Are we blinded to the poor?
Am 8:4-7; Ps 113:1-2, 4-6, 7-8; 1 Tim 2:1-8; Lk 16:1-13
“Why, where in all history has there ever been a people so ripe for a dictatorship as ours!” Thus declares Doremus Jessup, the newspaper editor in Sinclair Lewis’ classic 1935 novel “It Can’t Happen Here,” describing the fictitious rise of a fascist leader from within a formerly democratic republic.
Regardless of your politics, the novel bears close reading as a powerful testimony to the danger of refusing to call out and resist the siren song of a leader who panders to people’s fears, scapegoats vulnerable populations and acts with blatant disregard for basic human justice, all in service of his or her narcissistic need for control. On various scales, that can happen in the political arena, in the church and even within our own families.
Resisting abusive power requires a great deal of watchful vigilance. Populations generally don’t plunge into tyranny, they slide into it, an inch at a time, before realizing they have slipped so far that there is no easy way out. It’s easy to be lulled into the false hope that what seems to be bad, and getting worse, is actually just an anomaly in time that will soon be rectified.
While it might not seem that today’s readings have much to offer about resisting tyranny, I suggest that the moral pitfalls we face along our spiritual journeys in many ways mirror the process by which a once well-governed body of people can devolve into a group that one day finds itself either living in fear for its own safety or blindly ignoring those who are.
All the great prophets of Israel followed missions that called them to expose social facades that masked deep vulnerabilities resulting from ignoring God’s fidelity. No prophet manifested this more clearly than Amos.
Amos was a simple farmer living in the kingdom of Judah (modern-day southern Israel) when God called him to be a prophet to the northern kingdom of Israel in about 760 B.C. This was a time of relative peace and prosperity for Israel. But although the kingdom was expanding its borders and amassing wealth, there was a growing social disparity between the rich and poor.
As shown in our first reading, God directed Amos to deliver the difficult message to King Jeroboam II that he and his leaders were living in flagrant disregard of the covenant relationship that the Lord established with his people: They were worshipping false gods, disregarding the poor and vulnerable in society and cheating the common people to increase their wealth.
Above all, they were insensitive to their own behavior because of their concern for protecting their wealth and comfort (Am 6:4-6); their material bounty had blunted their moral concern for the marginalized in society.
Ironically, our moral self-awareness, as well as our ability to recognize the human dignity and needs of others, can become clouded by the experience of great blessing and consolation, if we do not regularly engage in the practice of intentionally looking for and noticing those around us. Who are they? What are their needs? To what degree do we nurture relationships with them? Do we allow ourselves to be known by them as much as we seek to understand them?
The ancient Israelites stopped feeling the need to reach out to the God who had brought them out of slavery in Egypt. After all, they were not in bondage. So the lure of the false gods of the neighboring kingdoms became irresistible.
Perhaps these new deities could provide them with new wealth and blessings, since their basic needs had already been satisfied. King Jeroboam II consolidated his power by keeping the wealthy happy at the expense of the poor. So long as that condition remained, the wealthy never even felt the need to become aware of their suffering neighbors. Material satiety spawned moral laxity.
A good question to ask yourself is: Am I blinded to the needs of those around me because of my blessings? Yes, it’s an odd question to pose. But sometimes it takes an odd question to shake us out of the complacency that allows moral myopia to flourish. Sometimes the most dangerous tyrant is not a political rogue but a moral comfort.