Amos ran to do his brother’s bidding.
When he came back, his father took him aside. “Remember, priests are servants of the Lord, Amos. They see imperfection where we do not and their decisions are law. If you question their judgment, they will say you question God Himself. They would bar you from the synagogue and Temple. And then what would happen? No one would have anything to do with you. You would become an outcast with no way to make a living. You would have to sell yourself into slavery.”
Amos hung his head and blinked back tears.
His father squeezed his shoulder. “I know you don’t understand what’s happening here.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t. But you must trust me, Amos. Say nothing about the lambs, good or bad. And don’t watch what Heled does. It bothers him. The priests are very powerful and must be treated with great respect. We are only hirelings paid to tend the Temple flocks. That’s all. Perhaps someday we will have sheep of our own and be free again. . . .”
After that day, Amos had begun to observe everything that went on around the folds of Tekoa, in Jerusalem, and around the Temple.
Discolorations on a lamb would disappear under the care of his brothers.
“We’re miracle workers!” Ahiam laughed, but when Amos surreptitiously examined one, he found the wool stiff with white stuff that rubbed off on his fingers.
“Father will have your hide,” Amos told Bani.
Ahiam overheard and knocked him on his backside. “Father knows, you little runt.”
The next time Joram came, Amos realized the priest’s servant deliberately chose weaker lambs. As soon as Amos found his father alone, he reported what he had observed.
His father gazed out over the fields. “One lamb is much like any other.”
“But that’s not true, Father. You’ve told me yourself how every lamb is different, and—”
“We’ll talk about it later, Amos. We have too much work to do right now.”
But later never came, and every time Amos went with his father to Jerusalem, he was afraid God would do something horrible when one of those blemished lambs was offered as a sacrifice.
“What’s wrong with your brother?” Heled scowled as he spoke to Ahiam.
“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with him. He’s just quiet, that’s all.”
“Quiet . . . and all eyes and ears.”
Ahiam slapped Amos hard on the back. When he gripped Amos, his fingers dug in deep and shook him as he grinned down, eyes black. “He’s not used to city life yet.”
“Get him used to it!” Heled walked away and then called back over his shoulder. “Or keep him away from Jerusalem altogether.”
Ahiam glowered at him. “Make yourself useful. Add feed to the bins if you have to hang around here. Do something other than watch.”
Amos worked in silence, head down, afraid. He kept to himself and kept busy for the rest of the day. He said so little, his family grew concerned when they gathered for the Passover meal.
“What’s wrong, little brother? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“He’s upset about the lambs,” Ahiam said grimly. “You’d better tell him, Father.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not? He’s old enough to understand.” Ahiam’s expression was grim. “I think he’s figured out most of it on his own.”
“Later.”
Amos wasn’t hungry. He felt like an outcast, and fought tears. But he had to know, and so he asked again. “Why does Joram take the weak lambs and leave the good ones?”
His father bowed his head.
Chin jutting, Ahiam answered. “Why slaughter a perfect lamb when one bearing a spot will do just as well?”
Ahiam’s wife, Levona, hung her head as she turned the spitted lamb over the fire. “What a waste to kill a prized ram that could reproduce itself ten times over!”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the pop and hiss of fat as it dripped into the burning coals.
No one would meet Amos’s eyes. “Is our lamb perfect?”
“Of course, it’s perfect!” Bani burst out. “Do you think we’d offer anything less?”
“But what about those others? the weak ones from our flock?” Amos turned to his father, then to Bani and Ahiam. “The Law says only perfect lambs are acceptable as Temple sacrifices. But Joram brought the weak ones from Tekoa, and they are the ones you exchanged today.” Amos’s heart beat heavily as the tension built.
Levona kept her eyes on the roasting lamb. Mishala, Bani’s wife, placed the bitter herbs on the table. Bani looked at their father, expression pained.
Ahiam banged his fists on the table, making everyone jump. “Tell him, Father, or I will!”
