I Met a Prophet

When I was told I needed surgery, I got out my calendar and set it up, surgery Thursday, back to work Tuesday. Made sense to me. The doctor told me it would take a month, but I figured I could get by, what the heck. I don’t expect whether forecasters to be accurate. Why should I expect doctors to know what they’re talking about?

In our Tuesday morning Bible study, we’re talking about prophets. These scary people who are the mouth pieces of God, standing with one foot firmly planted in the world of here and now and the other in the clarity of the eternal now of the One who knows and sees all that was, is, and shall be. “Thus says the Lord,” has rarely been greeted with gladness or eagerness. We don’t like to be told that most of what we’re doing is wrong and will get us into a lot of trouble. We don’t want to hear that we shouldn’t smoke, or eat half a bag of Doritos, or judge people because they’re different. We don’t want to be any more generous, forgive our enemies, or reduce our carbon foot print. We’ve worked hard on our excuses. We’ve even find ‘good’ reasons to tune out all these weirdoes. Why should we listen to somebody that doesn’t agree with us, let alone believe what they say?

I’ve found inspiration in the prophets. Though nobody listens to them, they keep at it because their relationship with God drags them toward the clarity from which their inspiration comes. So, when I get slapped around or worse, ignored, I remember them and keep at it.

I doubt my surgeon considers himself a prophet. But I doubt he has any easier time convincing stubborn patients like me to believe the probabilities that are coming at them like an eighteen wheeler. Last week Chris told me it was nice to see the brightness coming back in my eyes. I looked at the calendar. Yup, a month. I have to tell my doctor about the prophets. And, I have to stop being such an idiot. I’m sure
that's going to happen, real soon.