Sons of Encouragement

by Francine Rivers

  The man’s fingers fumbled over the coin as he declared his thanks.

  As Amos went up the steps, he watched priests take gifts of money and tuck them into their personal purses. One put his hand out as Amos came level with him. Amos looked at him in contempt.

  The priest stiffened. “Those who do not give to god cannot expect blessing.”

  “I will not receive a blessing from your god.” Amos started to walk by.

  “Indeed not if you are so ungracious and ungrateful. You will have a curse on your head. . . .”

  Pausing, Amos turned and gazed deeply into the man’s eyes. “Woe to you, false priest. You already live under a curse of your own making.” Turning his back on him, Amos walked into the temple.

  He moved with the others, watchful, taking in everything. Were men so eager to be fleeced? Amos went as far as the inner corridor and stood aside. Leaning on his staff, he watched and listened to men and women murmuring incoherently as they moved forward, intent upon seeing the golden calf in which they placed their hope. Some carried small woven prayer rugs that they unrolled and knelt upon in comfort. They raised their hands and bowed in adoration before the horned altar. They sang songs of praise. Priests waved incense burners. The streaks of cloying gray smoke made a cloud over the worshipers held there by a fog of lies.

  And there stood their god in all its glory. Did these people really believe that bloodless empty statue could answer prayers?

  So it seemed.

  These Israelite brothers no longer knew the difference between righteousness and blasphemy. How was it possible to put such ardent faith in that great hunk of hollow gold, molded and shaped by a man? That calf couldn’t help itself, let alone do anything for them! Men without God put their trust in a spider’s web, not even knowing they had been captured and bound. Everything these people counted upon to keep them safe would fall, pulling them down with it.

  Musicians strummed lyres and kinnors. Priests chanted.

  A woman rushed tearfully to her husband, displaying a talisman sold to her by a priest. “He says we will have a child. . . .”

  A man, sallow and gaunt, had paid for a spell to be cast so that he would be healed of his troubles.

  Amos followed a father and son out of the temple. “I’ve already put in my request, Son. You will be well pleased with the one I have chosen. Since it is your birthday, you will go first, and I will wait my turn.”

  When they went into another building next door, Amos followed. As he entered the door, he heard laughter. Men and women lounged in a room off to his right. Someone strummed a lyre.

  A girl dressed in finery, her dark eyes made up with Egyptian kohl, rose to greet him. Her smile did not reach her eyes. “Come with me.” Bells tinkled as she walked.

  Amos didn’t move. “What is this place?”

  She turned and stared at him. “The temple brothel.” When her expression became curious, it was the first sign of life in her face. “Do you prefer boys?”

  “Boys?”

  She shrugged. “Some do.”

  Amos left the house quickly. He crossed the courtyard and stood in the shadows of a temple wall. A vision came back: the screams of the dying, the smoke, bodies sprawled in the streets. Leaning heavily on his staff, he bowed his head. Now, Lord? Do I speak now?

  God did not answer.

  Amos sat on the temple steps and waited. All around him, people hurried to sin, laughing as they went. The wealthy pushed past the impoverished. If they paused at all, it was to mock rather than show pity.

  How had Israel sunk to this? Did it go back to the days of Solomon when that great king of supposed wisdom had allowed his wives and concubines to turn his heart from God? The Lord had used the foreman of Solomon’s workforce to break the kingdom in two. The king’s spies had told him a prophet foretold Jeroboam as ruler over ten of the twelve tribes. Rather than heed God’s warning and repent, Solomon attempted to kill Jeroboam.

  Escaping to Egypt, Jeroboam waited until the king’s death and then returned to make his move for power. He asked Rehoboam, Solomon’s son, now king, to lighten the workload upon the people.

  God knew the pride of men, but still gave them opportunity to repent. Wise counselors surrounded Rehoboam and gave him sound advice. Rehoboam refused to listen, preferring instead the witless counsel of spoiled, arrogant young men who told him he would be greater even than the great King Solomon.

