This Sunday I get to preach in a local church. Preaching is not as common for me these days as it once was, but it still feels like holy ground. Because for all its imperfections, the local church—at its best—is not meant to entertain us or comfort us. It’s meant to confront us. To ask the kinds of questions that pierce through the noise of our lives and name what’s real. To challenge not just what we believe, but how we live. Not just what we say, but what we’ve built—with our lives and as a society. And this week, through the voice of an unlikely prophet named Amos, God asks one of those confronting questions: “What do you see?” (Amos 7)
As the story goes, the prophet Amos—a farmer, not a pastor or politician—receives a vision of God standing beside a wall with a plumb line in hand. It’s a simple tool, dependent on gravity, used to measure whether something is upright and true. And in God’s hand, it becomes a divine standard. Of particular note: the plumb line is not held up beside the “outsiders,” the “wicked,” or the “unclean.” It’s held beside the church. Beside the people and leaders who claim to represent God. And what it reveals is serious: their walls are built tall, but not straight. Their prayers are loud, but their ethics are hollow. Their beliefs are strong, but their compassion is weak.
That question—What do you see?—isn’t just for Amos. It’s for us. And the way we answer reveals everything. Because we don’t see things simply as they are—we see them through who we’ve become. And if we can no longer see neighborly injustice, perhaps it’s because we’ve trained ourselves not to. If we’re unmoved by the crushing of the vulnerable or the demonizing of immigrants, maybe it’s because we’ve accepted it as normal—or worse, necessary.
What do I see? I see churched people and political leaders claiming to stand for truth and justice, while standing on the crooked side of history. I see too many publicly silent people, who in private acknowledge things are askew. I see asylum-seekers fleeing political violence and economic collapse labeled as threats rather than neighbors. I see legislation crafted to protect the portfolios of billionaires while cutting food programs for children. I see communities of color over-policed and under-resourced. I see pastors thunder about their view of sexual morality, but whisper—if say anything at all—about the sexual abuse happening in their own ministry. And if I can see all this and feel nothing—if I scroll past it, excuse it, or spiritualize it away—then maybe I’ve become what Dietrich Bonhoeffer warned against. Not overtly malicious. But stupid, in the most dangerous and blindly-obedient sense.
Bonhoeffer, writing from within Nazi Germany, called stupidity “a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice.” Why? Because malice can be resisted, reasoned with, even named. But stupidity—the surrender of conscience and thought—has no plumb line for truth. It parrots slogans. It fashions the hat of hate. It reposts, retweets, and rages. It finds belonging in whatever enemy-label is trending. Bonhoeffer watched churches collapse into nationalism and theology co-opted by propaganda. He saw people stop thinking and start echoing the talking points of authoritarian power. He insisted that stupidity isn’t merely a lack of intelligence, but a forfeiting of personal and moral responsibility—the loss of agency. It spreads not in solitude but in crowds, in echo chambers, in mobs, in selective viewership. And yes, it all sounds very familiar.
We need the plumb line. And we need to remember: God’s line is not drawn to destroy—it’s drawn to restore. The question is: will we let ourselves be measured by it? Will we allow our beliefs, institutions, politics, and spirituality to be checked for alignment?
The plumb line is grace—but grace with clarity. To accept it, we must name what we see. We must reveal the truth of who we have become. And that naming may cost us. Sure, the temptation to stay quiet is strong. And the courage to stand against what we once stood with requires trusting the plumb line.
So, what do you see? And if you see it—will you say it? And if you say it—will you stand against it? God is still holding the line. Not just in the world “out there,” but in us.
And if we are to follow the Way of Jesus in any meaningful way, we must walk that line—not toward self-preservation, but toward love of neighbor. For, that is where true alignment begins—and ends.
Shane Ash 