The Jerusalem Experiment

Amos 5:21-24

I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them, and the peace offerings of your fattened animals, I will not look upon them. Take way from me the noise of your songs; to the melody of your harps I will not listen. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

Prior to last week I considered myself a runner. Minnesota provides the ideal conditions for athletic naivety: namely, it’s flat, making most everyone feel athletic. Last week my friend Paul and I ran the seven miles to Bethlehem and back. I can’t remember a single stretch along the entire route where I wasn’t either praying that God would grant my burning calves the strength to carry me up the massive hill looming in front of me, or praising God for the bliss of being able to finally breathe again. Every hill crest worked like the rubber mallet doctors use to test reflexes: Reaching the top, the mallet struck, and I involuntarily went down the other side.

Authentic spiritual pays attention to topography while remaining obedient to the force of gravity. What goes up must come down. As we seek the face of the God who made us, we ought to be convinced that He seeks to ruin, redeem and rebuild our lives. And so we tread lightly, up limestone streets, shoulder-to-shoulder with our fellow wounded-healers. We reach the golden steps that lead us into the presence of God, legs heavy, lungs gasping, and hearts broken. We ascend to worship, but what goes up must come down.

The journey from The City of David to the Temple Mount is about 500 yards–straight up hill. The contrite would walk across stone courtyards, carrying spotless lambs across their shoulders: an offering to make bring back together what sin has torn apart. And God is faithful:

…And the priest shall make atonement for him with the ram of the guilt offering, and he shall be forgiven (Lev. 5:16).

For a thousand years, the followers of YHWH recognized that the ascent to worship God carried with it grave implications,

and you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation… (Ex. 19:6)

Eventually the sacrifice would be consumed by fire, atonement would be made, and the reconciled one would return to their homes. But to what end?

When religion becomes an end itself, God is robbed of His glory. When we lift our hands to God but close our eyes the need around us, need which ought to be met as an implication of our worship, the means through which God longs to reveal His heart for our creation (namely, our frail flesh and fleeting lives) is rendered unavailable.

The prophet Amos shows up during a time of relative prosperity in both Judah (the southern kingdom of Israelites) and Israel (the northern kingdom). Amos was a Judean whom God called to compel those living in the North to change their ways. Jews had perfected the art of public piety, but when feasts and offerings, plucked harp strings and solemn assemblies don’t translate to fed mouths and the silencing of accusations, something has gone wrong.

Take away from me the noise of your songs; to the melody of your harps I will not listen. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream (Amos 5:23-24).

A sojourning Moabite family crosses the Jordan River in hopes of finding relief from their hunger pains. The winter rains forsook their land and, having heard whispers of prosperity from the West, in Jerusalem, the family begins a treacherous journey. Arriving in the Holy City a few days later, they witness the extravagance with which this God, the LORD, is worshiped. “Surely this is a great God who cares for his people. Surely this the God who will care for us,” the husband says to his wife. Entering one of the city’s gates, the Moabite begins to implore the citizens, “Please, give us shelter.”

For I know how many are your transgressions and how great are your sins–you who afflict the righteous, who take a bribe, who turn aside the needy at the gate (Amos 5:12).

Nothing.

When we respond to God’s grace in a way that is contrary to His nature:

The LORD is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love… (Num. 14:18).

We point the uninformed to a god that doesn’t exist. We blasphemy, perpetuating the human propensity to paint a picture of a god who is disinterested with and disconnected from our lives. Amos aims to clear things up, informing the ancient Israelites that with the same conviction one would ascend up to the Temple, one ought to return to their communities below–like a flood of justice.

Which of course begs the question: Are our communities sincerely different in light of our worship. When we walk back down that hill after raising our hands, lifting our voices and opening our ears to the Word of God, are the foaming waters of roaring justice sweeping at our heels…or are we walking on flat ground? Is God rightly proclaimed through the way in which we love the broken?

God, let justice roll down.