The Prophet: Amos (18 page)

The door opened to a shout of, “Get up!” When he couldn’t, two guards grabbed hold of him and pulled him up, uncaring of his pain. “You stink, Prophet.”

He was brought upstairs and outside.

The sunlight hurt his eyes and blinded him.
Is this the way it is for these people, Lord? They close their eyes to the light of truth because it is too painful to accept? It will mean they have to change their ways!

How long had he been imprisoned? A week? A month? He filled his lungs with clean air.

Amos found himself standing before Paarai, Amaziah’s son. Attired in the garb of a priest—jeweled with insignias of his office—he held his head high. Lip curled, he surveyed Amos with cold eyes. “The king has been informed of the plots you’ve tried to hatch against him.”

“Lies! I have hatched no plots.”

A guard struck him. He was dragged up again before the high priest’s son.

“We have witnesses. Right here in Bethel, on the doorstep of King Jeroboam’s royal sanctuary, you spoke of a plot to end his life and destroy his dynasty. You said he would soon be killed, and the people of Israel sent away into exile.”

You said . . . you said . . .
Amos understood. “Jeroboam’s dynasty shall end. Yes. Not my words, but the Lord’s.”

Eyes hot, face flushed, Paarai shouted at him. “Hear the word of my father, Amaziah, high priest of Bethel and servant of Baal! Get out of here, you prophet! Go on back to the land of Judah, and earn your living by prophesying there! Don’t bother us with your prophecies here in Bethel. This is the king’s sanctuary and the national place of worship!”

Amos knew Amaziah was somewhere close, listening. “I’m not a professional prophet, not like you and your father and others like you who speak whatever is pleasing to the ear of the one who pays you! I was never trained to be a prophet. I’m just a shepherd, and I take care of sycamore-fig trees. But the Lord called me away from my flock and told me, ‘Go and prophesy to My people in Israel!’”

Amaziah entered the room. Face mottled, he spat out words of hatred. “Get him out of my sight! He is banished from Bethel. See that no one allows him in the gate again!”

“What’s the matter, Amaziah? Did Jeroboam defeat your plan to kill me? Is there a residue of fear of the Lord left in Israel? Pray it is so!”

“Let the people see him banished, Father.”

“So be it!” Amaziah agreed.

The Spirit of the Lord came upon Amos in power, and he cried out in a loud voice. “Now then, listen to this message from the Lord, Amaziah. You say, ‘Don’t prophesy against Israel. Stop preaching against My people.’ But this is what the Lord says: ‘Your wife will become a prostitute in this city, and your sons and daughters will be killed. Your land will be divided up, and you yourself will die in a foreign land. And the people of Israel will certainly become captives in exile, far from their homeland.’”

Gagging him, the guards took him outside, whipped him, and tied him in an oxcart. They paraded him through the streets of Bethel. People shouted insults and curses.

“What of your prophecies now, Prophet?”

Some laughed.

“Out of our way!” the temple guard shouted.

“Get him out of here!”

Some threw refuse.

“Send him home to Judah!”

The oxcart took him into the shadow of the gate and then out into the sunlight where the guards released him.

Half-starved, beaten, Amos could barely stand. He pointed to those shouting down at him from the walls. “You will become captives in exile, far from your homeland.”

No one heard him.

No one cared enough to listen.

Amos dreamed that night, a waking dream as he walked beneath the stars.

What do you see, Amos?

“A basket full of ripe fruit.” Fruit ready to be eaten.

The ten tribes were ripe for punishment. The singing in the temples of Israel would turn to wailing. Dead bodies would be scattered everywhere. The survivors would be taken out of the city in silence. The ten wayward tribes would be led away into slavery. Even the land would suffer because of them.

Israel first.

Then Judah.

Wailing, Amos sank to his knees and threw dust in the air. He raged against the people’s sins and grieved through the night. In the morning, he got up from the dust and walked back to Bethel.

“You can’t come in, Prophet. You heard the orders yesterday.”

“These walls will not protect you from the judgment of God!”

“Go away! Don’t make trouble for me.”

“Listen to the message that the Lord has spoken!” Amos shouted up at the people on the wall. “Listen to this, you who rob the poor and trample down the needy! You can’t wait for the Sabbath day to be over and the religious festivals to end so you can get back to cheating the helpless.”

All day, Amos walked along the walls of Bethel. “The Day of the Lord will come unexpectedly, like a thief in the night! ‘In that day,’ says the Sovereign Lord, ‘I will make the sun go down at noon and darken the earth while it is still day. I will turn your celebrations into times of mourning and your singing into weeping. You will wear funeral clothes and shave your heads to show your sorrow—as if your only son had died. How very bitter that day will be!’”

