Prophesy

And what shall I Cry?

A voice says, “Cry out.”     

And I said, “What shall I cry?”

“All people are like grass,     

and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall,     

because the breath of the Lord blows on them.     Surely the people are grass. The grass withers and the flowers fall,     

but the word of our God endures forever.”

Isaiah 40:6-8

I admit, I’ve been favoring the prophets lately. As someone who lives in a country that is, undeniably, experiencing a seismic shift in so many parts of our identity, it only makes sense. I usually tend towards Isaiah because he was working before, during, and arguably after the exile. He peered into the tunnel and saw both the train and the light at the far end. He knew there was a train bearing down on the people of Israel, and that the train had an end. And he had the fortitude to stick it out while the train rumbled by.

I do believe we are at an Isaiah moment. So many of us can see the handwriting on the wall and the stiff-necked people who refuse to see sense. As much as I see the work of the Prophets as part of the Word of God, I can also read history from them.

Nothing about what is happening now is new. That may be hard to hear, but humanity has made a series of decisions like the ones we’ve made that have landed us here before, in countries that have endured and in places that no longer exist. The Prophets tell us plainly that when we forget one another and forget who God has called us to be, then suffering follows; it’s a hard reality that cannot be diluted.

There is nothing so ontologically special about this country that we should be spared from the inevitability that stems from forgetting who we are at the end of the day: a nation of people who need one another and God. We’ve forgotten the poor. We’ve mistreated the resident alien. We’ve chosen division over unity. Just read the ding-dang prophets; we know what comes next.

And yet, people cry out, “Why aren’t you saying anything more?” In the words of the hymn: “What more can he say than to you he hath said?”

Plenty of ink has already been spilled over all the atrocities that have been committed and will continue to be committed. There’s been no seismic change. Plenty of outrage has fueled online “flame wars,” but to no avail. There are so many names of people who have been icons of injustices, that I dare say we cannot remember all of them easily. What changes have those names wrought? I’m not convinced that adding more noise to the fray will be altogether helpful. People have eyes and they choose not to see; I assume hearing is being affected as well. Trying to pinpoint a cogent response to everything going wrong feels like spinning plates or juggling chainsaws. At some point, in attempting to keep an eye on everything, something will drop or go awry. Instead, I will choose to keep my eyes on the immovable; I will choose to keep my eyes on that which endures.

Before anyone says it, no, I’m not being nihilistic, I’m being a realist. When COVID-19 broke out we had a shining opportunity as a species to remember that we belong to each other and that tending the sick would unite us. But shouts of suspicion rose up against solutions, straw men were erected and red herrings caught, and we failed. Even now, we can see that the gates are down and the lights are flashing. Solutions that make sense have been offered. Changes that could avert disaster have been suggested and ignored. We’re perfectly postured to turn this around and are recalcitrant. So I think we’re just waiting on the train.

And yet…

Even now, in the midst of what is surely disaster, I remain hopeful. I remain hopeful because there are things in this world that endure. The love I feel for family, friends, and strangers. The goodness that springs up in humanity, that if sown and faithfully cultivated, can strengthen the weak and lift up the fallen. The strength of the human spirit that longs for freedom and defies tyranny and injustice. The Word of the Lord endures forever and God continues to try and save us from ourselves.

He has told you, O mortal, what is good;

    and what does the Lord require of you

but to do justice, and to love kindness,

    and to walk humbly with your God?

That’s from the Prophet Micah, working in a different time that Isaiah, but his words are nonetheless stirring. We should do justly, we should live kindness, and we should walk humbly with our God, and I would argue, with our neighbors.

But sometimes it takes an exile to learn these lessons. And I think the exile will last as long as it takes us to remember one another and to remember that God has been telling us that this would happen from the beginning. The choice is ours to make. I wonder what we will decide. E’en so, Come Quickly, Lord Jesus.