“Who decides if the Law has been fulfilled, Amos?”
“God.”
“And who speaks for God?”
“The priests.”
“Yes!” Ahiam glared. “The priests! The priests decide which lamb is fit and which isn’t.”
His father sighed. “You saw who sent those people to our pens, Amos.”
“The priests. But is this the way it’s supposed to be?”
“It is the way it is.” His father sounded worn down, defeated.
Fear filled Amos. “What will the Lord do? Is He satisfied?”
Ahiam poured wine. “What sign do we see that the Lord is not pleased with what is given to Him? The priests get richer each year. We are close to paying off all our family debts. The nation prospers. The Lord must be satisfied.”
Bani grimaced as he ate the bitter herbs. “You have been taught as we all have, Amos—riches are the reward of righteousness.”
God said He would bless those who obeyed His commands, making sure those who loved Him would have lives of abundance. Amos’s father had taught him that meant a fine home, flocks and herds, orchards of fruit trees, olive trees, a vineyard, and lots of children. The priests had all of these things and more, and his father and brothers were working hard toward the same end. Should he question things he didn’t understand?
Confused, disheartened, he fought against the thoughts that raced through his mind.
When his father stood, Amos did also. Tunics girded, sandals on their feet, they ate the Passover meal standing in memory of God’s deliverance of the Hebrews from Egypt.
Where is God now? Amos wondered.
“Eat, Amos.”
“I’m not hungry.”
His father dipped unleavened bread into the salt water that represented the tears the Hebrews shed while slaves in Egypt. Everyone ate in silence. When the meal was over, Amos’s father, Ahiam, and Bani sat while Levona and Mishala cleared the table and the children went into another room to play.
Ahiam glared at nothing, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Bani sat with head down.
Amos’s father cleared his throat and turned to Amos. “It is time you understand what we do. You must know the whole story to understand.”
Amos’s heart began to beat loudly.
“Your great-grandfather fell into debt. It was a time of war, and the priests levied higher fines on guilt and sin offerings to raise money for the army. Grandfather paid what he could, but each year, the interest increased and debt grew rather than diminished. When he died, my father continued to pay on the debt. By then, we owed so much that there was no hope of ever paying it off. When my father died, the debt fell to me. Heled came to me in Tekoa and offered me a way to pay off our family disgrace. Because I did not want it to fall upon your brothers or you or any of your children, I agreed.”
Ahiam’s eyes darkened. “If Father had not agreed, we would all be slaves. Do you understand now, little brother?”
“There is no reason to take your anger out on him, Ahiam.” His father put a hand on Amos’s shoulder. “Heled hired us to tend the flocks of lambs that were brought as gifts for God.”
Amos’s stomach churned. “So the priests take the perfect lambs intended for God and give them to us to tend, and they give the weaker ones to people to sacr
ifice at the Temple.”
His father’s hand fell away. No one spoke.
“Yes,” Ahiam said finally. “Yes, that’s exactly what we do. Because we have no choice.”
It was all becoming clear to Amos. He shuddered as he thought aloud. “So the priests keep the perfect lambs. They will produce valuable wool year after year. Then they force the people to buy imperfect lambs to sacrifice, so they make money that way too.” He looked up at his father. “And on top of all that, they make the people pay a fine for the exchange!” Why weren’t his father and brothers as outraged as he was?
Bani leaned his arms on the table and clasped his hands. “We have our inheritance back, Amos, the land that God gave our fathers who came across the Jordan River.”
“The debt is almost clear,” his father added quietly. “By the time you are sixteen, it will be paid off.”
Ahiam stood and turned his back.
Bani glanced up at Ahiam and then spoke softly. “They are priests, Amos. We dare not question them. Do you understand?”
“We serve the Lord!” Ahiam said loudly. “We tend the Temple flocks. There is honor in that.”
Honor? Amos hung his head. We’re stealing from God. Tears burned his eyes.
Their father rose and left the room.
Bani sighed. “Father had no choice. None of us have a choice.”
