Their fear is evident;
Faced with revelation – vocation
Visions of Glory
And words of assurance,
Each in their turn
Sought solace in excuses:
“I’m but a boy!”
“A worthless sinner, I.”
“Please God, I’m no one’s first choice…”
But God is funny like that.
Choosing the simple to shame the wise;
Sending a fool
To upset sacred symmetry;
To tear down and call out –
A smash-and-grab artist, set among the fine china –
Such is the prophetic vocation.
No comfort in this call
But change. Kingdom change.
A kingdom without prophets
Would be a delicate place indeed;
A room fit only for display –
Too good for ordinary folk,
Who are the inheritors of God’s promise.
So the prophets do their mindful best
To pull down the drapes,
And soil the rug,
And leave smudges on the good glass
That the broken, brave-hearted children of God,
Might someday feel at home.