Strange to say, the Israelites, in whose midst there were those who lived such scandalous lives and treated the poor people so outrageously—the Israelites—nevertheless, believed in their hearts that they had not forgotten God. They believed that God was with them; that He loved them above all other peoples; that He guarded and protected them; that He sent them all their blessings of prosperity and peace.
This is the way they reasoned it out: Had not God helped them to defeat Judah? Had not God been with them when they crushed their ancient foe, Syria? Did not God send them rain in season, so that crops were good and plentiful?
"Therefore," said they, "God is on our side. Let us go up to the sanctuaries and offer sacrifices upon His altars."
And so, at festival times, Bethel and Gilgal, and Dan and Beersheba were crowded with the rich, offering their sacrifices, feasting, drinking and rejoicing. It never entered their minds that God is the God of the poor, as well as of the rich. Though they continued to rob and oppress and enslave the poor and the needy and the helpless, they were perfectly satisfied with the idea that all God asked of them was to offer the prescribed sacrifices. If there were any who knew differently, or thought differently, they seemingly did not dare say so in anybody's hearing. For the poor, these were, indeed, evil times.
At this point in his musings, the "farmer" actually shuddered. He was not aware that his peculiar dress and his peculiar position at the moment had attracted attention. While he was contrasting in his mind the great difference between the rich and the poor in Samaria, several men, having nothing better to do, had stopped to stare at the yokel. As is always the case when people stand in the street and gawk, a large crowd soon assembled. A military chariot stopped near the group of curious gazers to see what was going on. Soon several others were halted there, including gilded and gaudy litters, in which fashionably dressed women were being conveyed. All stared, called each other's attention to the queerly garbed stranger, and finally laughed outright.
The man who was the center of attraction became aware of the crowd only when he had reached that point in his thoughts, the horrible picture of which had made him shudder. When he noticed the crowd, he gasped. He recovered from his astonishment quickly, however. He opened his mantle, showing his gaunt, powerful form. He raised his head and faced the crowd. His face, strong and sunburned, was tense and drawn for a moment; then it relaxed. Deep lines, expressing severe pain, were furrowed in his forehead.
The crowd, in turn, was astonished at the complete change that had come over the "yokel." Before they recovered from their mistaken opinion about the man, they saw him clinch his fists in determination and heard his voice ring out clearly and distinctly, above the din of the market place:
"Hear ye,
Who turn justice to wormwood
And cast down righteousness to the earth;
Who trample upon the poor
And afflict the just;
Who take a bribe
And thrust aside the needy in the gate:
I know how manifold are your transgressions,
Saith the Lord, God of hosts,
And how mighty your sins,
The end of my people Israel hath come,
Saith the Lord, God of hosts,
I can no longer forgive."
This outspoken attack upon Samaria, its rich, and its military nobles, was so extraordinary that it amazed the crowd. Having spoken, the "farmer" turned away and was soon lost among the bazaars. Some looked after him, astonished at his recklessness in laying himself open to the revenge of the powers that be. Others looked after him, amazed at his bravery and fearlessness.
That night many in Samaria had heard of the unknown stranger and his speech in the market place. At many dinner tables the question was asked: