Sons of Encouragement

by Francine Rivers

  The Sheep Gate stood open and still intact. Amos pressed his way through the throng and headed toward the Temple Mount. If he didn’t find Bani and Ahiam near their stalls, he would go to their homes.

  He spotted his brothers repairing a pen while young boys kept the nervous sheep contained. “Bani! Ahiam!” He ran and embraced each of them. “You are alive!” He drew back and looked them over. “You are not hurt?”

  “You’re shaking, little brother.” Bani took Amos by the arm and made him sit. Dipping a gourd cup into a barrel of water, he held it out.

  “I came as soon as I heard. . . .” Amos drank deeply. “Bethel was struck also. The damage is horrendous.” He wiped droplets of water from his beard.

  Ahiam looked up at the Temple. “God did this because King Uzziah sinned.”

  Amos raised his head. “Sinned? How?”

  “Three days ago, he went into the Temple with a censor in his hand and lit the incense.”

  It was a great sin, indeed, to usurp the privileges ordained by God to the priesthood. Had Uzziah attempted to take over the Temple and do things his own way just as Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, had done?

  Bani handed Amos another cup of water. “The priests were in an uproar trying to stop him.”

  Ahiam pointed. “I was over there when the king came up the hill. I knew something was happening, so I followed the entourage inside. Several of the priests met the king and argued with him.”

  “I heard the uproar from here. It sounded like a riot. I went running to see what was going on.”

  “Even the high priest couldn’t dissuade Uzziah,” Ahiam said. “The king intended to make a fragrant offering to the Lord, and no one was going to stop him.”

  “The minute he lit—”

  “Let me tell him!” Ahiam gave Bani a shove. “I was there, not you.”

  “So tell him!”

  Amos grew impatient. “One of you tell me; it matters not which.”

  Ahiam waved his hand. “The moment King Uzziah lit the incense, he was covered with leprosy. I’ve never heard a man scream like that. The judgment of the Lord was on him and he knew it! The priests rushed him out of the Temple.”

  “And then the earthquake started.”

  “Only minor damage to the Temple,” Ahiam said, “though I thought it would come down on our heads.”

  “Some areas of the city were hit hard. Hundreds are homeless.”

  “Your homes?”

  “Both need repair, but at least we still have roofs over our heads. And our wives and children are safe.”

  “Where is King Uzziah now?”

  “No one knows for sure. In seclusion. Somewhere outside the city, safe and guarded. His son, Jotham, brought guilt offerings yesterday and today.”

  “And the priests have been in constant prayer since it happened.”

  Ahiam straightened and went back to work fitting two rails together. “Our situation has changed over the past few days.”

  Somewhat rested, Amos stood and gave him a hand. “How do you mean?”

  Bani answered. “Heled was killed. Squashed like a bug under a fallen building.” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “At a money changer’s office.”

  Amos saw that fear of the Lord had taken root in Ahiam’s eyes. For Amos, it was a spark of hope in a sea of darkness. Let it grow, Lord. Let it flourish into awe and worship so that my brothers might not sin against You again. “God sees what men do. He knows their hearts.”

  “So you have said. Perhaps you should tell me again what you saw. I failed to listen last time you were here.”

  Amos did tell him. All day, they talked. When he went to Bani’s house, the family gathered. They listened, quiet and intent, grim-faced and with a fear that went deeper than what had been aroused by the earthquake.

  Amos awakened in the predawn hours. The clay lamp cast a soft glow. Ahiam sat silent, staring at him.

  Sitting up slowly, Amos looked back at him, and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Stay here, Amos. Stay in Jerusalem. Speak to our people about what the Lord has told you.”

  Amos shook his head. God had already sent a prophet to Jerusalem. “Listen to Isaiah. I must go where God called me to go.”

  Ahiam lowered his eyes. “If all you say is true . . .”

  “If?”

