No More Prophets?

Today marks the 50^th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King’s prophetic “I Have a Dream" speech.  Long lauded as one of the most powerful and eloquent speeches in history, King’s words gave voice to a movement that changed our history.  All of us live in a better nation because of the words of this man speaking on behalf of some of us. 

It is easy to sentimentalize that speech in that moment in history. However, the reality is that there were many Americans for whom King’s dream was decidedly not their own dream. Segregated society served them well, they believed.  Well-educated citizens (even church people!) believed that King’s vision would not be a dream, but a nightmare.  King served as a prophet by speaking hard truth to people who did not want to hear it, and he paid for it with his life.

My morning Scripture reading today included Zechariah 13.  The prophet promises that “in that day” (meaning “the day when God’s kingdom shall be fulfilled among us”), there will be no more false idols.  Interestingly, he announces also that there will be no more prophets in that day.  Zechariah doesn’t say that there will be no more false prophets, he says that there will be no more prophets of any stripe. In fact, in that day prophets are to change professions and become farmers. 

I puzzled over those words for awhile. Why no more prophets?  And then it struck me.  There will be no more need for prophets to announce the will of God, because, in that day, we will all see and understand and live in God’s will fully.  How will we know the Kingdom has arrived? When we no longer need someone else to explain it to us.

Dr. King served as a prophet to our nation, announcing a better way.  Sometimes people wonder about the need for continued focus on civil rights in our nation, citing how far we have come. Do we really need to keep talking about these same things again and again? Aren’t we good enough yet? I am convinced the day will come, as Zechariah promised, that we will no longer need prophets. Until that day arrives, though, may we continue to be attentive to the words of the prophets among us, as they continue to call us to a better way, a way to make our world today look a bit more like God’s kingdom.

Time Keeps on Slippin'

Time is a funny thing. It can be measured in so many different ways, by so many different yardsticks.

Three years ago this week, we moved into our Blue Springs home.  (We commuted a few weeks while waiting for our house to sell.) However, I’m now in my 4^th year of ministry in Blue Springs, which means that I’m busily planning my 4^th Christmas Eve here. So it either feels like 3 years in terms of house or 4 years in terms of ministry.  Either way, life before Blue Springs seems long, long ago.

A year ago, my father was coming to the end of his life on earth.  I am surprised at how much I am feeling this anniversary, and how much I am reliving last year’s events.  Each day has a mental marker for me- the day Dad went into the hospital but we thought he’d get better; the day we found out he wouldn’t recover; the last day he was alert; the last day. I am surprised at how immediate these feelings are, even a year later.

Two weeks ago, we got back from vacation.  Lazy days on the beach seem like a distant memory. My usual routine has settled itself back around me like a familiar bathrobe, and it’s hard to remember what it was like to have days structured only by the tide charts.  I realize anew how blessed I am to have days that are full of meaningful work and play. 

I'm not thinking just about how I measure the past. The future seems closer, too.  The September events are planned and underway. Ginger Avengers are busily recruiting for October’s JDRF walk.  Christmas Eve is largely planned, and I’ve even been working on my Christmas Eve sermon.  (After all, I’m pretty sure I know the story line for that evening’s Scripture.) 

Time moves at an entirely different pace for a young child starting school.  The fifteen minutes of homework feels like an eternity, and the weekend seems forever away.  Completing this grade level and advancing to the next grade is unimaginable. 

This week in worship, I spoke about Ecclesiastes, the familiar place which says, “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”  Time itself is the locus of God’s work among us.  No matter at what speed our clocks move or what season of life that we find ourselves, God is present and bringing about purpose and meaning.

What Pastors Do on Summer Vacation: Part 3 of a Trilogy, In Which I Stand My Ground

“I’m glad you didn’t shoot me!” were the man’s final words to me.

I was lounging on the screen porch of our condo that morning, sipping orange juice as I read the paper.  I had returned already from my sunrise beach walk, and Andy was off on his morning bike ride.  The kids hadn’t yet come over from their condo for breakfast, but I had left the front door unlocked for their arrival. I heard the front door open and, thinking that it was strange that they had come over so much earlier than usual, got up to greet them. As I peered from the bright sunlight of the porch into the semi-darkness of the interior, I saw the outline of my son-in-law getting water from the kitchen sink.  “Good morning!” I called. He replied, “Good morning” and looked up.

It was not my son-in-law.

“Umm, I think you’re in the wrong condo.”  (Every condo in the complex is identical in layout and furniture.)

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The man looked shocked and embarrassed as he moved to the door so quickly that he even forgot to turn off the running water. “This isn’t 2A?”

“No, it’s 1A.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t shoot me!” were his final words as he slipped out the door.

Shoot him? While I’m not an expert on such matters, I don’t think Bad Guys are older men who pause for a glass of water before doing their Bad Guy Stuff. Even if he had been a Bad Guy, I was standing at the porch door and could’ve been outside long before he could have gotten out of the kitchen. While it was surprising to find a strange man in my kitchen, I never felt endangered in the least. Why would he think that I would shoot him?[1]

Oh. Then I remembered.  We were in Florida.[2]

 

Luckily, I decided to stand my ground with just my own two feet, which worked out perfectly fine for both of us.

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[1] Approximately 96.7% of the time, finding a strange man in my kitchen would cause me to scream, run, and possibly fling large pots and pans.  However, an old guy getting water from the sink happens to fall within the 3.3% of non-panic inducing situations.

[2] The George Zimmerman “Stand Your Ground” case continued to rage in Florida newspaper editorials while we were there. I could’ve shot him, I’m pretty sure, and not gotten convicted. Apparently, he was aware of that fact also.