I learned a lot from my dad, God rest his soul. He taught me to love English literature, for one thing. Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and William Faulkner were heroes in my house growing up. He also taught me how to shoot a jump shot. And I’m convinced my basketball career went further than it probably should have because, thanks to him, I could consistently “knock down the three.”
But one thing my father certainly was not, was handy. He had zero interest in DIY, home improvement projects. So I grew up in complete ignorance of things like carpentry. And so a term like “plumb line,” which we heard in this morning’s reading from the Book of the Prophet Amos, sounded as foreign to me when I first read it as “March madness” probably sounds to someone who doesn’t follow American sports. Now, I’ve come to understand that a plumb line is something a carpenter uses to make sure their structures conform to the straightest possible line. It’s a small but heavy metal weight, tied to the end of a string. And when suspended, it will always make a perfectly vertical line.
Amos lived in the 8th century BC. He was active as a prophet in the kingdom of Israel at a time of seeming peace and prosperity. But Amos saw some troubling things below the surface. Although Israel was relatively rich, the kingdom’s wealth was very unevenly distributed. Most of its citizens were poor. They struggled to survive, and were easily exploited by the elites, who were greedy for their labor and their land. And it wasn’t just that this situation was unfair; Amos also saw that it was unsustainable. He saw that a society that allowed injustice to flourish becomes extremely vulnerable. And so he began to publicly warn the authorities—the king and the clergy—that God would judge Israel harshly for creating and maintaining this state of affairs.
Amos received a series of visions about all this, and here in the 7th chapter, he tells us that God showed him a plumb line. The plumb line serves as a symbol for God’s law, which sustains the covenant between God and God’s people. And God goes on to explain, in very clear terms, that Israel is nowhere close to measuring up. They’ve gone back to their selfish and idol-worshiping ways, forgetting yet again the God who liberated them from slavery in Egypt. Both the temple and the throne have become corrupt; their foundations are unstable and it won’t be long before they crumble.
And what do Amaziah, the priest, and Jeroboam, the king, say when Amos brings them this sobering message? They tell him to get lost, to take his act to another town. Things are going amazingly well for them. Why is Amos trying to stir up trouble, and bring them down? Well it took a few more decades, but of course, Amos was absolutely correct. In 722 BC the Assyrian Empire looked over at Israel, their next door neighbor. They saw a kingdom ruled by a decadent elite and full of struggling and hopeless poor people—in other words, ripe for conquest. So they marched right in, took some captives, slaughtered the rest, and left barely a trace of the once-great kingdom.
The golden age of Hebrew prophecy ended a few centuries after Amos lived, when the only remaining Jewish kingdom, the kingdom of Judah, was conquered by the Neo-Babylonian empire. Solomon’s great temple at Jerusalem was destroyed, and the Jews were sent into exile. And although they eventually returned, and rebuilt the Temple, they fell right back into the old pattern. They ignored the plumb line, they forgot about what God had done for them. They stopped taking care of the poor and welcoming the stranger. Their leaders clung to whatever power they could and used it for their own benefit. And eventually another, even stronger empire—the Romans—conquered them and occupied their lands.
Right on cue, another prophet emerged, to remind Judah’s leaders of the plumb line. John the Baptist insisted that the destruction of Israel was inevitable unless everyone—rich or poor, king or peasant, priest or layperson—repented and was baptized. And once again, those in power couldn’t bear to hear the prophet’s message, so they silenced him. In our reading from Mark’s gospel, we heard the story of John’s demise, one of the most vivid and memorable—and gruesome—stories in the New Testament. And it’s worth pointing out that, like Amos, John’s prophecy also came true. In 70 AD, the Romans brutally defeated a Jewish rebellion and destroyed the Jerusalem Temple a second and final time.
Which brings us to Jesus. At first glance we see the exact same pattern, of a prophet bringing an unwanted message to society’s elites, who decide to get rid of him. Only this time, they can’t. God has the last word by raising Jesus from the dead. And Christ’s resurrection reveals a new depth to God’s power and God’s concern for creation. All people are now invited to worship God within a new, immortal, spiritual temple—the Body of Christ.
On the Day of Pentecost, a community comes into being whose sole purpose is to witness to this good news. This community, our community, the Church, takes on the role once performed by the prophets. What Amos once was for the people of Israel, the Church is now called to be for the whole world. We’re called to embody an expanded understanding of God’s law, which Jesus expressed with beautiful simplicity: love of God and love of neighbor. And when we make Jesus’ way of life our way of life, we provide a new plumb line by which we judge ourselves and our world.
Of course, all too often, we fail. Not just to measure up to the plumb line, but to embody the plumb line. As an old friend reminded me recently, instead of representing the kingdom of God, the Church has historically taken the form of whatever human kingdom happened to be dominant—Roman or Byzantine, European or English. And instead of serving the least of these, we end up like the priest Azariah—serving powerful elites like King Jeroboam. That’s why I believe the social, political, and economic uncertainty we face in the present moment is actually an opportunity for the Church. This can be our time to reclaim our freedom from human power, and recommit to our true calling: to be a more perfect witness to the love and peace of Christ. In a world mired in conflict, we can be a gift and a blessing—a sanctuary from the storm, literally and figuratively. Instead of another power-hungry institution, we can be the mystical Body of Christ, where the whole creation is reconciled to its living, loving Creator.
The Church of St. Mary the Virgin, Chappaqua, NY
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, July 14, 2024