  King Solomon had loved women more than God. His desire to please them led the people astray, for one wife wanted an altar for the pagan god Chemosh, another bowed down to the detestable idol of Moab, and others worshiped Molech, the idol of Ammon, on the mountain east of Jerusalem. Solomon was even led to worship Ashtoreth, the goddess of the Sidonians, and Milcom of the Ammonites.

  How could a man reputed to be the wisest on earth have been so foolish?

  King Rehoboam attempted to show his authority by sending a servant to call the people back to work. When the servant was stoned to death, Rehoboam fled to Jerusalem. He rallied the tribes of Judah and Benjamin and called up warriors to go to war, but the Lord sent word through His prophet to stop what he was doing. “Do not go to war against your brothers!” This time, Rehoboam listened and repented. Any man who fought against God was destined to lose, and he wanted to retain the power he had. He stayed in Jerusalem and ruled over Judah and Benjamin, expecting the other ten tribes to return. After all, the Lord required them to come three times a year to Jerusalem to worship, and the Levites would draw them back to God—and to the rightful king.

  Jeroboam knew the risks. He had no trust in God even though the Lord had given him the ten tribes. He made his own plans and gave the Israelites the god their ancestors had worshiped in Egypt—a golden calf. Hadn’t the tribes wanted to return to Egypt? Hadn’t they always been tempted to follow the ways of the other nations? Even Aaron, brother of the great lawgiver Moses, had made a golden calf. Jeroboam gave them two and placed them in cities where God had spoken to the patriarchs—Bethel and Dan.

  “Here are your gods, Israel!”

  The people rejoiced and flocked to worship the golden calves.

  Jeroboam’s religion grew so rapidly and prospered so greatly he set up golden calves and goats in Gilgal and Beersheba. He built palaces on “watch mountain,” Samaria, his capital. Shrines sprung up like poisonous plants throughout the territories. He silenced all protests by abolishing the Levitical priesthood established by God. The new priesthood did as the king wanted, raking in proceeds from the royal sanctuaries.

  Jeroboam’s cunning plan worked. Men wanted ease, after all, not hard work. Ah, yes, why not worship idols? A man would have immediate pleasure with temple prostitutes. Sin would be approved. No one need consider what is right or wrong. Live for yourselves. Go ahead: lie, cheat, steal—everyone is doing it—as long as you give the king his share of the offerings! Why serve a holy God who demanded you follow the Law, when other gods would allow you to wallow in self-gratification? People rejected truth and gulped down lies, turning their backs on the loving, merciful God who provided their every need. Instead, they followed a king who ruled over them as he pleased.

  Shall I speak here, Lord? Shall I speak now against all I see?

  Still, God did not answer.

  Frustration filled Amos. His anger grew the longer he waited. Sin stood upon the altar, and the people praised it! Bethel, once a holy place, now a city of blasphemy! He could not bear to listen to the priests calling the people into that foul temple for worship. Turning away, he pushed through the crowd. “Let me through!” he cried out, eager to make his way off the temple mount and down the thronged street.

  Only after he left the city behind did he feel he could breathe again.

  He gave a cry of pent-up emotion and went out into the hills. Jerusalem was bad enough, but now he saw this place! He spread his arms and roared, “Israel! Israel!” The ten tribes wallowed in sin and did not even recognize it. He paced and circled, muttering to himself. Finally, h
e sank down and tried to plead. “Lord . . . Lord . . .”

  A glorious sunset crossed the western sky. The tinkle of bells made him raise his head. A shepherd led his sheep across a field toward home.

  Amos held his head in his hands. “Send me home, Lord. Let me prophesy to Your people in Judah and Benjamin. Please, Lord.”

  No answer came.

  Amos wept.

  Amos wandered the city of Bethel each day, waiting for the Lord to tell him to speak. On the temple mount, he smelled the stench of incense the priests offered, heard their chants and songs. Along streets and in markets, the wealthy used their power to take whatever they wanted from lesser people, parading their finery and privilege before those they cheated.