Throat raw, Amos stared up at the walls. Tears ran down his cheeks at the thought of the destruction to come.

The Spirit of the Lord renewed his strength and gave power to his voice as he warned them of the worst curse that could come upon man. “‘The time is surely coming,’ says the Sovereign Lord, ‘when I will send a famine on the land—not a famine of bread or water but of hearing the Words of the Lord.’” Sobbing, Amos tore his robes. “People will stagger from sea to sea and wander from border to border searching for the Word of the Lord, but they will not find it. Beautiful girls and strong young men will grow faint in that day, thirsting for the Lord’s Word.”

He pointed to the people lining the walls on either side of the main gates. “And those who swear by the shameful idols of Samaria—who take oaths in the name of the god of Dan and make vows in the name of the god of Beersheeba—they will all fall down, never to rise again.”

A rock struck him in the forehead and he fell. Blood poured down his face. He wiped it away and pushed himself up. Another stone and another. Pain licked through his shoulder and side.

Amos backed away from the walls. “‘Are you Israelites more important to Me than the Ethiopians?’ asks the Lord. ‘I brought Israel out of Egypt, but I also brought the Philistines from Crete and led the Arameans out of Kir. I, the Sovereign Lord, am watching this sinful nation of Israel. I will destroy it from the face of the earth!’”

Amaziah stood in the shadows shouting, “We will not listen to you any longer! Close the gate!”

The merchants protested; he could hear them arguing. No one cared about hearing the Word of the Lord—they only fought to reopen the gates so that commerce could continue!

Amos turned away, head throbbing, and staggered down the hill. Coming at last to a quiet orchard, he collapsed.

Awakening in the middle of the night, Amos managed to make his way to the sheepfold cave where he had lived for ten years. Hungry and thirsty, he fell on the hard-packed earth and curled up like a babe in the womb. Would he die here like an animal in its hole?

“Lord, why have You abandoned me? I tried to feed Your sheep. They would not partake.” Broken in spirit, he sobbed. Throat raw and lips cracked and bleeding, he whispered, “You are God and there is no other. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

He dreamed that angels came and gave him bread and water while God whispered to him like a father to a troubled child.

Be still, and know that I AM God.

The pain went away and Amos’s body relaxed beneath the ministering hands. “Abba . . . Abba . . . they wouldn’t listen.” He heard weeping.

Release came, and another task with freedom.

Tomorrow, he would go home to Tekoa, and write all the visions the Lord had given him. He would make a copy for Israel and another for Judah. The indictment would be on scrolls so that when the Lord fulfilled His Word, the people would know He had warned them before sending His judgment.

The eleven miles to Tekoa felt like one hundred, but the sight of the fields and flocks of sheep filled Amos with joy. He spotted Elkanan and Ithai in the pastures, but could not raise his arm or call out to them.

Elkanan studied him.

Ithai approached, staff and club in hand. “You there! Who are you and what do you want?”

Had he changed so much in appearance? Swaying, Amos dropped to his knees.

Ithai hurried toward him. When Amos lifted his head, Ithai’s eyes went wide. “Uncle!” Dropping his club, he put his arm around him. “Let me help you.” He shouted, “Elkanan! It’s Uncle Amos! Call for help!”

“I will be all right. I just need to rest here awhile.” When Amos looked out at the sheep, his throat closed, hot and thick. Why couldn’t Israel be drawn together and led back to the Lord? Why couldn’t they graze on the Scriptures rather than eat the poisonous teachings of men like Jeroboam, Amaziah . . . Heled?

“Amos is back!”

“Hush.” Amos shook his head. “Don’t frighten the sheep.” His voice broke.
If only God’s sheep were frightened of what was to come. If only they could be called back. . . .

Others came to help. Eliakim reached for him, tears running freely as he looped his arm gently around Amos and helped him walk.

Amos smiled. “My friend, I need you to purchase reed pens, a full inkhorn, a small knife, and a roll of papyrus right away.”

“I will, Amos.”

Amos slept for three days.

Finally he rose, stiff and aching, and set to work on the scroll. The Word of the Lord flowed from him, the Spirit of the Lord helping him to remember every word God had spoken. When his emotions rose too high, he left the work briefly and paced so that his tears would not stain the document.

Eliakim set down a tray with a jug of wine, some bread, and a bowl of thick lentil stew. “You must eat.”

Amos did so. Replete, he returned to his work.

Eliakim came to get the tray and bowl. “Will the Lord send you back to Israel?”

“I don’t know.” He was not the same man who had left Tekoa years ago. “I will go wherever God sends me.” His heart still ached for the Israelites.