I used to travel proudly wearing my priestly robes or dog collar. I quickly discovered a pattern in how fellow travellers reacted to my presence. Either they had a polite and pious conversation (or, more often, monologue) or vented their grudges against clergy I didn’t even know. I found the former boring as my religious piety level has always been very low. And being a lightning rod for strangers’ grievances or resentments was exhausting. One day in the summer, my friend and I travelled by train, rather unusually wearing regular clothes, our priestly robes tucked away in our rucksacks – we looked like students, as indeed we were. When our train was about to move at one station, a young man roughly our age was running to catch it. We held the door open for him – as was possible in those good old days – so he jumped in at the last moment. Like us, he was chatty, so we had a friendly conversation. Well into that and our train journey, he asked us what we were doing. He was quite surprised to learn we were about to be ordained as priests. It turned out that he held very strong negative opinions about the Catholic Church. But – having had a friendly and convivial chat with us – he simply couldn’t project those feelings on us. However, this directed our conversation into his own life’s weighty matters. To cut a long story short and keep confidentiality, what could have been a shouting match, had he known our profession from the outset, turned out to be a healing time for the young man. The incident was an instrumental lesson. Since then, I have learned that being a professional clergyman (as “it’s my profession” rather than “I’m competent in my job”) puts impassable barriers between me and many people who don’t want to have anything to do with a priest. I simply cannot reach them. I don’t blame such people. Collectively, we – the clergy – have given them plenty of reasons or excuses to feel that way. Is then the preaching of the gospel, the sole mission of the Church, doomed? I don’t think so.
In today’s first reading, we witnessed a spat between an official, “Amaziah, the priest of Bethel”, and Amos, who was preaching there although it wasn’t his profession, as he testified: “I was no prophet, neither did I belong to any of the brotherhoods of prophets.” Before we move on, we must stop and look at the broader context of this incident and clarify a couple of things.
A bit of history first. The united Kingdom of Israel, which was effectively created by King David and strengthened by King Solomon, fell apart because of the harsh and tyrannical attitude of Solomon’s successor, Rehoboam. A rebellion against him by the ten tribes of Israel led to the creation of the independent Kingdom of Israel in the north. Only two tribes remained loyal to Rehoboam, and a rump Kingdom of Judah was formed in the south. The self-appointed monarch of the Northern Kingdom quickly spotted a challenge that could undermine his authority and lead to reunification. The centre of the then-Jewish worship was the Temple in Jerusalem, the capital city of the rival Kingdom of Judah. The king created two state shrines and a caste of priests to serve there to stop his subjects from going to Jerusalem as prescribed by the Law. The worship in those temples focused on statues of golden calves, which were idolatrous and thus highly offensive to the rules of the covenant. Similarly, the new priesthood was considered illegitimate. The whole setup was purely political, not dissimilar to the actions of King Henry VIII of England.
In our culture, “the prophet” is widely seen as a person who can predict the future in great detail. This common misconception has unintentionally derived from our reading of the Bible and particularly the gospels, where many happenings and events are often summarised as “foretold by the prophets”. This is the topic that deserves a separate sermon or lecture, so let me cut to the chase and concisely say that prophets in the Old Testament were much more like teachers and preachers than clairvoyants. They were calling people to remain faithful to the covenant with God in the practice of their lives or to return to the right ways if they went astray. Their ability to predict the future was based on logical causality, the same way you know that drinking too much alcohol will make you sick. On top of such natural abilities, the prophets had divinely inspired insight into their contemporaries’ behaviour and attitudes.
Now, let’s go back to the prophet Amos and his spat with Amaziah, the schismatic priest of the idolatrous shrine of Bethel. From the biblical book named after the prophet, we know he was deeply concerned about the spiritual, moral and social shortcomings of the inhabitants of the Northern Kingdom. Amos announced divine punishment for their pagan neighbours who harassed them, but he also called for their repentance and return to the original covenant with God. However, the authorities saw his actions as politically motivated and aimed at the dismantling of the rebellious kingdom and its idolatrous cults. That’s why Amaziah told him: “Go away, seer;’ get back to the land of Judah; earn your bread there, do your prophesying there. We want no more prophesying in Bethel; this is the royal sanctuary, the national temple.” Amos rejected the notion of being political, pointing at his puny social status: “I was a shepherd and looked after sycamores.” He was driven by something other than ideology: “It was the Lord who took me from herding the flock and the Lord who said, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel”.”
In a similar fashion, Jesus in today’s gospel sent out his disciples, a motley crew of individuals with inconsequential social status, influence and professions. Their appallingly meagre resources – “he instructed them to take nothing for the journey except a staff – no bread, no haversack, no coppers for their purses” – meant that their only offering to people was Jesus. “So they set off to preach repentance; and they cast out many devils, and anointed many sick people with oil and cured them.” Their mission has been expanded since then, and we are its successors. Insignificant, uninfluential and powerless as you might be as plumbers, farmers, teachers, accountants or pensioners – having experienced Jesus’ transformative, healing and supportive power – you can share it with those around you, often unreachable by professional preachers. The world might not need the political power of the Church. But many silently cry out the words of today’s psalm: “Let us see, O Lord, your mercy and give us your saving help.”
