A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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Amos Chapter 5 is like a divine alarm clock—loud, jarring, and impossible to ignore. It’s God's lament over His people, not just a scolding. There’s heartbreak in His voice. But there’s also a fierce call to repentance, justice, and real worship—not that performative stuff Israel was doing at the time.
Right from the start, Amos shifts tone—this chapter opens like a eulogy. Imagine attending a funeral... only it’s for your country. That's how it begins. Verse 1 calls it a lamentation over the “virgin of Israel.” She's fallen, lifeless, with no one to help her up.
It’s not metaphorical in the sense of exaggeration—it’s God mourning what has become of His beloved people. Israel, once proud and blessed, is now spiritually dead. And nobody’s there to rescue her. In verse 3, the numbers are brutal. A city that once had a thousand soldiers will be left with a hundred. That’s devastation. That’s judgment.
This isn’t just poetic language—it’s prophecy of real loss. When a nation turns its back on God, destruction isn't far behind.
Now we get to what might be one of the most powerful refrains in the whole chapter: “Seek me and live.” That right there is the heartbeat of Amos 5. God isn’t delighting in judgment—He’s pleading for His people to come back.
But He makes it clear—don’t go to Bethel, or Gilgal, or Beersheba. Those places had become popular religious sites, but they were filled with empty rituals. God's saying: Don’t go looking for Me in your traditions or religious routines. Seek Me directly.
Verse 6 says again—“Seek the Lord and live.” But also gives a warning: or else fire will consume even the stronghold of Joseph. These aren't idle threats. This is real danger, and God’s offering a lifeline.
Now Amos zeroes in on what Israel’s really guilty of—not just idolatry, but injustice. These folks were twisting justice into poison (verse 7), casting righteousness to the ground like trash.
And then—verse 8—he shifts gears again. He says, Look who you’re dealing with—the God who made the stars, who turns deep darkness into dawn, who rules the waters and brings judgment on the earth.
Basically: “Do you realize who you’re messing with?”
And what was Israel doing instead? Hating the one who tells the truth (verse 10), trampling the poor, building big houses but oppressing those beneath them. God says you’ll live in those houses, sure—but not for long. You won’t drink the wine from your vineyards. That’s a chilling reversal.
Verse 12 sums it up: “I know your many transgressions and your great sins.” That’s God talking. Not some cranky prophet. He sees everything, especially how they afflict the righteous and take bribes.
And because of all this injustice? The wise remain silent (verse 13). Why? 'Cause it’s dangerous to speak up in evil times. Sounds way too familiar, doesn't it?
Now comes the remedy. Another call to action. This time it’s “Seek good and not evil.” There’s a kind of echo in this chapter—seek Me, seek good—it’s all pointing toward repentance.
God wants a radical shift. Not just saying sorry, not just feeling bad, but living differently. Hating evil, loving good, establishing justice at the gate (that’s the courthouse, the public square). Real repentance affects how you live publicly and privately.
Then—just maybe—God will be gracious. Not guaranteed. But there's hope.
Verses 16 through 20 are haunting. They paint a picture of public mourning, like professional weepers filling the streets. But it’s not sincere—it’s performance.
And then comes verse 18—“Woe to you who desire the day of the Lord!” That’s a dagger. Because many Israelites wanted the day of the Lord. They thought it meant judgment on their enemies.
But Amos says: You think that day will be good for you? Nope. It’ll be like running from a lion, only to meet a bear. Or getting home, locking the door, and then a snake bites you.
The Day of the Lord isn’t a party. It’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card for the religious. It’s judgment. And it’s coming.
Now this is where the heat really turns up.
God says, flat out: “I hate, I despise your feasts.” Not just disapproval—He despises them. Imagine going to church, singing your heart out, giving an offering, and God saying, “Nope. I want none of it.”
Why? Because their worship was all show. Their songs didn’t reflect their lives. Their offerings didn’t come from hearts that loved justice or mercy.
Verse 24 hits like a thunderclap:
“But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
That right there is the kind of worship God wants. Not just singing songs. Not just temple attendance. But lives soaked in justice and righteousness. That’s the offering God’s been waiting for all along.
The chapter closes with a callback—God asks if they brought Him sacrifices during their wilderness years (verse 25). The implication? They didn’t, but He still took care of them.
And yet now, they’re obsessed with sacrifices and religious rituals—but it’s empty. Because their hearts are full of idols.
He names some of their false gods—Sikkuth and Kiyyun (possibly Assyrian deities or astral idols). They were dragging these things around, giving them honor while pretending to worship Yahweh.
So what does God say? “I’ll send you into exile beyond Damascus.” That’s the endgame. Not just a warning—it’s a promise.
Here’s what hits hardest: Israel thought they were good with God. They had the temple. They had the songs. The feasts. The offerings.
But their hearts were far. Their society was corrupt. Their leaders were crooked. And God wasn’t having it.
But in the middle of this storm, there’s still that whisper:
“Seek Me and live.”
That invitation hasn’t expired. It’s still open today—for individuals, for churches, for entire nations. God isn’t impressed with performances. He wants hearts that love Him and lives that reflect His justice.
So let’s be honest with ourselves:
Are we just playing church?
Are we singing the right songs but ignoring the poor, the oppressed, the broken?
Because if that’s us—then maybe this chapter’s not just for ancient Israel. Maybe it’s for us too.
Let justice roll. Let righteousness flow. And may we actually seek Him—not just look like we do.
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