Amos 1:1-5, 13-2:8
Damascus has pounded Gilead to a pulp with iron hammers and mauls
Ammon has ripped open pregnant women to get more land for herself
Moab has violated the corpse of Edom's king, burning it to cinders
Judah has rejected God's revelation and refused to keep God's commandments
Judah has swallowed the same lies that got their ancestors onto dead-end roads
Israel is buying and selling upstanding people
Israel is grinding the penniless into the dirt
Israel is worshiping Baal
Israel is extorting the poor
It's in this context that the author pronounces God's judgment on Israel and it's surrounding nations.
War. A bloodthirsty hunger for more land. A disrespect for the fallen. Rejection of what is right. Following lies. Slavery. Rejecting the poor. Worshiping gods who demand more and more and more. Extorting the poor.
Now, take a step back. Reflect on the struggles this past year in your own family. Did any of this happen?
What about your neighborhood?
What about your city?
What about your county?
What about your state?
What about your country?
What about your continent?
What about your world?
And . . . what about . . . you?
It's in this context that we find this underlying, fearful perception that we have sinned again, and again, and again.
When's the other shoe gonna drop? It's no telling when the gods are going to finally get angry enough to burn our country to the ground. So, we walk around on tiptoes, watching our backs, trying to compare ourselves against the people doing "wrong," knowing that it's only a matter of time before we do the same thing we once pronounced as wrong.
We blog, Facebook, Tweet, preach, shout, gossip, text about how "they" and "those people" and "that country" and "that president" and that "terrorist group" and "that fundamentalist church" and "that family" and "that person" and "that dictator" have it coming. The gods are done with them.
Inwardly, we spend all our energy trying to do right and make good decisions, trying our hardest to work our way into right standing with the divine - and then, we fall. The moment our butts hit the ground we realize that we're no different than "those" people. For the few moments that we're on the ground, getting our bearings straight, wondering what happened, we realize that the reality is: "I just became one of them."
Up until that point, the gods were angry with them. But now, the gods are angry with us.
But if we can get up fast enough, get running, continue where we left off as quickly as possible, just maybe we can escape the wrath.
Are we starting to see that the context in which this passage was written is not much different than the context we find ourselves in today?
Here's the kicker: If the widely accepted notion is that there is one true God, then why do we attribute the same characteristics of punishment, discipline, and anger that all the other gods are attributed with?
Why does the author of Amos seem to use the widely accepted notion of divine anger and punishment "if we don't straighten ourselves out?"
When we tell stories, we use anecdotes - little stories that people can relate to, hooks that get the audience's attention. Then, once we have the attention, we put a twist in the story, we throw in an unfamiliar concept after we've introduced what is very familiar.
What's familiar is - we've done bad, so we're gonna get punished by God. They've done bad, so they're going to hell. They've done good, so they're going to heaven.
We believe (because that's what we do) that God reacts to our goodness or our badness.
But, the problem is, this conception isn't new. It's not different. It's not unique. It doesn't separate the God of Israel from Baal, or Ashterah, or any of the other gods. It puts this God on the same level. And that, my friends, is the anecdote. There is a twist.
While all the other gods are demanding more, and punishing more, and demanding more, and not satisfied with what you give, and punish more, and want more . . .
The author tells us about a God who gives more, and loves more, and who's doing away with the whole system of sacrifice and demand and law. The author is telling us about a God who chooses to love and redeem and restore because it's in this God's nature to do so. This God doesn't love based on what people do, but loves based on who this God is.
So, we find ourselves in the same messed up, selfish, malicious, adulterous, slanderous, and hopeless as the audience found itself in. However, there is something different about what this God wants to do. This God wants to take all the garbage and throw it out, restore the hearts of the same ones who are doing all these terrible things. And with that, I finish with a twist:
How is God restoring:
Our family?
Our neighborhood?
Our city?
Our county?
Our state?
Our country?
Our world?
And . . . us?
Ammon has ripped open pregnant women to get more land for herself
Moab has violated the corpse of Edom's king, burning it to cinders
Judah has rejected God's revelation and refused to keep God's commandments
Judah has swallowed the same lies that got their ancestors onto dead-end roads
Israel is buying and selling upstanding people
Israel is grinding the penniless into the dirt
Israel is worshiping Baal
Israel is extorting the poor
It's in this context that the author pronounces God's judgment on Israel and it's surrounding nations.
War. A bloodthirsty hunger for more land. A disrespect for the fallen. Rejection of what is right. Following lies. Slavery. Rejecting the poor. Worshiping gods who demand more and more and more. Extorting the poor.
Now, take a step back. Reflect on the struggles this past year in your own family. Did any of this happen?
What about your neighborhood?
What about your city?
What about your county?
What about your state?
What about your country?
What about your continent?
What about your world?
And . . . what about . . . you?
It's in this context that we find this underlying, fearful perception that we have sinned again, and again, and again.
When's the other shoe gonna drop? It's no telling when the gods are going to finally get angry enough to burn our country to the ground. So, we walk around on tiptoes, watching our backs, trying to compare ourselves against the people doing "wrong," knowing that it's only a matter of time before we do the same thing we once pronounced as wrong.
We blog, Facebook, Tweet, preach, shout, gossip, text about how "they" and "those people" and "that country" and "that president" and that "terrorist group" and "that fundamentalist church" and "that family" and "that person" and "that dictator" have it coming. The gods are done with them.
Inwardly, we spend all our energy trying to do right and make good decisions, trying our hardest to work our way into right standing with the divine - and then, we fall. The moment our butts hit the ground we realize that we're no different than "those" people. For the few moments that we're on the ground, getting our bearings straight, wondering what happened, we realize that the reality is: "I just became one of them."
Up until that point, the gods were angry with them. But now, the gods are angry with us.
But if we can get up fast enough, get running, continue where we left off as quickly as possible, just maybe we can escape the wrath.
Are we starting to see that the context in which this passage was written is not much different than the context we find ourselves in today?
Here's the kicker: If the widely accepted notion is that there is one true God, then why do we attribute the same characteristics of punishment, discipline, and anger that all the other gods are attributed with?
Why does the author of Amos seem to use the widely accepted notion of divine anger and punishment "if we don't straighten ourselves out?"
When we tell stories, we use anecdotes - little stories that people can relate to, hooks that get the audience's attention. Then, once we have the attention, we put a twist in the story, we throw in an unfamiliar concept after we've introduced what is very familiar.
What's familiar is - we've done bad, so we're gonna get punished by God. They've done bad, so they're going to hell. They've done good, so they're going to heaven.
We believe (because that's what we do) that God reacts to our goodness or our badness.
But, the problem is, this conception isn't new. It's not different. It's not unique. It doesn't separate the God of Israel from Baal, or Ashterah, or any of the other gods. It puts this God on the same level. And that, my friends, is the anecdote. There is a twist.
While all the other gods are demanding more, and punishing more, and demanding more, and not satisfied with what you give, and punish more, and want more . . .
The author tells us about a God who gives more, and loves more, and who's doing away with the whole system of sacrifice and demand and law. The author is telling us about a God who chooses to love and redeem and restore because it's in this God's nature to do so. This God doesn't love based on what people do, but loves based on who this God is.
So, we find ourselves in the same messed up, selfish, malicious, adulterous, slanderous, and hopeless as the audience found itself in. However, there is something different about what this God wants to do. This God wants to take all the garbage and throw it out, restore the hearts of the same ones who are doing all these terrible things. And with that, I finish with a twist:
How is God restoring:
Our family?
Our neighborhood?
Our city?
Our county?
Our state?
Our country?
Our world?
And . . . us?
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