Woe to Those at Ease in Zion

Today's Reading

Read Amos 6:1-7: "Woe to those who are at ease in Zion... who lie on beds of ivory and stretch themselves out on their couches, and eat lambs from the flock and calves from the midst of the stall, who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp... but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph!"

Then read Luke 16:19-31, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. A rich man feasts sumptuously every day while a beggar lies at his gate, covered in sores.

Reflection

If yesterday's passage comforted the industrious, today's passage should terrify the comfortable.

Amos was a shepherd from the backwater town of Tekoa. God sent him north to the wealthy kingdom of Israel with a message that burned like fire. The elites of Samaria were living in luxury — ivory beds, fine meat, music, expensive wine — while the poor of Israel were being crushed. Amos did not condemn their wealth per se. He condemned their indifference. They were "not grieved over the ruin of Joseph." They could see the suffering of their own people, and they did not care.

God's verdict: "Therefore they shall now be the first of those who go into exile" (Amos 6:7). The most privileged would be the first punished. Their wealth, which could have been used for justice and compassion, had become a cocoon of comfort that insulated them from the suffering around them.

Jesus told a parable that makes the same point with devastating simplicity. A rich man — unnamed, which is itself significant — feasts every day in purple and fine linen. At his gate lies Lazarus, a beggar covered in sores, longing for scraps. The rich man does not abuse Lazarus. He does not kick him or rob him. He simply does not see him. And when both die, their positions are reversed. The rich man is in torment; Lazarus is in the bosom of Abraham.

The sin of the rich man was not extravagance. It was invisibility — the poor man at his gate had become invisible to him. Comfort had destroyed his capacity for compassion.

John Calvin, who is sometimes caricatured as a defender of the wealthy, was in fact severe on this point. Commenting on Luke 16, he observed that the parable reveals a devastating asymmetry: "The man who has fed the poor at his gate — who has done it, so to speak, for the sake of the poor — has nothing to show for it, no credit balance. But the man who has invested, who has turned his ten pounds into ten more, gets approval and more responsibility." Calvin understood that Scripture holds the wealthy to a terrifying standard precisely because they have been given much.

Tim Keller wove together the theological threads: "The gospel gives us a concern for the poor that the secularist does not have (because we know they are made in God's image), a humility that the moralist does not have (because we know we are sinners), and a hopefulness that the cynic does not have (because we believe in grace)." The Christian's response to poverty should be unique — driven by theology, not merely by politics or sentiment.

Going Deeper

The prophets did not ask whether the wealthy earned their money fairly. They asked whether the wealthy used their money compassionately. This is the question that should keep every comfortable Christian awake at night. You may have earned every dollar honestly. But if the poor have become invisible to you — if you can feast while Lazarus lies at your gate — the prophets have a word for you: Woe.