“We’re not the only ones,” Ahiam said. He met Amos’s eyes, face hard. “It’s been done for as long as I can remember.”
“Do all the priests do the same thing?”
“Not all,” Bani said.
Ahiam snorted. “But you don’t hear them saying anything against those who do. God gave the tribe of Judah the scepter, but he gave the Levites the priesthood. And that’s where the real power is. They can interpret the Law any way they want. They even add to it on a daily basis. They use it to squeeze the people for as much as they want. Better we stand with them than against them.”
“When you’re a little older, you’ll be free of all this, Amos.” Their father had come back into the room. “By the time you’re a man, we will be done with it.”
“We live better now than we did before our agreement with Heled,” Ahiam said, but his eyes were dark with bitterness.
Anger grew inside Amos. “It’s not right what the priests did to you, Father. It’s not right!”
“No, it isn’t. But we adjust to the way things are, my son. And they have been this way for a long, long time.”
Shaken, Amos was left to wonder whether God was truly holy. Was He truly just? If so, why did He allow these things to go on in His own Temple? Why would a righteous, holy God reward corrupt, scheming men who misused His Name?
The revelations of that night had sowed seeds of anger that sent shoots of bitterness into Amos’s heart. From that day on, Amos hated the required visits to Jerusalem. He paid no more attention to the priests and what they said, focusing instead on visiting his brothers, their wives and children. He gave the offerings required by Law only because they were necessary for business. Amos always chose the best lamb and sought out a priest who examined the animal properly. He did it to save the fine, rather than to please God.
In his mind, it was a small rebellion, a way of getting back at Heled without risking retaliation against his father.
These days, he didn’t think about God anymore. With all he had seen around the Temple pens, he believed God had forgotten about them, and all the rituals were to profit men rather than to honor a silent monarch who reigned so far up in the heavens. Did God see? Did God hear? Did He care what went on in His own Temple?
Amos’s father had not lived long enough to see the family debt paid off. Long after he was buried, Bani and Ahiam continued to work for the priests at the stalls in Jerusalem. Years of habit, convenience, and prosperity choked honesty. Amos remained among the shepherds of Tekoa, tending his flock of goats and sheep.
He felt at peace in the hills and dales of Judah, alone with his sheep. Each year, he had grown less able to tolerate the busy streets of Jerusalem—the chattering crowds, shouting street vendors, and arguing scribes. Relieved when his obligations were completed, he would eagerly depart the confines of those great walls, returning to the open fields where the sun blazed and the wind blew, where he could breathe fresh air again.
Life was not easy, but it was simple without the intrigues, coercion, or pressures he knew his brothers lived with on a daily basis. They had spent so many years in the stalls, tending corralled animals and dealing with Heled and others like him, that they knew no other way to live. They had become merchants, accustomed to trade, and did not see the result of their labors in the same way Amos did. They did not stand in the Temple, full of questions, angry and anguished.
Amos hated seeing humble men with barely enough to live on cheated by priests who grew richer each year. Men came to pray and instead found themselves preyed upon. Maybe God didn’t know what went on in His Temple. Maybe He didn’t care.
“You hardly speak, little brother. You have lived too long with your sheep. You’ve forgotten how to be among men.”
“I have nothing to say.” Nothing anyone would want to hear.
Amos had earned enough from his flock to plant a few olive trees and a vineyard. In time he had hired servants. They received a share of the crops as payment for overseeing the vineyard, the olive trees, and the small fields of wheat and barley.
Amos did not have a wife, nor any desire to find one. He was too busy working near Jericho for grazing rights, tending his growing flock, and pruning and incising the fruit of his sycamore trees. He kept what he needed and sold the rest as cattle fodder. At least, he was free now. Free of Heled’s hold, free to make his own choices. He knew better, though, than to show disrespect—lest a fine be created to enslave him again.
As his flock had grown, Amos asked Bani and Ahiam to send their sons to help. “Within a few years, each will have a small flock of his own. What they do with it will be up to them.” But it was an opportunity to break free.
