The Invitation May Bite
I knew more about my parent’s cat Amos than the prophet by the same name. When I started to listen to Amos’ message from a Lord that roars like a lion (Amos 3:8), I considered flipping to passages where Jesus points out wildflowers and blesses babies. Israel’s sin in the book of Amos seemed worse than mine and the judgment warnings inapplicable at this point of salvation history. The thing about roars is that they are hard to mute. Even the deaf feel its vibrations. As with every page of our Bible, the book of Amos still roars to us today. If we lay ourselves down in front of the Lion, instead of being destroyed we’ll find healing and a home with the family of God that’s better than our wildest dreams.
We have more in common with Israel during Amos’ day than we might think. Their king Jeroboam II had ushered them into military success and spiritual poverty. His lopsided leadership left them materially wealthy and identity amnesiac. The Israelites were living at ease with sin and comfortable though far-away from God. Not just any God, their God. The one who delivered their forefathers from Egypt’s cruel bondage with bloody rivers and fallen firstborns. Those called to shine like the stars in the night sky around their father Abraham instead looked identical to their neighbors, leaving the Lord to lament, “Are you not like the Cushites to me, O people of Israel?” (Amos 9:7)
Is forgetfulness and worldliness so bad the Lord must pursue his people like the prized predator of the jungle? Apparently so, for the Lord asks in Amos 3:4, “Does a lion roar in the forest when he has no prey?”
Amos’ audience includes me. I’m back in the States for a season and not in the role overseas that keeps me spiritually alert. There, I see the war. I am all weakness, groping in the dark for the Light of the World. I must have Him. Nothing less will do. I guess that’s true here, too, but I seem to survive well-enough on fast food, church socials, and mall walking. At some point, I ditched the muddy war boots at the door and replaced them with slippers not made to leave home. In the good name of rest, I stop seeing others. I stop seeing the Lord.
I’m no longer a warrior, but shopping for affordable anti-aging cream and walking through grocery stores as blind and frazzled as my neighbor. I’m prayerless and preoccupied. This is just resting, I tell myself. I don’t see that I’m unhinged, disconnected. My resting is actually saying devilish things like, “God, you are a duty” or “You ask too much” or “I deserve more than you give.” I walk miles away from the Lord in my slippers and forget who I am and where I belong.
Amos nine has good news for the slipper-clad who have lost sight of home. We don’t have to find him; he pursues us. In Amos nine, the Lord chooses the altar of Bethel to address his people’s sin. He speaks from their most protected high place. He moves into our hideouts covered in caution-tape. The Lion of Judah is not after better behavior, but goes for the jugular of our hearts.
His pursuit is not without pain. A lion doesn’t prance. And neither will the Lord when his people are playing make-believe on hell’s doormat. In Amos nine, the Lord upsets Israel’s altar at Bethel much like Jesus threw down the sellers’ tables inside the temple of Jerusalem. The security of Israel is now shattered on their heads (Amos 9:1). They can’t get away from the mess they’ve made, even if they try. The Lord predicts their attempts to fly far away in Amos 9:2–4. However, no mountain or pit can hide us from the one who declared, “Let there be light.” (Gen 1:3)
He shakes his people “with a sieve” (Amos 9:9) in order to “raise up the booth of David that is fallen.” (Amos 9:11) The Lord speaks of rebuilding, restoring, raising up, and repairing Israel. It’s not only attractive alliteration, it’s what we most desire. Why else do we stay tuned for the big reveal of home renovations, fashion makeovers, and rom coms where the nerd takes off her glasses and gasp, the beauty! If not shaken from our sin, we will suppress the splendor to come.
We all “faint for thirst” (Amos 8:13) without the mercy of the lion. He alone can lead us to the mountains that “drip sweet wine.” (Amos 9:13) Who doesn’t want to leave the hooks that exiled us (Amos 4:2), the sackcloth and baldness? (Amos 8:10) The lion inside Amos may terrify us, but doesn’t the alternative sound far worse? If we submit to his roars, we’ll be led to gardens instead of the grave. (Amos 9:14)
I take my time on the illustrations inside the children’s book The Relatives Came by Cynthia Rylant. After a long drive over hill and valley, the relatives arrive and reunion commences. Pillowy aunts embrace nieces and nephews, cousins pick up right where they left off, and sisters cradle one anothers’ babies. Their ease and delight in one another allows for lazy naps sprawled on the grass and thick slices of pie. I read the book with a real ache, because our reunion is ahead, not yet. We will enter our Father’s house with “all the nations who are called by my name.” (Amos 9:12)
Listen to Amos if you desire to “never again be uprooted.” (Amos 9:15) Don’t reject when the Lord roars in the most sacred high places. If we submit, he will remove our ugly spectacles, wipe our tears, and fill our cups full. Listen and be remade with the people of God for, “‘Behold, the days are coming,’ declares the Lord.” (Amos 9:13)