I’ve been in the Prophets in my own Bible reading lately, so it felt like a good time to break out this poem. The one thing I’ll note there is that I always used to struggle through the Prophets, and I still do to a certain extent when they’re calling down curses on random countries who aren’t mentioned elsewhere in the Bible—but I’ve also come to the conclusion that I HATE the fact that I now understand what the prophets were talking about, especially when they yelled at Israel and Judah’s leaders and prophets who were supposed to be caring for the people but instead got fat off them.
Originally written December 27, 2020
The weatherman stares deeply at his charts,
Predicting patterns based on wind and rain.
He picks each change in temperature apart,
And checks his data, then checks it again,
So he, with confidence, can give advice:
To go enjoy the sunshine, or to warn:
A forecast that could, maybe, save some lives
From the great fury of a wrathful storm.
And so too sits the prophet as he pores
Over the sacred scriptures, seeing God
Condemning human hearts. Our rotten cores—
The best of us are all still deeply flawed,
In need of rescue from His righteous gales—
And so the prophet warns and weeps and wails.