Bani sent Ithai, and Ahiam sent Elkanan, and Amos taught them all he knew about tending a flock. When he felt they were ready to be sent out alone, he gave them each a ram and ten ewes with which to start.
“Whatever increase comes shall be yours.” Maybe they would take to the life as he did and not follow in the ways of their fathers.
He knew little of what happened in the kingdom while he tended his flock, but when he made his pilgrimages to Jerusalem, his brothers told him what they had heard during the months he had been in distant pastures.
Judah was prospering under King Uzziah’s rule, though relations with the ten tribes of Israel were still hostile. The tribes that had broken away from Solomon’s foolish son continued to worship the golden calves in Bethel and Dan. Jeroboam II now ruled, and Samaria had become a great city a mere two-day journey from Jerusalem. King Jeroboam had taken back lost lands and cities from Lebo-hamath to the Dead Sea, expanding Israel’s boundaries to those from the time of King David and King Solomon. In a bold move to gain more power, he captured Gilead, Lo-debar, and Karnaim, all important fortress cities along the King’s Highway, thus controlling the major trade route from the Tigris-Euphrates river valley to the Gulf of Aqaba and Egypt. Trade now flourished with the safe passage of caravans from Gabal and Syria to the north and Egypt and Arabia to the south.
From boyhood, Amos had witnessed King Uzziah’s work going on throughout Judah. The king mended Judah’s defenses, reorganized and better equipped his army, built towers in Jerusalem at the Corner Gate and the Valley Gate, and fortified the buttresses. He had also built towers in the wilderness to keep watch over the Philistines and Edomites. Work crews made cisterns so that there would be water wherever the army moved. When Uzziah went to war against the Philistines, he triumphed and tore down the walls of Gath, Jabneh, and Ashdod. Slaves now bent to the task of rebuilding fortress cities that would guard the trade route called the Way of the Sea.
Amos’s
home, Tekoa, was only seven miles from Jerusalem, but far enough away for him to turn his mind to his own endeavors. Amos saw the changes in Jerusalem and in the countryside as he moved his flock from one pasture to another, but he spent little time contemplating the ways of kings and nations. What use in leaning on his own understanding when he had none? Why trouble his mind with matters over which he had no control? Could he change anything that happened in Judah, let alone Assyria or Egypt or Israel, for that matter? No! While his brothers praised Uzziah or fretted over the threat of enemies, Amos concentrated on his sheep. He brought tithes and offerings to the priests, visited briefly with his brothers and their families, and then returned to Tekoa, then out into the pasturelands with his flock. He felt at home there.
Out in the open with his sheep, he felt free, even though he knew that freedom could be easily stripped from him. Out in the open Amos could believe in God. In Jerusalem, seeing and hearing the priests living any way they chose while claiming to represent God, Amos grew disheartened. Why study the Law when the priests could add to it any day they pleased? And then there were the traditions to add an even greater burden! He preferred a few select psalms written by David, a king who had grown up as a shepherd. David had understood the pleasures of walking over the land, tending his sheep, sleeping under stars scattered across the night sky.
Sometimes, when the sheep were restless or disturbed, Amos would play his zamoora, the reed flute he’d made, or sing psalms to comfort them.
Each time he ventured inside the walls of Jerusalem, he tucked away his uneasy faith, lest a priestly heel crush it. Private, protected, precious, he kept it hidden.
And it grew in ways he did not expect.
“Come, sheep!” Amos called as he headed for the fold he had made last year. The sheep came in a rush, clustering and following close behind him. He opened the gate and used his rod to separate the goats into another area, then checked each sheep carefully for injury or hint of illness.
He stretched out across the entrance while the sheep slept safely in the fold. Amos would awaken at the slightest change. He knew the sound of every insect species and listened for predators. When a wolf howled from a distant hilltop, he sat up. A lamb bleated. “Be still. I am here.”