  Sometimes he’d stand in the shadows of a gate and listen to the elders turn laws to their own favor and strip the poor of what little they had. One judge took the robe from a poor man and handed it over to a merchant for a jug of wine. Another took an unfortunate’s sandals as pledge for a debt, and had not even a grimace of guilt as the man hobbled away to work in a rock quarry.

  Shaking with rage, Amos turned away and headed up the hill. He heard shouts of greeting and looked back. A delegation approached.

  Holy fire poured into Amos’s veins as God spoke to him. He strode down the hill and extended his staff, pointing at them as the Lord spoke through him. “This is what the Lord says: ‘The people of Damascus have sinned again and again, and I will not let them go unpunished!’”

  Amos’s voice rose above the din of the crowd, echoing in the narrow street. “‘They beat down My people in Gilead as grain is threshed with iron sledges. So I will send down fire on King Hazael’s palace, and the fortresses of King Ben-hadad will be destroyed. I will break down the gates of Damascus and slaughter the people in the valley of Aven. I will destroy the ruler in Beth-eden, and the people of Aram will go as captives to Kir,’ says the Lord.”

  “Who is this beggar who speaks insults?” Faces red with consternation, the Assyrians protested loudly. “Is this the way Ben-hadad’s servants are greeted when they come in peace?”

  Amos came on. “You speak of peace, but war is in your hearts.”

  “Be careful what you say. You may find your head on a pole!”

  “Go back to Damascus!”

  The people moved away from Amos, staring, as he cried out, “Go and tell your king what the Lord God has said! Get out of here!”

  People whispered and then began talking. Some called out. Soon, the street was full as people surrounded Amos. Heart pounding, he shouted and raised his staff again. The people let him pass as he strode down the street. He was eager to get away from this place, away from them.

  They called out questions. He didn’t answer.

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He looks like a shepherd.”

  “But did you hear him speak!”

  “Just a madman talking.”

  “I’ve never heard a man speak with such authority. Have you?”

  The Lord’s judgment excited them. Hadn’t he felt the same? “Let it come, Lord! Let it come.”

  People shouted from all directions.

  “Did you hear what the prophet said?”

  “Damascus in ruins!”

  “That’s a sight I’d like to see.”

  When it had to do with judgment upon their enemies, why wouldn’t they celebrate? Why not cheer and shout? The Lord had given them words to savor, visions to delight. They listened to His Words.

  Would they keep listening?

  Amos ducked down a side street.

  “Where is he going?”

  “Prophet! Wait! Give us another prophecy.”

  Amos remembered other visions the Lord had shown him and ran. Now was not the time. He must wait upon the Lord. He must wait! Some gave chase. Turning down another street and then another, Amos left them behind. Out of breath, his body shook violently. Emotions warred within him—wrath that made him grind his teeth and groan, anguish that brought a torrent of tears. “Lord, Lord!”

  The wave of emotion crested and ebbed, leaving him drained. He sank against the wall, squatting on his heels. His staff clattered to the packed ground. Still panting, he rested his arms on his raised knees and bowed his head.

  A door opened, and a woman stood staring at him. When he met her gaze, she stepped inside and closed the door.

  Children played in the street.

  A bird chirped from a sprig of hyssop growing from a high wall.

  A man and woman argued across the way.

  Tensing at the sound of running feet, Amos stood. Shouts and curses. Excited laughter. Youths ran past. One spilled a few coins. Their sandals echoed as an angry man came tearing around the corner, pausing long enough to snatch up the dropped coins and take after them again.

  A lattice window opened above him. Amos looked up as a woman leaned out. Dressed in an expensive Babylonian robe, she sipped from a silver goblet. “What are you doing down there?” Not waiting for an answer, she disappeared and a servant appeared at the window and dumped a bowlful of something. Amos barely managed to evade being covered by household slops. The wealthy woman leaned out again and laughed at him.

  Amos found his way to the main gate. A man recognized him and whispered to the elders. He did not stay long enough for anyone to detain him.

