My dad was born and raised in Hong Kong. He grew up in a government housing complex that was concrete in every direction you looked: the walls, the floors, the ceilings–concrete. I got to visit the spot right before the pandemic, and suddenly all the stories I heard in childhood made sense: how my dad got so good sprinting up steps because he lived on the 18th floor and there was no elevator, how he would still remember bits of the catechism from going to the catholic missionary school down the street, how his parents would take him to get hot dogs on special occasions.

When I visited Hong Kong right before the COVID-19 pandemic, I wanted to do what most second generation kids want to do when they visit their parent’s home: milk it for every story it’s got. “Oh tell me about the basketball court,” I would say as we walked by, my eyes trying to see a history I never witnessed. “Dad, tell me about what you wore, tell me about my great grandparents, and tell me about what religion was like.” And my dad, whom I love, responded like most first generation immigrants: “Pretty good. Things were simple. Bits and pieces.” We walked quietly through the concrete hallway, the bars over the windows, the grates over the doors…and, gosh, maybe it was because how hot it was, and maybe it was because I was a second gen kid that by hearing these stories felt like I was having a limb reattached to me that I didn’t even know was missing, but I did feel the Holy Spirit there. I did sense that warm flicker of aliveness of the Spirit–the same Spirit that finds me in worship or at a waterfall, but it was here in this concrete building–in a community of poverty.

I became aware of how every aspect of my formation as an American is to hate poverty and to worship affluence, and to assume that God only meets us in polished and leisurely spaces, and yet here was that Spirit, dwelling among the poor.

But the funny thing about Hong Kong is that there is also a significant concentration of wealth. The book and movie Crazy Rich Asians takes place in Singapore, but I saw plenty there, too. So we went down to the harbor and boarded the ferry to the wealthier downtown, and suddenly the class consciousness flipped: the Hong Kongers were looking down on me as a tasteless tourist, and I noticed my dad’s skin was tanner than the elites, and everyone spoke with pristine English.

And as I breathed in the salt water of the harbor and the Chanel perfume of the woman on the ferry next to me, the Holy Spirit fell quiet. I’m glad I have a theology of God being everywhere, but gosh at that particular time, there was only deep awareness of some people being ‘haves’ and some people being ‘have nots.’ The familiar scent of inequality, the familiar sharpness of class difference quieted down the Holy Spirit. Because no matter which era or dynasty or hemisphere or culture, sooner or later if the city gets large enough you’ll find income inequality there.

And that’s what in our reading Amos was preaching about today. Amos grew up in the poor community in Tekoa, south of Jerusalem, he spends most of his prophecies talking to the wealthy elites in the north. And you know that Amos met God in Tekoa, you can tell that he had parents and aunties and teachers who taught him how to sense the warm flicker of aliveness of the Spirit that guides him. Because Amos took that Holy Spirit inspiration and went to the wealthy elites and called it as it is. He told them you all are shutting the poor out and turning an apathetic eye away from the very people you are stepping on. How will you ever connect with God when you’re hoarding all that money? He asks.

Amos’ words were in response to a specific geopolitical situation, but his critique is universal. Even the New Testament recognizes this, which is perhaps why you’ll find references to Amos in Acts and even in Revelation. And maybe as you’re listening to this, your own mind is starting to flicker with images of income inequality in your own community, as well. So we must ask where does the Holy Spirit really live?

As for my dad, he emigrated to Canada and then later to the United States. Because sure, in the US people mocked him for his accent and height, and sure, it hadn’t even been 100 years since the Chinese Exclusion Act specifically banned Chinese immigrants like him, but in the US there was opportunity, and space. And sure, the Holy Spirit is in the government housing that he grew up in, but for someone who grew up there it’s sometimes just nice to be able to visit waterfalls. Plus, hot dogs were cheap in the US! Cheap enough to fill a freezer full of them. So my dad emigrated over.

But, as he would find out, there’s poverty in the US, too. The 2022 census says that 12.4% of all children in the US live in poverty. 12.4% and that is of course disproportionately on black and brown families because of systemic injustice.

If Amos were to walk through the streets of Miami, or Cleveland, or San Francisco, he might see the same kind of thing that got him so mad that he wrote part of the Bible. But it’s not about being a haughty social justice warrior, you see that right? It’s not about being some uppity social justice person who is mad on social media. It’s a matter of where God’s movement is the most. It’s a matter of where God lives. Indeed, what Amos says about income inequality is something that no politician in the US would ever be willing to say. In Amos 5, we hear a lamentation that makes connections that you don’t hear in any presidential debate: he says that a society’s soul is directly reflected by the inequality in that society. The more unequal, the further that society has strayed from God. And moreover, that societies that mistreat the poor are dooming themselves to ruin– literally geopolitically dooming themselves – because for Amos mistreating the poor has a causal link to being invaded by other countries. Are you hearing how radical this is? Neither Republican nor Democrat is saying “If you don’t reduce the child poverty rate in the next couple years, Canada is going to take up arms and take us over, because God is punishing us.” Radical. You can imagine the memes and Tik Toks of Canadians coming in with maple syrup and poutine to take over the US.

