The Exhaustion of the Prophets

[Note: Today’s guest bloger is Suzanne DeWitt Hall (she/they). Suzanne is the author of THE LANGUAGE OF BODIES, which Wally Lamb called “…a film noir between covers—dark, tense, and sexy.” Other books include Where True Love Is devotionals, the Living in Hope series which supports the family and friends of transgender people, The Path of Unlearning faith deconstruction books, and the Rumplepimple adventures. In addition, Suzanne is a regular preacher and minister at Spiritus’ weekday masses. Thank you Suzanne!]

I’ve been thinking a lot about Rev. Myra this week, and the depth of exhaustion she must be managing as she moves through months of exceptional busyness. Today’s readings resonate with my concern because they convey an indisputable truth: Being a prophet is hard.

Prophets ceaselessly do the work of consoling, extolling, rebuking, and reminding, as they push back against wave after wave of social injustice and imperial atrocity. These heroes strive day after day, year after year, to proclaim messages we need to hear, and to do the work Jesus tells us is participation in the divine kingdom. They must be so, so tired.

Today’s Hebrew scripture passage (2 Kings 5:1-15ab) opens with an unnamed servant girl suggesting that Naaman—an army captain from Aman—visit Elisha in Israel to be healed from leprosy. She was an enslaved child who preached a very simple liberation theology. Her message moved its way up the social hierarchy from Naaman’s wife to Namaan, from Namaan to the King of Aram, and from that King to the King of Israel, who threw a hissy fit about why he was being bothered about it.

The story eventually wound its way to Elisha, who probably heaved a tired sigh while replying “…let him come to me.” Elisha was a busy guy, after all, raising people from the dead, multiplying oil to save children from slavery, and trying to convince the Israelites to remember their God. It was a lot.

Naaman and his retinue galloped along to Elisha’s house, but Elisha was apparently so worn out by the demands of his vocation that he didn’t come to the door. Instead, he sent a messenger down to deliver instructions for washing in the river Jordan. But humans being human, Naaman’s pride was triggered. He thought his socio- political standing deserved a healing ritual of magic, pomp, and majesty. Bathing in an unmajestic river was beneath him. His delicate ego was injured.

The story is an illustration of different kinds of prophets delivering simple messages, and the pride-inflicted deafness which prevents people from hearing them. That theme is repeated in the gospel reading (Luke 4:24-30), where we find Jesus frustrated that the people in his home town had a similar response to his word. They thought Jesus was too ordinary. Too familiar. Not impressive or flashy enough to be a message-bearer and miracle-maker of God.

Jesus must have been exhausted.

Humanity is easy prey for faulty assumptions about what holiness looks like, and we take for granted the energy and dedication being a prophet requires. The Psalm reading (Psalm 42:2, 3; 43:3, 4) explores this exhaustion, and inspired a hymn called As the Deer Panteth for the Water. The song poignantly honors the emotional fatigue of today’s era and our longing for the vision of peace and wholeness offered by God as an eventual universal reality.

We hope for a solution to the rising waves of death and injustice, sometimes wishing the lightning bolts John and James were ready to throw would rain down. We pray that the tsunami of poison would be stemmed in some majestic, magnificent way.

Meanwhile the prophet’s messages continue in their simplicity: Stop seeking power. Don’t be greedy. Help one another. Remember who God is. Seek God’s face again. Walk humbly.

The prophets are tired. Bone weary.

Lent should be a time when today’s prophets get to relax a bit. After all, in this
season we’re supposed to devote time to considering and applying their messages. We’re called to contemplate how to more fully enact love in this season, so maybe we should step up as amplifiers of the prophets’ messages and give them a chance to rest and recharge.

You and I, all of us, are temples of the Holy Spirit. We’re all capable of prophesying love using our unique circumstances and voices. A good way to prepare for the work is by proclaiming that love to ourselves. A friend introduced me to author Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Letters from Love” practice. The idea is to set aside time to listen quietly each day and then journal, opening each entry with this question:

Dear Love, what do you want me to learn today?

Gilbert suggests pondering the points below as a way of opening your heart to what God would have you hear.

“What would the spirit of unconditional love tell you, if it had a voice? What does
your heart need to hear today, in this exact moment? Where is the suffering, and
what does it long to be told? What reassurance or comfort does your spirit need? Let the words come.”

You can learn more on her website.

I’m new to this spiritual practice, but am already experiencing its gentle power of
connection. I pray God will equip me with the wisdom and courage to pass along
messages of love I receive, inspired by the prophets working so hard on our behalf. Prophets like Rev. Myra, who is also a teacher, evangelist, shepherd, and community activist. I need a nap just thinking about the way she pours herself out.

In the remaining days of Lent, let’s all try to share the load today’s prophets carry,
and to find ways to give them rest. It’s hard, hard work, and God knows they could use a break.

Closing prayer: God who is Love, help us recognize the needs of those who serve
you, so that we can serve them. Inspire us to provide encouragement and rest, that
they may continue to proclaim your truth to a hurting world.
In your many names we pray. Amen.