Three years ago, reading the book of Amos convinced me to become agnostic. Now, I am wondering if perhaps it is the theology I wanted all along. A God who destroys entire nations. A God who kills “your young men with the sword.” In some strange way, however… a God of justice.
Raised a fundamentalist, how on earth could I reconcile Amos’ theology with that of the Gospels? Yes, we know of the “Old Testament God’s wrath”—but destroying entire nations? Killing “young men?” Or, as 3:6b asks, “Does disaster befall a city unless the LORD has done it?” Was Hurricane Katrina from the hand of God?
For three years, I have struggled to reconcile this theology with the theology of my upbringing, as well as the theology of Ecclesiastes. Amos was the other option for my thesis. Would I write on the book my mother loved, and I needed, or would I write on the book that actually shattered my faith? In the end, I am happy that I chose Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes, I have found, is indeed the theology I resonate with the most.
But, in my opinion, Amos’ God seems to be the God Qoheleth wants to find. As with anything in Ecclesiastes, nothing is certain, but that is where I stand. Qoheleth wants God to intervene. Qoheleth wants God to smite the oppressor and comfort the oppressed. That’s the God I often wanted to find, too. But Qoheleth doesn’t find that God. Amos does.
For years, I believed Amos’ theology was the black sheep of the Bible. As I saw it then, God isn’t just angry or wrathful—God is the source of evil and suffering. The beauty of being an agnostic is, I can admit I was wrong; I have no need for apologetics. Amos was never looking for a God to blame, a God who is the source of suffering; he was looking for a solution to earthly chaos.
I imagine we have all been there. There are times when we feel we have been treated unjustly, and therefore desire God to act on our behalf. And even as an agnostic, I found myself there recently.
A Broken Covenant: The Professional Catalyst
As I have mentioned a time or two before, I recently suffered a tremendous professional blow. I do not like to dwell on personal things, but this one has indeed been a profound example of Qoheleth’s hebel—absurdity, futility, vanity. As a fresh graduate with an AA and a B.Sc in 2022, I wanted to become an academic advisor. I applied to numerous positions. Never heard anything. I tried again, continuously, for three years.
Finally, last November, I accepted an offer for a position I had applied to in February. Part-time academic advisor, that was the title. I figured this would be my chance. However, I was not to advise students. I was to schedule appointments and conduct cold-calling campaigns. See the disparity?
The first time I met with my supervisor, I told them my goals. My supervisor told me they would help me achieve them. They said they would give me experience. That never happened. Over six months, not even a formal plan was made. Just the repeated, verbatim promise. I held up my end of the deal.
The department seemed wonderful. For months, I believed I was a deeply valued member of the team. Finally, a full-time opening came in April. I applied. Hesitantly, as I was in the midst of finals. Balancing two jobs. I was averaging 5–6 hours of sleep.
Finally, the same day I submitted my final assignment, and the week that I was to graduate, I got an update. They would not even interview me. Why? Because I lacked experience. That which was repeatedly promised, but never delivered.
Needless to say, I resigned. But also, as I reflected on it throughout the month, Amos’ theology—finally—began to make sense to me.
The Mirror of Divine Violence
Why does Christianity grin at the mention of the end times? Why does it accept books that portray God as absent or as a killer? Because often, we crave what we feel is right.
God is on my side. God is going to help me win. And God will certainly judge other nations, but God will also judge mine because I think it has done wrong. In a nutshell, that’s what Amos does.
I do not say that to paint Amos as illiterate, or even selfish. It’s just human nature, honestly. Those who believe in God also believe that God is going to redeem them. And if God is going to redeem them, God is also going to bring their opposition into judgment. And I am one of those people. Again, for me, agnostic is the equivalent of “I don’t know.” It does not mean there is no God, or even, breaking from traditional agnosticism, that God is “unknowable.”
Metaphor… or human nature?
As I have recently reflected on violence in the Bible, I believe it is often a metaphor. Such as a seven-headed dragon being flung to earth. When we come to the issue of divine violence, however, it’s much more complicated. We are left to reconcile a violent God with the more popular benevolent, Creator God. We do not like to think of God as destroyer.
But we do. And we always have. We just aren’t always honest about that. Why the random tangent about agnosticism a moment ago? Because I have found that I am not always honest about this myself. A covenant made with me was broken. I wanted the God I “don’t know” to act on my behalf.
