“That’s a sight I’d like to see.”

When it had to do with judgment upon their enemies, why wouldn’t they celebrate? Why not cheer and shout? The Lord had given them words to savor, visions to delight. They listened to His Words.

Would they keep listening?

Amos ducked down a side street.

“Where is he going?”

“Prophet! Wait! Give us another prophecy.”

Amos remembered other visions the Lord had shown him and ran. Now was not the time. He must wait upon the Lord. He must wait! Some gave chase. Turning down another street and then another, Amos left them behind. Out of breath, his body shook violently. Emotions warred within him—wrath that made him grind his teeth and groan, anguish that brought a torrent of tears. “Lord,
Lord
!”

The wave of emotion crested and ebbed, leaving him drained. He sank against the wall, squatting on his heels. His staff clattered to the packed ground. Still panting, he rested his arms on his raised knees and bowed his head.

A door opened, and a woman stood staring at him. When he met her gaze, she stepped inside and closed the door.

Children played in the street.

A bird chirped from a sprig of hyssop growing from a high wall.

A man and woman argued across the way.

Tensing at the sound of running feet, Amos stood. Shouts and curses. Excited laughter. Youths ran past. One spilled a few coins. Their sandals echoed as an angry man came tearing around the corner, pausing long enough to snatch up the dropped coins and take after them again.

A lattice window opened above him. Amos looked up as a woman leaned out. Dressed in an expensive Babylonian robe, she sipped from a silver goblet. “What are you doing down there?” Not waiting for an answer, she disappeared and a servant appeared at the window and dumped a bowlful of something. Amos barely managed to evade being covered by household slops. The wealthy woman leaned out again and laughed at him.

Amos found his way to the main gate. A man recognized him and whispered to the elders. He did not stay long enough for anyone to detain him.

Amos found a small cave in the hills where he could spend the night. The next morning, he waited and prayed until God impelled him to return to Bethel where, as soon as he entered the gate, he heard the buzz of whispers.

“He’s back! The prophet is back.”

A young man pressed through the crowd and ran up the street. No one tried to stop Amos or ask questions when he passed through the gate and entered into the city. People followed him to the temple mount and then stood watching, talking behind their hands to one another, eyes eager. He sat on the lowest step of the temple and waited. Someone put a plate down in front of him, and people began putting coins into it. Angry, he kicked it away. With a collective gasp, they drew back and stared. Some quickly retrieved the coins they had offered.

“The priests are coming. . . .”

“The priests . . .”

The young man who had run from the gate came down the steps with two priests. Amos did not stand for them. They murmured to one another and then stood between him and the people.

The taller priest spoke quietly. “You stirred the people yesterday with your prophecy against Damascus.”

Some people edged closer, faces rapt and eager.

Amos looked from them to the priests. He rested his staff across his knees. “These people are easily stirred.”

“We would like to talk with you, Prophet, hear what you have to say.” The tall priest glanced pointedly toward the men and women closing in. “Perhaps you prefer somewhere more private.”

“Ask what you will here and now, though I probably will not be able to answer.”

“What is your name?”

“Amos.” He had never given much thought to his name, but now he wondered if God had caused his parents to give it to him: “burden bearer.” His heart was truly burdened with the task God had given him, burdened even more by the visions he carried in his mind.

“And your village?”

“Tekoa.”

People whispered, murmured.

“You are Judean.”

“Yes, and God has called me here to speak His Word.”

“What else would God have you say to us?”

“I speak in His time, not mine.”

“Your prophecy against Damascus is well received. We all gave thanks to God yesterday. We would have invited you to speak again, but you disappeared. Where did you go?”

“Out into the hills.”

“You should have shelter.”

“The Lord is my shelter.”

“Come, Prophet. Join us inside the temple. We have room for you here. We will worship together.”

Heat filled Amos’s face. He had no intention of being drawn inside that vile place. “I will come and sit here and wait upon the Lord.”

Dark eyes glinted, smooth words were murmured. “As you wish.” They bowed in respect and went back up the steps. The man who had reported Amos’s arrival remained outside. He insinuated himself among the watchers. Two temple guards came down and took positions. Amos smiled faintly.

The morning passed slowly. People drifted away. When Amos was thirsty, he lifted his skin of water to his lips. When he was hungry, he took grain and raisins from his scrip.

The guards sought shade. Others came to take their place.

Amos left as the sun was setting, but he returned the next day and the next, and the next after that. His tongue felt like a weight in his mouth. Day after day, he watched the people of Bethel live their lives, cheat one another, seek the solace of prostitutes, and give their offerings to idols. He waited and prayed. And people forgot about him.

When he came one morning, Philistines stood in the gate. Backs straight, heads high, they spoke to the elders who deferred to them nervously.

Fire flooded Amos’s blood, and the quickening of the Holy Spirit took hold.

“This is what the Lord says.” He strode toward them. “The people of Gaza have sinned again and again, and I will not let them go unpunished! They sent whole villages into exile, selling them as slaves to Edom. So I will send down fire on the walls of Gaza, and all its fortresses will be destroyed.”

Fury spread across the faces of the Philistines. Two drew swords.

Amos blocked one with his club and used his staff to yank the other man around and pitch him to the ground. Swords clattered on the stones. When the fallen warrior tried to rise, Amos slammed his heel on his back. He sent the other crashing against a wall.

“
This is what the Lord says!”
His voice thundered in the gate. “I will slaughter the people of Ashdod and destroy the king of Ashkelon. Then I will turn to attack Ekron, and the few Philistines still left will be killed.” He lifted his foot and stepped back so the fallen man could scramble to his feet. “Go back!” He drove them from the gate. “Go and take the Word of the Lord with you to your king.”

Pandemonium reigned. A crowd surrounded Amos. People pressed in upon him from all sides. Strangely, he felt no fear, no desire to run away again. Even as he was swept along like a leaf on a stream, he felt calm. The temple of Bethel loomed before him, a gathering of priests waiting. Guards poured down the steps and took Amos into custody while the priests calmed the crowd.

One priest came close and put his hand upon Amos’s arm. “You bring us good news.”

Amos withdrew his arm. “I speak the Word of the Lord.”

The priest’s eyes grew cold, calculating, searching. “As do we.”

Another beckoned. “You must have lodgings within the city.”

Amos held his staff in front of him. “I have lived my life in the fields of the Lord.”

“A man of your importance should live in comfort.”

Someone tugged Amos’s sleeve. “I can give you lodgings.”

“No! Come with me.”

“I have a summer house you can stay in!”

Surprised by such offers, Amos turned to the people. “The Lord has provided me with a place to live.” He headed down the steps.

“Prophet!” one of the priests called out. “Will you give us no answer?”

Amos regarded the group in their finery. “God will answer you.” Turning, he headed across the courtyard. People clustered around him, asking questions, praising him, pleading for another prophecy. They crowded so close to him, he could scarcely move.

“Let him pass!” a priest shouted.

The people retreated enough so he could proceed toward the street leading to the main gate. Guards appeared, and the people quieted. Amos breathed in relief when he left the confines of Bethel. Glancing back, he saw a group of men following him and tried to send them away.

“We just want to talk with you!”

Flustered, needing solitude, Amos headed for the hills. He walked in a seemingly aimless pattern, knowing the city dwellers would grow tired and give up. When the sun began to set, Amos went to the small cave in a hillside where he had left his supplies, and settled down for the night.

Voices whispered outside.

“Why does he live in a cave when he could have a room near the temple?”

“I don’t know.”

Amos pulled his robe up over his head.

Foxes had holes, but it seemed a prophet of the Lord would have no place private to lay his head.

When Amos arose, he found gifts at the mouth of his cave. The first day, there was a small basket of fruit. The second, he found a pouch of roasted grain and a woven coat. He awakened to clinking the third day and came outside to find a bowl and offering of coins. Amos took the tunic and coins with him to Bethel. A man in a worn tunic shivered, waiting for the gate to open. Amos tapped him on the shoulder. When the man turned, Amos held out the coat. “This will keep you warm.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mock me? I can’t afford such a coat.”

“I’m giving it to you.”

The man stared at him in surprise and then looked at the coat with longing. Still, he did not raise his hand to take it.

“What’s your name?”

“Issachar.”

“Why will you not accept the coat, Issachar? You have need of it.”

Issachar became angry. “As soon as I show my face inside the gate, I’ll be accused of stealing it. I’ve lost everything. I’d like to keep from having my hand cut off.”

“I’ll make it clear you came by it honestly.”

“And who are you to speak for me? A stranger. I’ll still lose it.”

“Why?”

“There are those who would take it from me as payment for a debt.”

“Only for a day and then, by law, they must return it.”

Issachar gave a snort of disdain. “No such law prevails here.”

“How much do you owe?”

Issachar told him, and the amount was far less than the offering that had been left in the basket outside Amos’s cave. “Take it.” Amos stood beside him. “We will settle your debt when the gate opens.”

As he walked the streets, he gave a coin to a man without sandals, and another to an aging Nazirite. While buying what he needed in the marketplace, he saw a widow with four children begging for bread. He gave her the rest of what he had and told her to thank God for the provisions.