Do Not Prophesy Here

“You say, ‘Do not prophesy against Israel, and do not preach against the house of Isaac.’ Therefore thus says the Lord…”

— From Amos 7

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There’s a strange kind of arrogance that shows itself not in loud boasts—but in soft censorship.

That’s what Amos faced. He wasn’t tortured. He wasn’t imprisoned. He wasn’t even shouted down. He was simply told:

“Go preach somewhere else.”

That quiet rejection carries the real message:

We don’t want correction here. We’ve already decided we’re right.

And that’s the giveaway.

The moment a culture—whether religious, academic, political, or social—tries to prohibit questioning or prophecy, you can be sure the wall is crooked. The plumb line has been dropped, and it’s not aligning.

Amos wasn’t a priest. He wasn’t a scribe. He was, in his own words, “a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore trees.”
That made him easy to dismiss.

And that’s the point.

We love to silence average people. The unlettered, the blue-collar, the earnest-but-untrained voice in the crowd. Not because they’re wrong—but because it’s easier to laugh than to listen. It’s more comfortable to mock the speaker than to consider the message.

But history shows us: those are the voices that often see the clearest.

Stephen Covey once said even crazy ideas should be welcomed in brainstorming—because creativity lives in the margins. The fresh air comes from the edges, not the echo chambers.

In my own life, I’ve experienced this.
I saw something that didn’t seem right. I asked legitimate questions. I raised concerns.
And for that, I was sidelined, silenced, eventually pushed out.
Not because I lied—but because I noticed.
Not because I was wrong—but because I made someone uncomfortable.
I lost a job. I lost a career. I lost a marriage.

Not because of what I did wrong—
but because others refused to consider they might not be right.

When the powerful resist correction, it’s a red flag. But when they go a step further and block others from even speaking—that’s when it becomes moral collapse. It’s when the wall starts to lean. And eventually, fall.

Leaders—true leaders—should want correction.
They should be asking for it, welcoming it, modeling it.
Because no one is above the plumb line.
Not politicians. Not professors. Not pastors. Not you. Not me.

And when the critics come, don’t be surprised that they don’t look like you. Don’t be shocked when the truth is spoken by someone less educated, less “refined,” less credentialed.

That’s the pattern. That’s the point.

God loves humility.
And He hates it when humility is shut out of the room.

So let the plumb line drop.
Let it speak. Let it straighten what’s leaning.
And let those who stand—really stand—be those who have welcomed correction, not silenced it.