And yet, here is Amos, speaking just as plain as day: stop trampling on the poor, because you’re going to miss God entirely, and you yourself will be trampled.

Imagine how fast things would change if we actually believed this were true. People would be canceling plans to make sure food shelves were overflowing with produce and diapers. Cities would declare a state of emergency until every person in poverty had somewhere to sleep–and suddenly we would find a way for all those empty beds in vacant buildings to get filled. The only political ads we would be seeing is politicians talking about how many families can now eat, or breathe, or live because of their policies. And the three wealthiest people, I’m looking at you, Bill Gates, Warren Buffett, and Jeff Bezos --those three people who control the combined wealth of 50% of this country– would sell all of their stuff on Amazon, maybe, because after all, there’s no use in trying to get rich if the Canadian invaders are coming.

And maybe this is the type of spiritual/economic revolution that Amos was trying to induce here. Whether the reader is in Hong Kong or Sao Paolo or Cincinnati, maybe Amos was trying to compel people to stop hoarding wealth because it’s getting in the way with our relationship with God. And, sure, his methods were a little extreme. Nowadays he would probably be put on a watch list for the FBI, but his theology was clear: hate evil and choose good, and establish justice at the gate if you ever want to taste the goodness of God in your life. Maybe this is why Jesus kept going on about how you can’t serve God and wealth. And the church doesn’t have to romanticize poverty–because, after all, my dad did leave without looking back–but we can nonetheless name that our spiritual health is directly correlated to our neighbor’s empty belly.

And here’s the trick: churches often get visibility for addressing poverty but don’t get the same credit for preventing poverty. And that’s something we should really address. You don’t see a lot of YouTube videos circulating of people in the middle class who never fell into poverty in the first place because the church made sure there were sound school systems, safety nets, and policies in their communities. And, for that matter, there aren’t a lot of churches who do mission projects for people like me, people who could have fallen into poverty, but then didn’t. It makes me wish that Jesus elaborated a little bit more in Matthew 20. When he said, ‘whenever you feed or clothe the least of these you do it for me’, I wish he kept going and said ‘but you also get extra credit points if you can make a society where people don’t need to be fed or clothed in the first place.’

A couple Sundays ago, I met my first trans refugee. This is a person, let’s call her Ava today, was born in South America, moved to the American South, came out as trans and realized her life was in jeopardy as a trans Latino woman in the south and moved to Minnesota where there are still some laws protecting transgender health. She came to church asking if we could help her find a place to live. And I admit that I found her to be a little shall we say grating–when I asked her to join worship, she said, “No thanks, I don’t need Jesus or any other imaginary friends” – but thank God I have folks like Amos and Jesus to call me in. The Holy Spirit is with Ava, and my soul’s health and my church’s spiritual health depends on Ava finding a home where the racial and gender violence that she experienced doesn’t turn into economic violence. And yes, as I’m saying this, we’re connecting Ava with resources and honing in on a place for her to live. She said she doesn’t need any imaginary friends, but by God’s grace we’ll try to be real friends for her in the meantime. And all of our souls will benefit because of it.

I want to close with one more thing. Perhaps the most exciting thing that entered my radar lately is the so-called ‘halo’ effect of churches. Have you all heard of this? In one report from the organization “Partners for Sacred Places,” researchers measured 100 different dimensions of how a church economically contributes to their local society. So for example, when a church buys flowers that has economic impacts, or when a church helps someone find a job that has economic impacts, or when a church prevents a suicide that has economic impacts. They measured all of those in churches in Chicago, Philadelphia, and Fort Worth and calculated the local financial impact on their surrounding community. Guess what economic impact they said churches make. They found that churches make an average of $1.7 million dollars a year in their local community. 1.7 million dollars! And, honestly, that’s with churches not even focusing on that. So imagine if Jesus handed you 1.7 million dollars and asked you to end income inequality in the four blocks surrounding your church. This is the imagination that Amos is demanding and that Jesus is empowering–a generosity that believes in a world where every child, every immigrant, every oppressed person and image bearer of God, has food and clothing.

Church, may we be so bold. Amen!