Poured Out Justice

Amos 5:21-24

Rev. Monte Marshall

So we’re here to worship God, right?  We’ve made the effort to get ourselves out of bed on this Sunday morning, to get dressed, and to get ourselves down here from all across the city of San Antonio to worship God, right?  Did you know that even before we set foot in this place, a great deal of work was done to facilitate our worship of God?   I’m talking about weekly planning meetings, rehearsals for our musicians, the writing of liturgy, the production of bulletins, cleaning up the worship space, producing art for the altar and visuals for the screens, preparing sermons, setting up microphones, etc., etc., etc.  And what’s the point:  The worship of God, right? 

Come to think of it, a lot of money has been brought to this altar, offered up to God, and then spent over the past 133 years to provide this beautiful sanctuary.  This magnificent organ was installed to glorify God through music.  And a few of us here this morning, myself included, are actually paid to be here to help us do what we do.  And what’s the point:  The worship of God, right?

So given all of this, what in the world are we to do with this disturbing word from the prophet Amos about worship?  United Methodist Bishop Will Willimon—a former professor of worship at Duke Divinity School and Dean of Duke Chapel—notes that this morning’s text contains “some of the most terrifying, dislocating words in the Bible.”[1]  He underscores the shock value of this prophetic text by offering his own imaginative paraphrase:  “I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.  Bring your offerings up to the altar?  I will not accept them,…I will not look upon [them].  Take away from me the racket of your songs; to the melody of your pipe organs I will not listen.

“God says, Your worship makes me sick.  The smell of your offerings, your sweet incense rising into the rafters, nauseates me.  Your lovely four-part harmony hurts my ears.  Take it away![2]

“Go ahead, says God, sing your little songs—I don’t like your kind of music.  Preach your sermon, pray your prayers—my ears are closed.”

So what’s going on here?  Why is the prophet challenging the very thing that we’re doing this morning?

To get at this question, let’s set the context.  As one commentator notes, “The prophecy of Amos is a compilation of oracles whose editor links the prophecy to the reigns of Uzziah of Judah and Jeroboam II of Israel.”[3]  This situates Amos in the 8^th century BCE.   And yes, during this time period, God’s people are divided into two kingdoms:  the southern kingdom of Judah, and the northern kingdom of Israel. 

According to the narrative, Amos is not a professional prophet.  He’s a shepherd from Judah, called by God to go north and stir up prophetic trouble in Israel.    

Herbert Marbury, assistant professor of the Hebrew Bible at Vanderbilt Divinity School, finds significance in the name, Amos.  He notes that the name “is derived from a Hebrew verb meaning ‘to lift a burden.’”  Professor Marbury sees this name as “an interpretive key” that unlocks the social world of the prophet.  For example, Professor Marbury raises the question:  “[W]hat burdens in Amos’s social world provoked this young shepherd to abandon the only livelihood he knew, leave his home and family, and march defiantly to the nation’s capital in order to speak to power?  What burdens could have been so weighty, so pressing, as to compel this radical act?”[4]

Well, this is what we know about the social situation of Israel in the 8^th century BCE:  Israel was dominant over Judah economically, militarily and politically.  In fact, as Professor Marbury notes, “Israel enjoyed extraordinary political power and economic prosperity,” but “neither the power nor the economic resources were distributed equitably….On the contrary, wealth was concentrated in the hands of a few ruling elites who controlled the government.”  Wealth flowed “from the working, peasant class to support the luxurious lifestyle of a few politically powerful elites.”  In other words, “the rich became richer, and the poor became poorer.

“During the reign of Jeroboam II, an increasing number of people lost their jobs.  These people were squeezed out of the peasant class into a permanent underclass of ‘expendables,’ who found themselves in debt slavery and who had no claim to their own lives.  In this social context, only two to three percent of the population could afford the luxury of literacy, and higher education was the property of the privileged.  Furthermore, vast amounts of the nation’s resources that could have been allocated toward humanitarian concerns…were siphoned away to wage King Jeroboam’s ill-conceived war against Damascus—a war where Amos would see entire communities doomed to wholesale destruction.”  According to Professor Marbury, “These were Amos’s ‘burdens.’” [5]

But as his name indicates, Amos’s prophetic identity is found in lifting burdens.  Hence, Amos uses provocative poetry to launch a full scale, rhetorical assault upon the worship life of God’s people.  Amos makes it clear that as long as we refuse to address the injustices that burden our neighbors and ourselves, God simply will not be placated by our worship—no matter how “good” or “meaningful” or “uplifting” we may think our worship is.  Amos makes it clear that God will not excuse our complacency or our complicity with injustice simply because we show up for worship.    

