Keep silent— A meditation on prophets & prophecies

“Keep silent!”

(Amos 8:3c)

“…and they will never be uprooted again.”

(Amos 9:15)

Keep silent!  Last time I was reflecting on the fascinating question of who was actually speaking in the Bible, especially when it was supposed to be God.  But now, I am wondering:  Who is being spoken to?  The other morning, sitting on the porch with my coffee and my Bible, waving to the few people who walk by at 6:45 in the morning, listening to the cars pass on the distant tollway, and wondering what will be for breakfast, I was reading this section of Amos and getting kind of lulled into a scriptural stupor by all the woes and unto yous and thus says the Lords –as often happens when I am reading—my mind began to wonder. I probably was starting to drift off into a daydream of famine and drought, locust and destruction when all of a sudden I read:

That day, the palace songs

will turn to howls,

--declares the Lord, Your God—

the corpses will be many

that are thrown down everywhere.

Keep silent!

And I was startled out of my drowsing.  I was stunned by how direct that final command felt. And my immediate thought was: who is God talking to?

Was He talking to the Israelites who are howling in their palaces and throwing bodies everywhere?  Telling them to hold it down; what did they expect after all their sin and betrayal?  Was He talking to Amos?  Telling the prophet to keep this horrible secret to himself; i.e. Keep this between us! Don’t speak a word! Don’t tell the Israelites what is in store for them! Let it be a surprise.

A little research and I soon discovered that other translations have interpreted that “Keep silent” as a description of how the bodies of the slaughtered will be disposed: “Many shall be the bodies. They shall cast them forth in silence.” (NASB)

But I was still struck by that “Keep silent.” It sat there in front of me; a directive, a command even.  And I couldn’t help but wonder, if this is God’s word, in the end isn’t God really talking to me?  I was the one reading it? I was the one whose mind was wandering. Whose head was full of blue jays and car sounds and strollers and scrambled eggs. I was the one who was drifting aimlessly through God’s word, watching only for some new phrase to hang another essay on.  I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too busy being distracted by all the voices in my head…

Keep silent.

And from that moment on, I was focused. The voices inside me, the distracted anxious voices telling me I was wasting my time stopped. They were quiet. Even that voice that kept asking about those dishes in the sink from last night. Shouldn’t I get to those first. After I finished those dishes and made another pot of coffee, then I’d be able to give the Word of God the attention it deserved! Then… then… then… For the moment, they were all still. Silent.  And I read on.

Toward the end of Amos there is a beautiful simple statement:

“…and they will never be uprooted again.” (9:15)

Reading that I began to ponder anew: In hindsight what does a statement like that mean to a people who were to see their temple destroyed, their kingdom conquered, and so many dragged off into exile? A people who have (it seems) never really known the kind of stability it seems to promise; at least not for over 2500 years?   

It comes at the end of a prophecy of destruction; God’s wrath unleashed.  And yet God promises to plant them in their own soil and “they will never be uprooted again.” It seems to be a promise of peace and harmony, of permanence and stability in Israel. And yet, reading this promise 2500+ years later, one has to ask:  Is it just some words in a story? Is it a fairy tale? Some kind of magical thinking? Or worse, a lie? 

If it is a prophecy of God’s chosen people finding permanence and stability in the Promised Land, then it seems like foolishness. Historically the Jews have been displaced time and again.

But, as I sat –being silent—quietly contemplating this phrase, I began to wonder: is it possible God means something else entirely? Is it possible God is speaking not to a limited group of people here, but to all of His people everywhere.  Is it possible that this promise, though made specifically through the prophet Amos to the people of Israel, was actually meant to transcend that time and place; was meant not for a specific tribe or race, but for all God’s children? It is a promise to all of us, from God, that we can never again be uprooted; because He has planted us beyond the reach of the one who would uproot us. 

The LOVE of God became flesh, became a gardener (cf. John 20:15), a gardener who plants the seed so deep and so true it can never be uprooted. And His plow, His shovel, His spade, is the Cross. By His plow He opens the universe, opens eternity, opens even His own heart, and plants us so deeply within His love that we can never again be uprooted.