  Amos found a small cave in the hills where he could spend the night. The next morning, he waited and prayed until God impelled him to return to Bethel where, as soon as he entered the gate, he heard the buzz of whispers.

  “He’s back! The prophet is back.”

  A young man pressed through the crowd and ran up the street. No one tried to stop Amos or ask questions when he passed through the gate and entered into the city. People followed him to the temple mount and then stood watching, talking behind their hands to one another, eyes eager. He sat on the lowest step of the temple and waited. Someone put a plate down in front of him, and people began putting coins into it. Angry, he kicked it away. With a collective gasp, they drew back and stared. Some quickly retrieved the coins they had offered.

  “The priests are coming. . . .”

  “The priests . . .”

  The young man who had run from the gate came down the steps with two priests. Amos did not stand for them. They murmured to one another and then stood between him and the people.

  The taller priest spoke quietly. “You stirred the people yesterday with your prophecy against Damascus.”

  Some people edged closer, faces rapt and eager.

  Amos looked from them to the priests. He rested his staff across his knees. “These people are easily stirred.”

  “We would like to talk with you, Prophet, hear what you have to say.” The tall priest glanced pointedly toward the men and women closing in. “Perhaps you prefer somewhere more private.”

  “Ask what you will here and now, though I probably will not be able to answer.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Amos.” He had never given much thought to his name, but now he wondered if God had caused his parents to give it to him: “burden bearer.” His heart was truly burdened with the task God had given him, burdened even more by the visions he carried in his mind.

  “And your village?”

  “Tekoa.”

  People whispered, murmured.

  “You are Judean.”

  “Yes, and God has called me here to speak His Word.”

  “What else would God have you say to us?”

  “I speak in His time, not mine.”

  “Your prophecy against Damascus is well received. We all gave thanks to God yesterday. We would have invited you to speak again, but you disappeared. Where did you go?”

  “Out into the hills.”

  “You should have shelter.”

  “The Lord is my shelter.”

  “Come, Prophet. Join us inside the temple. We have room for you here. We will worship together.”

&n
bsp; Heat filled Amos’s face. He had no intention of being drawn inside that vile place. “I will come and sit here and wait upon the Lord.”

  Dark eyes glinted, smooth words were murmured. “As you wish.” They bowed in respect and went back up the steps. The man who had reported Amos’s arrival remained outside. He insinuated himself among the watchers. Two temple guards came down and took positions. Amos smiled faintly.

  The morning passed slowly. People drifted away. When Amos was thirsty, he lifted his skin of water to his lips. When he was hungry, he took grain and raisins from his scrip.

  The guards sought shade. Others came to take their place.

  Amos left as the sun was setting, but he returned the next day and the next, and the next after that. His tongue felt like a weight in his mouth. Day after day, he watched the people of Bethel live their lives, cheat one another, seek the solace of prostitutes, and give their offerings to idols. He waited and prayed. And people forgot about him.

  When he came one morning, Philistines stood in the gate. Backs straight, heads high, they spoke to the elders who deferred to them nervously.

  Fire flooded Amos’s blood, and the quickening of the Holy Spirit took hold.

  “This is what the Lord says.” He strode toward them. “The people of Gaza have sinned again and again, and I will not let them go unpunished! They sent whole villages into exile, selling them as slaves to Edom. So I will send down fire on the walls of Gaza, and all its fortresses will be destroyed.”

  Fury spread across the faces of the Philistines. Two drew swords.

  Amos blocked one with his club and used his staff to yank the other man around and pitch him to the ground. Swords clattered on the stones. When the fallen warrior tried to rise, Amos slammed his heel on his back. He sent the other crashing against a wall.

  “This is what the Lord says!” His voice thundered in the gate. “I will slaughter the people of Ashdod and destroy the king of Ashkelon. Then I will turn to attack Ekron, and the few Philistines still left will be killed.” He lifted his foot and stepped back so the fallen man could scramble to his feet. “Go back!” He drove them from the gate. “Go and take the Word of the Lord with you to your king.”