Amos speaks to what God requires:  “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”  God’s will is for poured out justice rolling down and ever-flowing into our lives, into communities of faith like Travis Park United Methodist Church, and into the world with all of its systems of domination and oppression.  And get this:  Worship is no substitute for justice!  Come to think of it, didn’t Jesus teach us the same thing?

Now granted, we’re no longer living in 8^th century Israel; we’re living in 21^st century America.  So consider the social world in which we live.  Our nation’s power and prosperity are unmatched in human history.  But the burdens of countless injustices are still afflicting the poor and the vulnerable among us. 

So the question is still before us—and especially before those of us who worship God:  What are we doing for justice?  What are we doing to reverse the tide of income inequality in America and around the world?  What are we doing to ensure that our government is not unduly influenced by rich and powerful elites?  What are we doing to see that our nation’s resources are not disproportionately allocated to increase our military strength at the expense of the poor?  What are we doing to make our own lifestyles more just and compassionate?   What are we doing to include the excluded and the marginalized within our communities?

Now I thank God for all the work that our church does in providing food, clothing, and health care to our poor and homeless neighbors.  I’m grateful that those among us who are so often ignored, neglected or abused, often find some modicum of respect and dignity here among the people of Travis Park United Methodist Church.  I rejoice that opportunities for transformation in Christ are available here.    

But as grateful as I am for all of this, I also know that there are still deeper issues of justice to address—issues that get to the root causes of poverty and homelessness.  If justice is to roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream, then these deeper issues simply cannot be ignored.  So our time is required.  Our attention is required.  Our commitment is required.  And not just on Peace with Justice Sunday—but 365 days of the year!  After all, God’s not just looking for little puddles of justice, but for a mighty stream of water whose flow never ceases. 

I’m hopeful that our church council’s recent action to affiliate our congregation with a community organizing organization called the San Antonio Sponsoring Committee, will afford our congregation many opportunities in the future to unite with other institutions and communities of faith in our city to act on these deeper justice issues.

In fact, an opportunity is before us today.  Did you know that while we worship God this morning, there are women and children being held by the United States government in two family detention centers, one in Karnes City about 60 miles from San Antonio, and the other in Dilley about 80 miles from San Antonio?    

According to an immigration organization called Raices:  “Both of these facilities currently hold 500 individuals each, this amounts to about 226 family units at any given time.”[6]

Most of these women and children entered the United State illegally from the violence-plagued countries of El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala.  They came seeking asylum in our country.  But instead of finding safety here, and hospitality here, they have been re-traumatized.[7]

For example, in March, the women held in the Karnes facility released a statement announcing a hunger strike and a work stoppage.  The statement reads in part:  “In the name of the mothers, residents of the Center for Detention in Karnes City, we are writing this petition whereby we ask to be set free with our children.  There are mothers here who have been locked in this place for as long as 10 months.

“We have come to this country, with our children, seeking refugee status and we are being treated like delinquents.  We are not delinquents nor do we pose any threat to this country.

“The conditions, in which our children find themselves, are not good.  Our children are not eating well and every day they are losing weight.  Their health is deteriorating.  We know that any mother would do what we are doing for their children.

“We deserve to be treated with some dignity and that our rights, to the immigration process, be respected.

“This petition is signed by all the mothers, of this center, in detention.”[8]

By the way, the Karnes facility in particular has been at the center of many alleged scandals including reports of sexual abuse of women, lack of proper medical care, bonds set as high as $20,000, a law library that is empty, and forms that are provided in English only.[9]

If you want to know more about how to end family detentions, look to your newsletter under the heading:  Poured Out Justice:  Acting to End Family Detention.  I encourage you to act.  

So we’re here to worship God this morning, right?  But then along comes Amos, this prophet who comes to “lift a burden” with his full scale, rhetorical assault on the very thing that we’re doing!  He’s reminding us of what God requires—poured out justice.  Amos says it:  “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”  And didn’t Jesus teach us the same thing?  The question is:  How shall we respond?  And may God help us.  Amen.