Rather than be victors over their enemies, they would be broken and deserted. The ten tribes would fall, never to rise again. Nine out of ten of their soldiers would die in battle, the rest enslaved. Weeping would be heard everywhere, and still things would go from bad to worse. The Day of the Lord would be a day without a single ray of hope. All their worship would end. Their songs would be silenced. Those who survived the battles would be led away as slaves, their pride and the glory that was Israel obliterated, all their wealth in the hands of their enemies.
Amos knelt, head to the ground. “What do I do, Lord? What do I say to them to turn them away from destruction?”
Stand firm! Continue to tell them the truth!
Colors changed around him. He felt God’s presence enveloping him, comforting while showing him the future. He saw locusts come up out of the ground, vast numbers of them, like an army of millions upon millions, marching, spreading across the land, taking flight. Everything in their path disappeared. The land became a black sea of moving insects gorging on crops, trees, brush, even people.
“O Sovereign Lord!” Amos cried out, hands raised. “Please forgive us or we will not survive, for Israel is so small.”
The vision disappeared.
I will not do it.
Even as Amos thanked God for not obliterating the land and people, another vision filled his mind. Scorching heat bubbled in the bottom of the ocean, sending clouds of steam into the air. Fire raged from the mountainous depths of the sea, rising, rising, a cauldron of bubbles and steam, spreading and devouring the entire land.
“God, no!” Amos cried out in fear. “O Sovereign Lord, please stop or we will not survive, for Israel is so small.”
The Lord spoke in a still, quiet voice:
I will not do that, either.
The fire disappeared and the land was as it had been.
Amos’s heart pounded, for the Lord was not finished showing His great power over all creation. Discipline would come. It must come to turn His people back. Amos prayed for mercy upon them. “Leave a remnant, Lord. Please, leave someone alive to praise Your Name.”
Amos, what do you see?
Amos opened his eyes. “A plumb line.” The Law was the weight on the end of it.
I will test My people with this plumb line. I will no longer ignore all their sins. The pagan shrines of your ancestors will be ruined, and the temples of Israel will be destroyed; I will bring the dynasty of King Jeroboam to a sudden end. Go and tell them!
Ten tribes had aligned themselves with the pagan gods of Canaan, Moab, Ammon, and the rest. Not one in all Israel would stand straight and true beside the law Moses had brought down from Mount Sinai, the law God had written in His own hand.
How could they not see that God pursued them with relentless love? How could they not respond?
Burdened by sorrow, Amos headed back to Bethel.
The people had refused to heed the Lord’s warning. They had planted the wind; now, they would harvest the whirlwind of a righteous, holy God.
Amos knew as he approached the temple that his time was short. Already, men ran up the steps to report his presence.
“Listen to the Word of the Lord!” he shouted. “Recite My law no longer, and don’t pretend that you obey Me. You refuse My discipline and treat My laws like trash!” He listed all their sins, despite catcalls, mock bows, shouted curses, and insults. “Your mouths are filled with wickedness, and your tongues full of lies. While you did all this, I remained silent, and you thought I didn’t care! But now I will rebuke you!”
“He’s speaking against the king!”
A commotion started above and behind him. The temple guards ran down the steps and surrounded him. “You are ordered to be silent!”
“Repent!”
“Shut up!” Two guards with swords took hold of him.
Amos struggled. “Repent, all of you who ignore the Lord, or He will tear you apart, and no one will help you!”
The guards grappled with him. When he tried to use his staff, two guards wrenched it from his hand.
“Silence him!”
The guards struck him with his own staff. Stunned by the blows, Amos sagged. Guards grabbed him, hauling him up and half carried, half dragged him up the steps. The air chilled inside the temple. He was brought into a large chamber and dropped on the stone floor. He groaned and tried to get up. A guard kicked him. The others joined in. Pain shot through him. He could hardly breathe.
“Enough!”
“What do you want done with him, my lord?”
My lord. Wrath filled Amos, and he struggled to his feet and faced Amaziah. “There is no other Lord but Jehovah.”
The high priest’s eyes blackened with hatred. “For ten years I’ve suffered your presence in my city, but no more. Finally, you have gone too far. No one is permitted to prophesy against the king!”
“It was the Lord who gave ten tribes to Jeroboam, and what did Jeroboam do to show his gratitude?” Amos sneered. “He set up golden calves and led the people away from the God who blessed him. Jeroboam’s dynasty will come to an end!” Struck again, Amos fell. He raised his head with an effort. “The Lord has spoken.”
“The king will hear your words, Amos. Then you will die.”
“Tell him!” Amos struggled with all his strength, but could not gain freedom. “Tell him what the Lord says. If he has any sense, he will repent and lead his people back to God.”
“Lock him away!”
Heaved into darkness, the door closed and barred behind him, Amos lay facedown on the cold earth. The stench of the fetid palace underworld made his head swim and his stomach heave. A rat scrambled up his leg. He drew back and hit it away. Squeaking, it scurried away to wait for a more opportune time.
Fear gripped Amos by the throat. Never had he been in such darkness. Always there had been the stars overhead. But this blackness had teeth that sank into his soul. He fought to keep from screaming and felt the walls for a way out. There was none.
“God, help me.” Even his whisper echoed softly.
Sinking down, he pressed his back against the wall. He strained to see even a small flicker of light—somewhere, anywhere. Nothing. Only by closing his eyes could he imagine it. A man used to open spaces and the sheepfold, Amos fought against panic with prayer.
“Lord, You are my deliverer. Blow them away like chaff in the wind—a wind sent by the angel of the Lord. Make their path dark and slippery, with the angel of the Lord pursuing them. Although I did them no wrong, they laid a trap for me. Although I did them no wrong, they dug a pit for me. So let sudden ruin overtake them. Let them be caught in their own snares!”
Time passed slowly, but Amos kept his thoughts fixed upon the Lord. He shouted God’s Word into the darkness. “Return to the Lord! Giving thanks is a sacrifice that truly honors Him. If you keep to His path, He will reveal to you the salvation of God!” Anger filled him. “The wicked plots against the righteous and gnashes his teeth at him. The Lord laughs at him, for He sees his day is coming!”
A guard raged, “Will you never learn to hold your tongue, Prophet? When the order comes, it will please me to cut it out!”
He was given only enough food and water to keep him alive. Standing in the darkness of his prison, he wailed over the fate of the people. “This is what the Lord says: ‘From among all the families on the earth, I chose you alone. That is why I must punish you for all your sins. Listen, all the earth! I will bring disaster upon My people. It is the fruit of their own sin because they refuse to listen to Me!’”
“Shut up!”
“You boast that you are more powerful than any other nation! You think you can dodge the grave. You say the Assyrians can never touch you, for you’ve made strong towers. Hear, O Israel! You live in a refuge made of lies and deception!”
More guards entered. The torchlight was so bright it blinded him. They cursed him, punched him, and kicked him until he lost consciousness.
When he awakened in darkness, he c
rawled into a corner and prayed. “Lord, deliver me. . .”
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 weepin
g.
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.