And suddenly, my entire reason for becoming agnostic became a mirror.
I often say, Amos is the book that made me agnostic. I chose to study theology for a reason that may seem “noble” to some. It isn’t. I questioned God like Job. I sought vengeance like Jonah. And I was skeptical, of all things, like Qoheleth. But when I began to study Amos, still deep in my fundamentalist dualism, I realized Satan was not the enemy; God was. God was the killer. God was the destroyer.
Beyond Lex Talionis: Redefining Justice
I was neglecting what is often considered the key verse of Amos, or at least the most memorable.
But let justice roll down like water
and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. ~Amos 5:24, NRSVue
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously quoted this specific passage in his “I Have a Dream Speech.” It is indeed one of the most powerful passages in the entire Bible, and without a doubt, King has influenced how many understand it. Suddenly, throughout this situation, I understood why.
We often associate “justice,” especially in the Bible, with lex talionis. That is, the philosophy of “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.” Or, as one of the first Christian rock songs I heard says,
“I want someone to hurt, like the way I hurt.
It’s sick, but it makes me feel better.” ~Skillet, “Sometimes”
That is most certainly not what King or Amos had in mind. Justice is fairness. That the oppressed should not be oppressed. And that, as Qoheleth observes, wickedness should not exist in the places of righteousness and, of course, justice. But it does (Ecc. 3:16). And we should “not be amazed at the matter, for the high official is watched by a higher, and there are yet higher ones over them” (Ecc. 5:8).
Amos and Divine Justice in Ecclesiastes
I see many similarities in Ecclesiastes and Amos. I had hoped to explore this a bit more in my thesis… but that’s perhaps a dissertation task. Again, I feel that Amos presents the God Qoheleth wants to find. Qoheleth wants to see a God who will repair the brokenness in the world. The God of Amos is the solution to all of Qoheleth’s problems. As Amos’ God says,
“Hear this word, you cows of Bashan.” ~Amos 4:1
Ouch.
The issue for this God, as outlined in Amos 4, is effortless, empty religious acts and a refusal to repent. God has cared for Israel. God has given Israel numerous chances to correct its behavior, and each time, it has failed. Amos provides numerous reasons, each ending with “yet you did not return to me, says the Lord.” God has withheld rain, created epidemics, killed young men, and “overthrown” others (4:6–11).
This is the God who “makes the morning darkness” (4:13). Chilling.
Why is God so violent in the prophets? The prophets are angry. Some, like Jeremiah, are weeping. They want justice. Some, like Jonah, explicitly want their enemies to suffer (Jon. 4:1–5). For Amos, I find, he just wants God to intervene and stop the human-created madness on earth, as violent as that act may be.
Confronting the Mirror
Scrapping the theological data and looking at this psychologically, however, reveals much about ourselves. It truly becomes a mirror. We don’t want a God who lets oppression go unnoticed, and worse, uncomforted. Instead, when we feel that we have been wronged, we want a God who will intervene.
And by a God who “intervenes,” I mean a God who will do what we think is right. That is how God works, right? We pray to God, and God answers our prayers. And what we say in our prayers is especially influenced by our own conception of justice.
Integrating the Shadow: A Softened Stance
Throughout this year, many of my theological stances have softened. I recently cleaned house on some older posts to reflect that. This does not mean I am Christian. This does not mean I am any closer to being “saved” today than I was a year ago.
But the beauty of devoting myself to this study is that I can admit when I was wrong. Not because I enjoy that part; I obviously hate it. But because that is exactly why I am so deeply invested in it. I was fed lies, and I even fed myself lies. The hardest but most meaningful part of the study itself is getting to untangle all that—as soul-crushing as it can be.
As I reflected several months back, in one of my most cherished posts, I became someone comfortable with integrating their own shadow. And again, it’s another radical development in my theology.
I believe in God, just as I always have. I’ve never been, nor will I ever be, an atheist. I simply “lack the knowledge to make a personal or ecclesial claim about the divine, and as such I will not, though I will remain open to the possibility of it,” to borrow from my own definition of agnostic.
I lack the knowledge because that knowledge is always changing. Just as it did with Amos. Just as I never once expected.