This passage opens with a woe oracle, a prophetic literary device used to announce lament and judgment. The form typically begins with “Woe” and describes those under God’s curse—not His blessing. It draws on the covenant curses of Moses (e.g., Deut. 28) and also resonates with the wisdom tradition, where the way of the wicked ends in ruin. In prophetic usage, it carries the weight of funeral language, meant to shock hearers into wakefulness. That is especially fitting in Amos, where Israel’s death has already been declared (5:1–3). Now, Amos connects that death to something even more startling: the Day of the LORD.

In the previous section, God said He would “pass through” the midst of His people—not to save, but to judge (5:17). That same divine visitation is now labeled the Day of the LORD—a concept already familiar and popular in Amos’s time. Israel believed that this day would bring victory, vindication, and blessing: the righteous would be rewarded, the wicked destroyed, and God's kingdom established in power. As the covenant people, they assumed they were on the right side of this coming judgment.

But Amos delivers a devastating surprise. The Day of the LORD will not be a day of light, but of darkness and gloom. Instead of deliverance, it will bring disaster. The very God who has the power to “darken the day into night” (v. 8) will now do so in judgment against His own people. This is not just judgment—it is uncreation. The God who once brought order to the cosmos is now unraveling that order in response to Israel’s rebellion. They have overturned justice and cast righteousness to the ground; now He will cast down the very light that gave them life. They have mistaken covenant status for covenant faithfulness. They expect blessing, but will receive woe. The day they longed for will be their undoing.

To drive this point home, Amos gives two vivid images. It will be like escaping a lion, only to be met by a bear. Or like finally reaching the safety of your home, only to be bitten by a snake. The repetition and reversal are meant to unsettle: there will be no escape. Every attempt to flee will only lead to new danger. Even their homes—the symbol of security and blessing—will become places of death. Like the soldiers in Amos 2 who fled battle only to fall, so too will Israel fall on the day they thought they would rise.

Amos’s message is piercing: Yahweh will march not with Israel, but against them. Though they assumed His presence meant protection, their injustice and unfaithfulness have made them His enemies. They have become like the nations they once feared—and their fate will be the same. Woe to them indeed.

This is one of the most sobering sections in Amos—not only because of its strong language, but also due to the difficulty of its translation and interpretation. Yet Amos’ main message is unmistakable: God is rejecting Israel’s entire system of worship.

This paragraph builds directly on what came before. Israel likely invoked the "Day of the Lord" often in their festivals and assemblies. As they remembered God’s past deliverance, they celebrated and anticipated a future day when He would again act to save and bless His people. But Amos reveals that not only have they misunderstood what is coming—they have also misunderstood God Himself.

They assumed God was pleased with their sacrifices and gatherings. Perhaps they believed He needed their worship. But now God speaks directly: “I hate, I despise your feasts” (5:21). He rejects their festivals, solemn assemblies, offerings, and music. The comprehensive list signals that the entire system is defiled. The sacrifices are no longer a “pleasing aroma”; God will not smell them, He will not listen to their songs, He will not draw near.

The purpose of their worship—the festivals, offerings, and music—was to draw near to God at His table. But while they have preserved the outward motions, they have lost the inner substance. The relationship is broken. What the priests would normally declare—“The LORD has accepted your offering”—is now undone by Amos. Communion with God is no longer possible.

Why? Because justice and righteousness are missing. In chapter 4, God rejected their worship because they persisted in sin. Here, He makes it clear what that sin is: systemic injustice, crushed truth, silenced prophets, and widespread exploitation of the poor. God’s absence from their assemblies mirrors their absence of righteousness in society. They desire His presence without reflecting His character.

In verse 24, God gives the corrective vision: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” These are not peripheral concerns—they are at the heart of what it means to know and honor the Lord. Justice should be life-giving, like floodwaters that refresh the land. Righteousness should be consistent and reliable, like a perennial stream. If these qualities were present, worship would be acceptable. But without them, even the most devout ceremony is offensive.

There is a painful irony here: they hate those who speak for justice (v. 10), while God hates their worship without it (v. 21). What they silence, God demands. Amos exposes the drought: justice is gone from their gates, and God is gone from their worship.

The final verses (25–27) are among the most technically debated in the book. Verse 25 asks, “Did you bring me sacrifices and offerings during the forty years in the wilderness, O house of Israel?” Scholars differ on how to read this. Some argue the answer is “no”—that even without formal worship, Israel still enjoyed God’s presence because of their faithfulness. Others say “yes”—they did offer sacrifices, but mingled them with rebellion and idolatry, and were therefore not allowed to enter the land. Stephen, in Acts 7:42–43, quotes this passage to say that Israel never truly worshiped God with their hearts and consistently resisted His Spirit. Still others interpret Amos to mean that Israel was syncretistic—offering sacrifices to Yahweh while also worshiping the stars, as many of their neighbors did.

In the end, Amos shows that the people of his day are no better than the wilderness generation. Their hearts are hard, their worship is compromised, and their future will mirror their past. Just as the rebellious Israelites were barred from the promised land, so this generation will be driven out of it. They have made their choice—not the LORD, but the gods of the nations.

Verse 26 names two likely astral deities—Sikkuth and Kaiwan—probably associated with the planet Saturn. Worship of celestial powers was common in the region, and Israel had adopted these practices. They made idol thrones and platforms and participated in processional ceremonies just like their neighbors. In doing so, they not only abandoned the worship of Yahweh—they began to reflect the cold, impersonal authority of the gods they adored. As the Psalms warn, those who trust in idols become like them: powerful yet unjust, ordered yet indifferent to the poor. What they exalted in worship, they now embody in society. And in the end, what they carried in devotion will become their burden in judgment.

God declares that He will send them “beyond Damascus.” This is exile, and it is poetic justice. The nation once delivered from slavery to worship the true God will now be sent into foreign captivity for worshiping false ones.

There is likely a wordplay here. Just as God had called for justice to roll down (gālal) like waters, now He declares that Israel will be rolled out into exile (gālâ). Because they refused to let justice flow, they themselves will be swept away from the land of blessing and presence.

The Day of the Lord is still coming. But for Israel, it will not bring deliverance. It will bring devastation.