Amos 8:1-12
This is not one of those fun, encouraging scriptures. Not a depiction of God who gathers us close in her arms, and holds us his palm. Amos encounters a different face of God. A God who tosses our clothes out onto the pavement and leaves us standing cold and naked with shame.
This passage is about why we are all doomed, and it’s not why you might think: it’s not about personal immorality, adultery, or war: it is about the poor. Specifically, a lack of concern for the poor. God cares about our individual morality as well, but as far as this passage is concerned, that’s not why we’re all doomed. It’s the sneaky, less obvious ways, the injustices we’re trained not to see. The rich rulers are cheating the poor and ruining the land. God’s mercy concerns not the rich, but the poor. God stakes a claim to say that the divine One cares deeply about how humans are treating each other. And to demonstrate this care and concern, God shows Amos a basket of summer fruit.
When I was little, my grandparents had a basket of plastic fruit sitting on their kitchen table. It was pretty and shiny, and I knew it was fake, but once I chewed on it either just to be sure or because it looked so good. The plastic had a nasty, harsh taste, and bounced between my teeth and my tongue. This was fruit that could not be consumed and digested. This is like the basket of fruit that I imagine God showed to Amos. The image is only visual, Amos does not touch or taste the fruit to experience how this fruit also shows the difference between good and evil.
Imagine with me, for a moment, that our nation is like Ancient Israel. Imagine that we have a shrinking middle class, while the rich seem to get richer and fewer and the poor poorer and more numerous. In which we don’t have a living wage, and yet blame folks for being poor, while we can shop discount and bulk because the workers aren’t paid enough, while a $40 sweater cost $2 to make, but the profit goes to the company and not to the knitter, when the hands in the middle make all the profit, cheating the maker and the buyer, when a grande nonfat latte costs $4.50, but for every pound of coffee sold in the United States farmers get less than 35 cents and coffee pickers less than 14 cents. And all along we exchange the ephah for the shekel and buy the needy for a pair of sandals. We don’t even have to wait for the sabbath to be over, we can do this all on Sunday if we want to. But the God of love and mercy and justice says: I see you over there and I will not forget. The God of Jacob is the same God of Jesus, the same God who holds the poor close to the divine heart. Just Imagine. Our resources not being used in ways that can sustain all people. Our rain forests trampled, oil seeping into our coasts, sweatshop laborers working for pennies so that we can have more wardrobe options, many layers of hands in the middle, from producer to buyer, marking up the prices all the way from shrub to cup.
We’re all linked in this system together. Just as the whole nation of
God threatens that the sun will go down at noon and the earth will collapse into itself and there will be massive amounts of death and mourning. Natural disasters are just that, natural. And we have eclipses frequently and understand what’s really going on. But the literary merit of drastic measures is appropriate for God. We need a drastic reorientation before we recognize that the poor are exalted and that the fortune of God has nothing to do with economics.
The basket of fruit, is a pun and a metaphorical turn: in Hebrew “summer fruit” and “the end” are linked as terms that look and sound similar, so the original audience had a better clue about where this was going. The NIV plays on this stating that the “ripe” fruit indicates that the time is “ripe” for Israel, and while this shows an explicit link it doesn’t do justice to the richness of the original pun. Amos has no easy defense for the fruit that signifies the end. In the earlier vision reports, God showed Amos locusts and a storm of fire and Amos was able to say, no Lord, please not that. But the fruit looks pretty benign. Amos can’t say to God, oh no not the fruit, because how is God going to bring about the end with a pile of produce? But God has a trick here, linguistically at least. What looks healthy and rich, the fruit that is ripe, and the people who are wealthy, are poor in spirit and are withering and dying though they look well.
We are not just like Ancient Israel, the US is not chosen by God, but we do find ourselves in a position of global power. And we also suffer the same problems of labor and land. We can wait for Jesus to make everything right. Israel waits, but by the time of Christ, Israel has long fallen and the Romans are in charge. We thought we were safe and indestructible once, but we are starting to know better. We fear the threat of other nations, of our own economic structures, of our ability to contain and control oil in the gulf.
If we trample and exchange dollars for cents and get rich at another’s expense and do nothing and say nothing. If we turn out shopping carts away and do not look at the roots of our social evil and see the magnitude of our smallest actions, if we do not recognize that this is not God’s way. In the New Testament, James picks up this theme that our existence in God makes us rich, that earthly possessions do not ultimately satisfy and that we are not allowed to oppress others for our gain and comfort. He says: “Come now, you rich people, weep and wail for the miseries that are coming to you. Your riches have rotted, and your clothes are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver have rusted, and their rust will be evidence against you, and it will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure for the last days. Listen! The wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts. You have lived on the earth in luxury and in pleasure; you have fattened your hearts on a day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered the righteous one, who does not resist you.”[1]
At the end of the book of Amos, God does leave us hope of restoration, but only after all has fallen, and the earth has sunk: until we recognize this, we’re on a dangerous path of shortchanging our neighbors and ourselves from God’s fulfillment….
“The time is surely coming, says the Lord,
when the one who plows shall overtake the one who reaps,
and the treader of grapes the one who sows the seed,
the mountains shall drip sweet wine
and all the hills shall flow in it
I will restore the fortunes of my people Israel...
I will plant them upon their land, and they shall never again be plucked up out of the land that I have given them”[2]
God says to Amos, what you think is a basket of healthy summer fruit, was grown in overworked soil, and picked by underpaid hands, and sprayed with chemicals to appear ripe. The fruit that looks like health and harvest is bitter and poisonous...
You see fruit, says the Lord God, but I am showing you the end.
God will not destroy us, we can do that on our own.
God will not take the word from us, but we will silence our own lips.
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