  Ahiam lifted his head. “A prophet is seldom recognized by his own family, Amos. You know how I’ve doubted you.” He grimaced. “Because you’re my brother. My younger brother. I’ve known you since you were a baby. You’ve always been hotheaded and opinionated. And now you—” he struggled for words—“you speak with authority. I believe you, Amos, but God help my unbelief.”

  “Nothing I’ve said has not been said before by God Himself. He made it known to us from the beginning. We’ve simply forgotten.” Amos shook his head. “No. Not forgotten. We rejected His Word. He told us of the blessings He would pour upon us if we followed Him. He also warned us of the cursings if we turned our backs on Him. It’s all there in the Scriptures.” Beeri had read them aloud to him. “Though the priests may speak little of it these days.”

  “Even where there was obedience, Amos, there was hardship.”

  “Of course. Life is hard. Knowing God makes a vast difference in how we live. Don’t you long to see that cloud overhead again? that pillar of fire that kept the darkness back?” How Amos longed for those days when there was physical evidence of God’s presence. But even then, men refused to believe. “When I have heard God’s voice speak to me, I have felt alive, Ahiam. Even when I have not rejoiced at the message I must carry, I rejoice that He still speaks to men, even simple shepherds like me.”

  “If you asked God, would He listen to your prayer? Would He let you stay here among your brethren?”

  “I did ask, Ahiam. I spent months out in the pastureland arguing and pleading with the Lord to take this burden from me.” He shook his head. “I must go back to Israel.”

  “But you’ve told them what will come! You’ve done what God sent you to do.”

  “They’ve yet to hear.”

  “You told them! If they refuse to listen, then their blood is on their own heads. I’ve heard about the way you were treated. They welcomed the judgments upon the nations around them. They even rejoiced when they heard Judah would be overrun by enemies. Has anything changed?”

  Amos shrugged. He had been popular for a while. He had drawn crowds until he told them what the Lord said about Israel. The priests had always watched him with jaundiced eyes, coveting the crowds who gathered to hear him speak. As long as the prophecies focused on the sins of the surrounding nations, they could say little against him without the people wondering why. But as soon as the Lord focused His judgment upon Israel, all restraints were removed. It had been easy to drive the frightened, angry flock back into the stall of the golden calf and serve them up to idol worship.

  “They didn’t listen, did they?” Ahiam challenged. “Not any more than I did.”

  “No. They didn’t. Perhaps the earthquake will open their eyes and ears as it has yours. Now is the time to speak. Now, before it’s too late.”

  “For how long, Amos?”

  “How long does it take to decide to turn back from destruction, Ahiam? One word from the Lord may be enough now to make them repent and trust in God again.”

  “One decision isn’t enough, Amos. Don’t you understand? They will hear you for a day, a week, maybe a month or two. But they must decide each day what they will do. Each and every day, from now on.”

  “What hope can they find in the protection of golden idols and pagan worship? It’s all smoke, Ahiam, sweet-smelling and deadly.”

  “They may not find truth, Amos, but they find pleasure. God has allotted seventy years to men—maybe more, maybe less. That’s not long on this earth. And you said yourself, life is difficult. They have shaken off the burden of the Law. They won’t easily shoulder it again.” He rose. “They will turn on you, Amos. They will tear you to piece
s like a pack of wolves.”

  “Yes. Or they may repent.”

  “Israel, Judah. We share the same blood. I believe you now, Amos, and yet, I don’t believe you. I want to believe God is the one who rules, but forty-five years in the shadow of the Temple has shown me how men work—men like Heled.”

  “Heled is dead. You’re free.”

  “Free of him. Free to wonder who will try to enslave me now.” Ahiam looked away, the muscle working in his jaw. “I can only hope to align myself with priests who fear the Lord.” He turned back to Amos. “As you did, Brother. As you taught Ithai and Elkanan. But there are precious few you can trust these days.”

  “More today than yesterday!” The earthquake would shake men’s souls.

  “Perhaps.” Ahiam gave him a tight smile. “Time will tell, won’t it?”

  Amos put on his outer robe. “I must go.”

  Ahiam grasped his arm. “Don’t. Stay here.” Tears filled his eyes. “Help us rebuild.”