It is not by our efforts that we are saved, not by our lack of sin, but simply by His love, His grace, His Cross.  The peace, the harmony, the stability comes not from our prayers, not from our fasting or sacrifices, not from any restraint or self-control on our part, but from God’s love.

However, teaching our ears to hear and appreciate the harmony and beauty in God’s love takes some effort, at least for some of us.  We can’t find peace in it while we are letting our ego wnder, our eyes wander, our desires wander freely, and so we may find ourselves tugging at our own roots, agitated by wants and old nurtured longings.  And so, in such cases, we may find that prayer and fasting make good choir masters for the soul. They can help us train our ear to hear in God’s mysterious melody a beauty and glory we could never imagine on our own. All our desires are fulfilled in it, this endless glorious song of permanence and peace, if only we allow ourselves to hear it. 

If only we “keep silent” and listen.

The voice of God—Who is speaking? Who do we hear?

The voice of God—Who is speaking? Who do we hear?

“However much of My law

I write for him,

Ephraim regards it as alien...”

(Hosea 8:12)

This reading from Hosea gives me comfort and gives me a question.  It gives me comfort in the assurance that God writes His law not against us, but for us.  God’s law is not a barrier or a constraint (a wall) set up against us, created to keep us from having too much fun or make sure we don’t stray into the deep end of the pool.  God’s law is written for us, to aide us and guide us (like an owner’s manual) as we learn how to live and become the best us we can be.  God made each and every one of us to be gifts, to be blessings for the world.  To be fruitful and multiply. We are all beloved children of God—all of us.  And God wants only the best and the fullest lives for us, that we might each express the giftedness of who we are fully in the world, share the blessing of who we are fully with the world, and so God writes laws that set us free to live fully; never shackling us to rules and regulations, but always opening doors and windows of grace that we might see more clearly and live more wholly (and Holy) the life we have been given.

But, like Ephraim, we too often regard the law of God as alien. As a barrier to experience and pleasure and fulfillment.  I wonder if it doesn’t have something to do with our ability to see.  When I first come out of the house to go for a walk on a bright sunny afternoon, I often find myself squinting into the glare of the light. The brilliance of it is almost blinding.  Even the reflection from the driveway and the street is too much. Just out of instinct, I close my eyes, perhaps turn away. There is a temptation to even retreat back into the shadows of the house (or porch).  I could tell myself, it’s too sunny to go for a walk. Too bright and too hot! But, if I pause for a moment, let my eyes adjust, become accustomed to the light and the warmth of the concrete, I soon find that I am quite comfortable. And after a half mile or so, I don’t even notice it anymore. It’s just part of my walk, part of my quiet, peaceful afternoon.  I quickly come to love the sunlight and even the heat. I don’t think of it as “sacrifice” or effort or work –in fact, very quickly I find that I don’t even think about it at all.  Stepping out of the cool airconditioned shade of my house, the sunlight feels alien at first, but with little effort it soon it becomes so natural I don’t notice it.

All right, so that was my little insight; here’s my question:  Whose speaking?  It seems pretty clear to me that the voice we are supposedly hearing is God’s.  But isn’t that pretty amazing? Audacious, I would say!  Quite audacious. That a writer (or prophet, anyone...) would stand up in front of people and say: This is the Word of God. This is what God said! God is speaking through me! These are HIS words.  Not: this is what I think God wants us to believe, this is what I THINK God wants us to do. This is what I THINK God is thinking.  No. He just speaks in the voice of God and says things like:

I shall slaughter the darlings of their wombs! (9:16)

And says it without any hemming or hawing. Look at the prophets and how often they speak in the voice of God, without any hesitation or literary equivocations. And often it will come in the middle of a prophecy that seems to be in the voice of the prophet but suddenly changes to the voice of God without explanation.  For instance, the line I just quoted, transitions immediately back to the voice of Hosea after this monstrous vision.

“I shall slaughter the darlings of their womb.  Because they
have not listened to Him, my God will cut them off…”   (9:16-17)

And we are left to ponder: who is speaking? When God speaks in scripture, what did that mean to the human author?

