Faith, Charity, and Stubbornness in a Corrupt Age

St. Amos & St. Matthew

Preacher: Fr. Columba

Readings: Amos 8:4–12; Psalm 138; 1 Timothy 2:1–7; Luke 16:1–13

Sometimes the lectionary feels like it was chosen just for this moment. That’s how today’s reading from Amos lands. We didn’t actually hear it in the liturgy, but I want to sit with it now because it speaks too directly to ignore. Amos talks about a people who cannot wait for the Sabbath to be over so they can get back to selling. They rig the scales, they cheapen the grain, and when the poor cannot even pay for a pair of sandals, they sell them into slavery. God says he will not forget these deeds. He will shake the earth. He will turn festivals into funerals. And worst of all, he will send a famine on the land — not of bread or water, but of the word of the Lord itself. It is a haunting picture of what happens when greed and corruption take root in the heart of a people.

What makes Amos especially striking is that he wasn’t a professional prophet. He wasn’t trained or paid. He was a herdsman, a man who tended sycamore fig trees. But God called him up because the official prophets and priests had become corrupt. They were flattering kings, propping up the system, and making money off religion instead of speaking truth. Amos steps into that void because God would not leave his people without a voice, even if that voice came from a shepherd. That’s humbling for us. It means if the Church stops telling the truth, God will raise up someone else to do it.

The world Amos preached to was prosperous. Israel in the north had grown rich, their borders had expanded, and life looked secure. Meanwhile, Assyria was rising in the northeast, slowly swallowing kingdoms. But instead of being alert, Israel’s leaders were lazy and self-satisfied. The priests were focused on profit. The politicians cared only for themselves. They ignored the danger until it was too late. A few decades later, Assyria marched in and destroyed everything. Prosperity without repentance didn’t save them. Worship without justice didn’t either.

And so when we read Amos today, it doesn’t feel like old history. It feels like news. Shrinking packages. Rising costs. Endless fees. Lower quality at higher prices. We know what it’s like to live under crooked scales. Debt slavery might sound like an ancient problem, but it’s alive and well. People work harder and harder just to tread water, only to see their wages swallowed by interest and their future mortgaged away. Amos called that slavery. We should too.

He also called out the religious corruption that stood beside it. Priests and prophets using their calling to prop up the monarchy. Temples that became more about access to power than faithfulness to God. And we would be dishonest if we said that doesn’t still happen. Clergy today flatter politicians. Churches attach themselves to the rich, hoping for security. It happens across every tradition — Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant, evangelical. When the Church chases money or cozies up to the powerful, the result is always the same. The Church doesn’t make the rich holy. The rich make the Church hollow.

And let’s be specific. Cardinal Timothy Dolan, one of the highest-ranking bishops in the Roman Catholic Church, has repeatedly cozied up to politicians and powerful figures, angling for access to inaugurations and places of honor. Recently he even compared conservative commentator Charlie Kirk to St. Paul. This is not harmless. This is dangerous corruption. Archbishop Elpidophoros of the Greek Orthodox Church in the United States has done the same, openly comparing Donald Trump to Constantine. And in conservative evangelical circles, some churches have gone so far as to create AI-generated “sermons” in the voice of Charlie Kirk, passing them off as if they were real. People in pews heard fabricated words and treated them as the gospel truth. That’s not just sad. That’s blasphemy. It’s heresy dressed up in Sunday clothes.

The Gospel reading makes the same point from another angle. Jesus tells a story about a manager who is about to be fired for misusing his position. In a desperate move, he reduces what people owe. He lowers debts. He takes off the burdens. And strangely enough, his master praises him for being shrewd. However you interpret the details — whether he was cutting unlawful interest, or removing the extra he had been skimming — the lesson is the same. Wealth is meant to serve mercy, not idolatry. Jesus drives it home in the plainest words possible: you cannot serve God and money.

Paul reminds us in his letter to Timothy to pray for rulers, not so we can baptize whatever they do, but so that people can live quiet and peaceable lives in dignity. Government, in God’s design, should create space for ordinary people to breathe, work, and worship. That’s not partisan. That’s Christian. And when we pray for leaders, we’re not asking God to bless corruption. We’re asking God to bend public life back toward peace and truth.

So how do we respond? What are we supposed to do when we hear Amos’ fire, when we see greed in the marketplace, corruption in politics, and compromise in the Church? The answer is the same as it has always been. First, faith. We cling to God even when it doesn’t make sense. Faith is not pretending everything is fine. Faith is holding on to God when the ground shakes. Our crucified Lord shows us that even when injustice wins in the moment, resurrection waits on the other side.

Second, charity. Not charity as a warm thought or a vague feeling, but love poured out in service. Love that pays bills. Love that stocks fridges. Love that eases debts and shares time. Love that notices the poor and the stranger and welcomes them because Christ commanded it. If we have extra, the poor have a claim on it. That’s the way of the kingdom.

Third, stubbornness. The prophets were stubborn. The apostles were stubborn. The saints across history have been stubborn. Amos refused to go home and shut up when Amaziah told him to. The apostles refused to stop preaching Christ when the authorities told them to be quiet. Saints like Dietrich Bonhoeffer and St. Maria of Paris stood firm even when it cost them their lives. That same holy stubbornness is what we need. To keep resisting greed. To keep speaking truth. To keep loving when the world tells us it’s pointless.

That is what God calls us to. Not despair. Not complicity. But faith, charity, and stubbornness. That’s how we endure the present darkness. That’s how we hold the line until the day comes when all things are made new. Because in the end, Christ is risen. The Lamb who was slain has conquered. The kingdoms of this world will pass, and a new heaven and a new earth will be revealed. And all that is crooked will be made straight.

Amen.