  A surge of emotion swept through Amos. If he stayed, he would be disobeying God. The priests of Israel would not easily release their hold on the lost sheep they had rustled from God and now held captive with lies. Amos’s eyes grew hot and moist, for he knew Ahiam did not understand the spiritual battle that raged in Amos. He missed his family. He loved Judah. But Amos felt the stirring within his soul. The call to go back to Bethel. If he didn’t . . .

  “The safest place I can be is in the will of God, Ahiam.”

  “They will kill you.”

  “I can’t think about that. I must speak. I am compelled to do so. The Word burns in my soul like a consuming fire.” God cared passionately about His people. God fathered and mothered mankind, and yet His children wandered away in the wilderness. “I must call out to them, Ahiam.” God had sent him to call Israel home to Him, to warn them of punishment if they refused. For to keep going the way they were meant eternal death, separation from God for all time.

  Amos took up his belt, wound it around his waist, and tied it securely. “Do not make me question what God calls me to do.” He put on his sandals.

  Ahiam followed him out the door. “You’re my brother, Amos. We’ve had our differences, but . . . I love you.”

  An admission choked out and all the more precious. Amos embraced him tightly. “Better if you love God.” He took his staff and left.

  A cry went up from the watchtower as Amos came up the road to Bethel. “The prophet! The prophet returns!”

  He stopped when a dozen well-armed warriors poured out the gate. Heart in his throat, he clutched his staff. Did they intend to arrest him? Would they drag him into their temple this time, place him on trial, and execute him?

  The warriors took their places in two perfect lines on either side of the road, backs rigid, eyes straight ahead. The elders waited before the gate. Amos drew air into his lungs, straightened, and walked forward. He stopped, face-to-face with the judges and elders. A crowd gathered on the wall and behind the open gates.

  “You have returned to us.”

  He could not tell if they were pleased or dismayed, but the fear in their eyes was evident. “Yes. I have returned.” These people burdened his heart and mind.

  “Do you have more to tell us?”

  “I will speak only what the Lord gives me to speak.”

  They all began talking at once. They praised and pleaded, cajoled and flattered. Foolishly, they thought a prophet held the power to bring about natural disasters.

  He raised his hands. “Quiet! Listen to me. It is the Lord you should fear. Not I. I bring you His Word, but power rests in His hands!”

  “But will you be our advocate?” One of the judges came forward. “Will you plead for us before God?”

  He had not been called by God to be their advocate, but to warn them to repent, to tell them of what lay ahead if they did not. Though they slay him, he must speak the truth. Life and death lay before them; they must choose. “The eyes of the Lord watch over those who do right, and He hears their prayers.”

  “Will God leave us alone? Or does He intend to bring further disaster on us?”

  Amos looked around at the faces pressed close and waiting for his answer. “The Lord has told you what He will do if you don’t repent. He turns His face against those who do evil, and He will erase the memory of them from the earth.”

  A nervous twitter ran through the crowd. An elder spoke. “When you first came to us, all your prophecies were against our enemies. Why do you now turn against us? Why do you call down destruction upon a city devoted to worship?”

  Angry, Amos stepped toward the accuser. “I have spoken openly for two years, and you have not heard a word of what I’ve said!” He thrust out his staff, pointing up the street. “If that golden calf you love had any power at all, would it have been toppled from its altar?” People moved back from him as he searched their faces. “The Sovereign Lord never does anything until He reveals His plans to His servants the prophets. I have told you the Word of the Lord. If you listen, if you learn, if you turn your hearts and minds fully to the Lord your God, perhaps He will change His mind and withhold judgment.”

  “Then teach us,” someone called from the back. “I will listen.”

  “So will I!”

  “As will I!”

  So many spoke in quick agreement. Was their acquiescence a sign of repentance? Or were they merely attempting to mollify a prophet they mistakenly believed had the power to turn away God’s wrath?

