God Comes in Darkness, Amos 5:18-27

"God Comes in the Darkness"
Amos 5:18-27

I want to begin this morning by acknowledging that I am dressed a little differently than most preachers who come to preach at our morning chapel service. These preaching robes are a gift that many preachers in the United States receive when they become ordained. They are a sign of a preacher's call – and in my part of the world – they are most often black. A sign of respect. A sign of a call to teach and preach. Black – a sign of honor.

Which of course is just the opposite color from that preachers wear here. Here at Davuliveu, the color is white. Which reminds us that it is a good thing that God sees the heart rather than our clothes… because I would hate to think that one or the other of us had been wearing the wrong color all these years! How wonderful that God sees our inward desires and not just our outward appearance!

Though that also makes it more difficult…doesn't it? It would be so much easier if honoring God was about wearing the right color to church or singing the right song in the proper key. It would be so much easier if honoring God were about making sure our faces were clean and our hands were washed – rather than coming with clean hearts and clear consciences. It would be so much easier if pleasing God were about following all the proper rules of etiquette and all the proper rituals – because it would be so much easier to justify ourselves.

Especially us ministers. We've dedicated years of our lives to knowing just how to behave at solemn assemblies. We're the ones that know about how to show God the proper respect in the proper way at the proper time… This is our area of expertise! But then this passage in Amos comes along and turns everything we thought knew upside down.

It's a confusing passage, isn't it?
"I hate your festivals," the scripture says. "Take away from me your songs." "I take no delight in your worship." How can this be?

Now – we're no fools. We've been hearing about Amos all week now and so we have some ideas about what this passage is getting at. It is justice God requires, right? It is equal treatment for the poor. It is, not just lip-service to Christ, but acts of love for the least of these. This is a sharp reinterpretation of what "religion" is supposed to be about – in Amos's time, and also in ours. Amos tells his people – it is not so much what happens in the temple that will turn God's heart back to you…it is what happens in the street and field and kitchen…it is what happens to the widows and the orphans – the beggars and aliens… "Let justice flow down like water," the passage says.

That's a difficult task. It's a task that makes me think it would be better to go back to worrying about our outward appearances…at least, it would be easier. We'd have to figure out the right color to wear to church, of course, but once we did that, we could justify ourselves.

But Amos 5 isn't finished yet. The passage does more than simply suggest that we have misunderstood what religion is about. That would be radical enough. This passage goes further. It pulls us into a world where everything we thought we knew about God is put into question.

Look at the metaphors it uses to describe coming of the Lord – The Lord is our Shepherd in Ps. 23… but in Amos 5…the Lord is a lion and bear. The Lord is snake that strikes in one's own home. The entire passage makes one feel unsafe and unsure - like there is no solid ground to stand on. We are used to thinking of God in particular ways – as light, certainty, brightness and clarity – but in Amos, the day of the Lord is described as darkness – not light. In fact, the only gods that are associated with light in this passage are idols. The gods mentioned in vs. 26 are associated with the worship of the stars. But the God who MADE the stars is described as the One who comes on a day turned dark – a day with no brightness in it.

There is a famous Christian novelist named C.S. Lewis who wrote a parable for children about the life of faith – and in his story, Christ is imaged as a lion. As the children are told about this lion that they will meet, they begin to get nervous. "He's a tame lion, right?" one of them asks. "Oh no!" the lion's subjects say. "He is not tame. He is Good. But he is certainly not tame." He does not do what He is told – or act according to our expectations. He is not some trained pet who guards our door. He does not do our bidding. He is bigger than we can understand. Wilder than would make us comfortable. He is a not a lion that we control.

For this lion's goodness cuts us to the quick. This lion sees our half-hearted attempts at justice, sees our imperfect worship, sees the secret sin of our hearts. And in this lion's gaze, we realize that we don't have the answers, we don't know the way home, we are afraid of the dark – and the only lights we can find are false gods we have made in our own image. Little gods that we carry in front of us – as if they were leading the way - in order to hide the fact we are lost. The truth of our lives is this: we cannot justify ourselves.

But the truth of the gospel is greater: We serve a God who can. A God who can justify us – and who has. We serve a God who did not sit enthroned in light – but came into the dark to find us. Who hung on a cross…when? When midday became as dark as night, revealing "the day of the Lord" and heart of God. Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness for the healing of his people, Jesus our lion – our snake – our salvation from false lights – was lifted up so that we would know that God comes in the dark to find us and set us free. Sometimes, it is in the dark that the love of God is most clearly revealed.

There was mother whose 2 year old child accidently locked herself in the bathroom while the light was turned off. The child became afraid, but the mother could not open the door to turn on the light – and the child didn't know how to unlock the door from the inside. The mother sent for help, but in the meantime, her child was becoming more and more hysterical. So the mother got on her hands and knees and she stuck her fingers under the bathroom door. "I'm right here, honey. Mama's right here… kneel down…touch Mama's fingers. I'm not leaving…" And soon the child laid down on the floor and found her mother's fingers with her own. Her mother had found her in the dark.

There are many more difficult questions that pastors in Fiji are grappling with today than what color to wear to church. There are questions about how to be Christian in an increasingly secular environment…how to share power in a Christ-like way…how to honor culture while extending honor to those who are different…how to do justice when there are so many competing claims – so many different rights and needs – so many hurting people. There are times when pastors can feel that we are in the dark - or perhaps that Fiji is in the dark – unsure what the future holds. When the questions come – when darkness clouds your vision – do not run or hide. And do not substitute false lights for a living Savior. Lift up your head in expectation - for there are truths about God's love and God's wisdom that can only be revealed in the dark, Good-Friday seasons of our lives.

Or better still, get down on your knees and feel around for the fingers of love that have pressed themselves into the cracks of your locked heart, and grab hold of God's hand. God comes in the dark – replacing our brittle certainty with trust – our small answers with His presence – and our false lights with the comfort of His shadow. He has the key to the door; so do not be afraid. He will open your heart so that justice can flow. I say it again: Do not be afraid for you are not alone. He is no tame lion. But He is good. In the darkness and in the day, He is good.