Here is an example from my own life.  The other morning, as I walked, I saw some birds darting in and out of the branches of an oak. Watching them, I remembered that my father used to tell me stories about how I was raised by blue jays. And in my head I heard a poem forming:

My father spoke to me

of blue jays

of how they cared for me

when I was young

Like you were one of their own

he said

The year your mother left us

for Tulsa

with that shoe man
she couldn’t stand…

I heard a voice speaking these words to me. In my head I actually heard these words. And I had a desperate urge to get home to my notebook and write them down.  Was I experiencing something like a prophetic moment?  I certainly don’t think I was hearing God.  Heck, I wasn’t even hearing my actual father!
Clearly it was my imagination. I was contemplating the blue jays and remembering my father’s stories— and my imagination became untethered and began to play and suddenly this voice was there.  But was it just play?  I can assure you, my mother never left us. And (as far as I know) none of us ever lived in Tulsa.  Though my dad (and I) used to sell shoes. But... was it just play?  And whose voice was I hearing? My own? My father's? The muse? Who was speaking this to me?

And so, coming back to Hosea and the prophets, I am pondering: Whose speaking? Hosea or God? And how do we know? In fact, when he heard the voice, how did Hosea even know?

Could it have something to do with how we see the law? How we listen to God’s word? Do we regard it as alien, as the voice of rules imposed from the outside? Or do we regard it as a light to help us find our way? Do we hear it as an angry voice of judgment? Or do we hear a still quiet voice calling us. Saying: I know you. I made you.  You are my beloved child.  Come, let us go for a walk in the quiet of the day and let me tell you something new. A blessing unto the world.  I will speak your name.

Please see me--Some thoughts on Lamentations 1:12

“All you who pass this way,

look and see

is any sorrow like the sorrow

inflicted on me…”

--Lamentations 1:12

Is this not the cry of all who are in pain?  Look!  Look at this!  Have you ever seen anything like this?  See!  See my pain. See me.  Please look and see me, see what has happened to me. Has anyone ever like this before? 

See! See what happened!  Please.  Think of the child with her first skinned knee rushing to her mother; is she not calling out for more than healing or medical attention?  Think of the drama of that cry, those tears.  Isn’t her cry also a cry pleading for attention. A cry demanding to be seen.  See!  See what has happened to me.  Has anything like this ever happened before?

And, isn’t it true? Isn’t every pain the first of its kind? Each of us is an individual, unlike any other person ever made.  I cannot feel your pain, no matter how empathetic I am.  You cannot feel my pain. I cannot know what it means to you to be hurt, to be lonely, to be broken hearted or broken armed?  In Merchant of Venice, Shylock famously proclaims a universal connection through suffering: If you prick us, do we not bleed?  And yes, there are universal aspects, we do all bleed when pricked, or when we stumble and skin our knees…

But, my skinned knee is not yours.  And that is the point. I still remember that desperate cry of as my children ran toward me or my wife calling, Mommy!  And wanting only to be held, kissed, comforted, acknowledged.  Even after the ointments and bandages were applied, they still wanted to retell the story of their fall, of their pain. Wanted to know that someone had seen their suffering, their sorrow.

We all want to be seen, individually; not as a member of a group, an ethnic identity, an orientation, a gender.  Not even just as people.  What is Shylock’s demand but a cry that he too is human! That isn’t enough.  Deep down inside, we want to be seen as individuals, as one of a kind creations—because that is what we each and everyone one of us are.  We are each of us one of a kind creations, and the world would not, and will not be the same without us. Without our lives, our joys, our struggles, our sorrows.

Every time someone cries out for rights, for equality, for justice, they are crying out—look at me! Look and see, I am alive. I am real.  And no one has ever suffered like this, ever loved like this, ever felt like this before, because no one has ever been ME before…

That is the lesson I hear in the cry of the author of lamentations. A call to wake up. A call to open my eyes and see, to look around and realize each day that –as it says in Revelations-- God truly does “make all things new.” (21:5) Open your eyes and see.