That's Just Not a Very Good Day

When the Place We Expect to Be Safe Isn't

Then put away the foreign gods that are among you, and incline your hearts to the Lord, the God of Israel.

— Joshua 24:23

Wisdom is radiant and unfading, and she is easily discerned by those who love her, and is found by those who seek her.

— Wisdom 6:12

…as if someone fled from a lion, and was met by a bear; or went into the house and rested a hand against the wall, and was bitten by a snake.

— Amos 5:19

Imagine a man walking along one day when he suddenly encounters a lion. The animal sees him, and the man realizes that he had better get away as quickly as possible. He starts running, manages to put some distance between himself and the lion, and finally turns a corner where he thinks he might be safe. But there, directly in front of him, is an angry bear! Now he's running again, desperately trying to escape this second danger. Up ahead he sees a house. If he can just get inside and close the door, surely he'll be safe. He makes it, slams the door behind him, and finally allows himself to relax. Exhausted, he leans against the wall to catch his breath. And a snake bites him! Well, that's just not a very good day at all. No matter where this poor fellow turns, no matter how certain he is that he has finally escaped danger, something else is waiting for him.

It's a wonderfully vivid illustration, and perhaps even a little funny when we imagine the sequence of events. But the prophet Amos wasn't telling the story merely to entertain his listeners. He was warning people who eagerly anticipated the coming day of the Lord, confident that it would bring them deliverance and vindication. Amos had some unsettling news for them. What if the day they expected to be their triumph turned out instead to be a day of judgment? What if the religious confidence they had cultivated was no guarantee that God approved of the lives they were living? Like the man who escaped the lion and the bear, they might discover that reaching a place they considered safe did not mean they had escaped accountability. The problem was not that they had experienced a run of bad luck. It was that they had mistaken their expectations for assurances from God.

This week's other Old Testament readings approach that same problem from different directions. In Joshua 24, Joshua tells the Israelites to put away the foreign gods among them and incline their hearts toward the Lord. The people already belong to Israel. They already share a history, a religious identity, and a covenant tradition. But Joshua is asking for something more than membership in the right community. He is asking where their hearts are actually directed. It is possible to identify ourselves with God while allowing other loyalties to govern our decisions. We can participate in religious activities, profess familiar beliefs, and surround ourselves with the outward signs of faith without seriously examining whether our conduct reflects what we claim to believe. Joshua's challenge is not simply to choose the correct religious label. It is to bring our loyalties and our lives into alignment.

Then, in the Book of Wisdom, we encounter a very different image: “Wisdom is radiant and unfading, and she is easily discerned by those who love her, and is found by those who seek her.” What a beautiful promise! Wisdom is not portrayed as something reserved exclusively for religious professionals, highly educated people, or those who already possess all the answers. She is available to those who genuinely seek her. But seeking wisdom requires a certain humility. We must be willing to recognize that we do not know everything, that some of our assumptions may be mistaken, and that even our most cherished convictions deserve thoughtful examination. A person who believes that belonging to the right church, holding the right position, or repeating the right doctrines guarantees wisdom may have stopped seeking it altogether. And perhaps that is precisely when wisdom becomes most necessary.

Now consider what happens when we bring all three readings together. Joshua asks us to examine our loyalties. Wisdom invites us to keep seeking understanding. Amos warns us against the dangerous assumption that our religious identity guarantees our safety from judgment. Together, they challenge a temptation that has probably accompanied organized religion throughout human history: the belief that being in the right place is a substitute for living in the right way. We may regard the church as a sanctuary, and in many important respects it should be. It can be a place of refuge, healing, forgiveness, encouragement, and community. But it cannot become a hiding place from the moral responsibilities that faith places upon us. Nor can we assume that the failures and suffering of others prove that God is punishing them. Amos is confronting complacency and injustice, not teaching that every misfortune is the consequence of someone's personal wrongdoing. The question is not whether we can find a place where God will overlook our behavior. It is whether we are willing to let God change it.

I first encountered that remarkable illustration from Amos nearly forty years ago, at Camp Shockley, a Christian family camp in rural central Oklahoma. The visiting evangelist was Donald Rose, a preacher from the Cleveland area who had grown up in the hills of West Virginia. He was a blue-collar country man who seemed to have practically the entire Bible committed to memory. One evening he opened his sermon by telling the story of the man who escaped a lion, encountered a bear, and finally got bitten by a snake. He told it with such memorable simplicity that I can still recall the illustration all these years later. Then he brought the lesson home: some people treat the church as a sanctuary where they can feel secure while continuing to disregard God's teachings in the rest of their lives. They may discover, like the unfortunate man in Amos, that their own conduct eventually catches up with them. Donald Rose understood something important about preaching. He didn't begin by telling us what was wrong with us. He told us a story, allowed us to recognize its absurdity, and then invited us to recognize ourselves. And today, almost four decades later, I am still learning from it. The church can be a sanctuary from the troubles of the world. It cannot be a sanctuary from the responsibilities of following God.

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