  “I will tell you what the Lord says: My people have forgotten how to do right. Their fortresses are filled with wealth taken by theft and violence.” He saw the subtle change of expression in some of their faces: a stubborn tilt of chin, glittering eyes. The hint of rebellion stood all around him. He did not retreat. “You may fool me with your words. But do not think you can fool God. He sees your hearts and knows your inner thoughts. And He will judge you accordingly.”

  “Stop your shoving!” someone grumbled.

  A man in front of Amos lurched aside as someone behind him shoved forward. A diminutive man with a scruffy beard stepped up, ignoring the muttered curses directed at him. “It would be my honor if you would come with me, Prophet! I have a booth. You can share it with me.”

  “Get out of here, you little weasel, before we skin you and hang you up on a wall.”

  The little weasel did not retreat at rough handling. He fought the hands trying to pull him back and kicked one man in the shins while shouting at Amos. “What better place to present your case than in the marketplace? Everyone comes there!” Six to one was no match and he disappeared in the throng, trailed by threats of what might happen to a man who dared insult a prophet who could bring on an earthquake.

  The elders wanted Amos to talk only to them, but God’s message was for everyone.

  Amos looked over the crowd toward the little man. “What’s your name?”

  “Naharai ben Shagee,” the man called from the back of the crowd.

  The elders cast dark glances, but it did no good. Naharai’s head appeared for an instant at the back; first to the left and then to the right as he jumped up and down in an attempt to see over others’ heads.

  “Pay him no attention.”

  “He’s no one important.”

  Amos headed into the crowd. Men moved away from him, afraid, and then closed in behind, squabbling quietly about Naharai’s interruption. “Please, stay and talk with us.”

  Amos found Naharai. “About that booth.”

  Naharai grinned broadly. “It’s right in the middle of the market. A good spot. I will show you.” He cast a triumphant look at the men standing in the gate before leading Amos away. “I saw you in the marketplace a few times. You never bought anything.”

  “What do you sell?” Amos walked alongside him.

  “Sandals.” He looked down. “You look as though you need a new pair.”

  Amos cast him a baleful look. “Is it the Word of the Lord you hunger for, or my money?”
/>   “Both!”

  Surprised, Amos laughed. Here, Lord, is an honest man!

  One year passed into another, and then into another. The terror that came with the earthquake waned and people returned to their old ways. And still Amos kept on, teaching and preaching the Word of the Lord, praying constantly that the people would listen and repent.

  Every day, Amos taught from the scrolls Beeri had copied and given to him before leaving Bethel. He pored over them, prayed over them, and discussed the Law with anyone who came to him. The Israelites argued over every word of it, turning it this way and that, trying to get out from under the Law. They had wax in their ears and scales over their eyes. Or was it merely their lust for sin that made them deaf and blind to the clarity of God’s message?

  “Of all the nations and families on the earth,” Amos told his small gathering, “He chose us to be His people. The nations have witnessed what the Lord has done for us from the time He sent plagues upon Egypt and delivered us from slavery, then brought us into this land. More recently, the nations have seen how we have forgotten Him.”

  “You there, Naharai!” A merchant stood over Naharai, hands on hips. “You invited him here, and look how he draws my customers away with all his prattle about law and judgment.”

  “If your goods were worth anything, customers couldn’t be so easily drawn away!”

  “Rodent!” He reached for Naharai.

  Naharai evaded him easily, and shouted, “Ribai is a cheat! He mixes sand in with his grain.”

  Some altercation occurred every day, not always at Naharai’s booth, but somewhere in the chaos of the marketplace. Yesterday, it had been two women arguing over the price of melons and cucumbers. Today it was the merchant who often sold moldy grain to those who had the least money. Those who walked and talked in awe of their gods on the temple mount preyed on one another here, and Ribai was one of the worst.

  Amos rose when Ribai caught hold of Naharai. He used the crook of his staff to prevent a fist from landing.

  The merchant swung around, face flushed. “Stay out of it, Prophet.”

  “Those who shut their eyes to the cries of the poor will be ignored by the Lord in their own time of need. To cheat the poor is to spit in the face of God.”