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Yves Congar, the great twentieth century Dominican theologian, in a book he wrote a little more than a decade before the Second Vatican Council (a book which by the way influenced the future Pope John XXIII), said in rather a matter of fact way, but mystically nonetheless, that “Prophecy was part of the original personality of the Church.”[1]

Now that’s an abstract-sounding claim these days in this supposedly rational age, putting more stock in apologetics and shallow argumentation as we do now, more than in those early ages of faith when Christians relied on what the apostle Peter called the “signs and wonders” of Jesus.[2] We might not readily think of prophecy as something belonging to the Church today, as something alive and active. But unless Paul’s words mean nothing now, prophecy must remain what he called a “spiritual gift”—“strive eagerly to prophesy,” he said.[3] That prophecy was alive in the Church was the proud claim of many early fathers: “Behold…the prophets live in us,” Origen boasted.[4] It was, as Congar said, part of the “personality of the Church.”

But if prophecy belongs to the very essence of the Church, doesn’t that suggest there will always be tension, argument, and even sometimes conflict in the Church? You see, we don’t much care for truth-tellers. We don’t like to be challenged, called on the carpet. We have a history, we humans generally, of ignoring and sometimes even mistreating those who play the prophet. Twain said once, “There has only been one Christian. They caught and crucified him—early.”[5] Jesus himself might smile at that joke. He had a hard time of it. “No prophet is accepted in his hometown,” he said early in his ministry.[6] And it didn’t get any better, rather worse. Mocked, spit on, slapped—“Prophesy for us, you Christ!” they jeered just hours before the end.[7] Prophecy is a frightful thing really, and it is remarkable that apostles and theologians, saints and all, should say it belongs permanently in the Church—at least among those for whom the faith is real and not merely sedative.

And so, what are we to make of John the Baptist? On the banks of the Jordan, in the spirit of Elijah, he calls out the Pharisees and Sadducees: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?” He accuses them of spiritual pride, of a sort of sacred chauvinism. “Do not presume to say…‘We have Abraham as our father.’” He invites them to meditate upon judgment. “His winnowing fan is in his hand,” he said. He told them to consider the “unquenchable fire”—this prophet come to announce the coming of the Lamb of God, the Christ, the Prince of Peace.

And what should we think? “Oh, what a pity. See how blind they were, those poor Pharisees.” Is that how we should hear the gospel, at a safe distance, with a sort of entertained pity? Or should we listen to this story with a bit more fear, wondering what the Baptist would say to us? Should we think of ourselves? Do you think he would congratulate us? Or would he too invite us to think of fire? Would he compliment us? Or would he force us to see our spiritual pride? “Do not say, ‘I’ve been a Catholic all my life. I went to Catholic school.’” “Do not say, ‘I’m a priest. I’ve been to seminary.” If prophecy is real, we must consider this. If we are real, we must consider this.

But this is where many of us undoubtedly get off the bus. It was Jehoiakim, that ancient king of Judah, who took a knife to the scroll containing the words of the prophet Jeremiah, throwing small pieces into the fire until nothing was left.[8] We sometimes are no better than that wicked king. We hear the sometimes demanding word of God, and we either sentimentalize all the meaning out of it or outright ignore it. There are enormous churches and influential preachers, so called, that make a lot of money selling a type of religiosity devoid of anything difficult or convicting. In his own day Paul called such people “superapostles,” and he was clear they preached a “different gospel.”[9] Sometimes we simply laugh the gospel out of our lives. Everything can be made into a joke these days. Stephen Marche, the Canadian novelist, wrote an Op-Ed a few years back titled, “The Left has a post-truth problem too: It’s Called Comedy.”[10] We laugh today more than we think. But the problem is that when we all stop laughing, we find ourselves a bit more numb to beauty, to innocence, to tragedy, truth and to compassion. Kierkegaard, the great Danish philosopher, told a story once about a clown come suddenly before the audience because of a fire backstage. He warned the audience about the fire, begging them to leave. But everyone thought it was part of the show; they laughed at the warning. “So I think the world will come to an end,” Kierkegaard wrote, “amid the general applause from all the wits, who believe that it is a joke.”[11] So it is with us sometimes; we just don’t take seriously the wisdom and warnings of God.

When the Curé d’Ars, Saint John Vianney, the patron of all parish priests, took to the pulpit his first Sunday in the parish he said, “What misery! Hell exists. I beg you: think of hell.”[12] Now, how would we receive preaching like that today—here? Would we complain? Write an email? Laugh at the preacher? Walk out? Threaten to go to another church? If a prophet were to come, how would we receive him? After Peter finished preaching that first Pentecost morning—the first Christian sermon—the people responded, “What are we to do?”[13] Such is the Christian way to respond to the difficult, hard and prophetic word of God, to ask, “What are we to do?” But is that how we would respond? Do we have the moral maturity to hear the truth? Do we have the moral capacity to be convicted? Do we scoff (even if silently to ourselves) when we hear the Church teach those difficult things the world would have us disregard and belittle? Do we ignore or patronize the pious prodding of loved ones who simply for the love of our souls beg us to come to Church just a little, to remember God just a little? If a prophet were to come—and he has come—how would you receive him? How have you received him?

The prophets prophesy Christ. They are his heralds, and you cannot have Christ without them. Again, the great Origen said once, “Someone who needs Christ needs the prophets. For it is not possible that he needs Christ, but that he has no need for those who prepare the coming and advent of Christ.”[14] “Prepare the way of the Lord,” the Baptist said, but what does that mean?[15] We’ll never know—never—until we’re finally able to listen, free of pride, free of arrogance, and free of the ridiculous notion that we know better than God. We’ll never hear the angels, that holy night, unless we first hear the Baptist. And so, let us prepare for the coming of the Lord, but truly. By listening and burning penance. Amen.

[1] Yves Congar, True and False Reform in the Church, 177

[2] Acts 4:30

[3] 1 Corinthians 14:39

[4] Origen, Commentary on Lamentations 116

[5] The Wit and Wisdom of Mark Twain, 24

[6] Luke 4:24 paraphrase

[7] Matthew 26:68 paraphrase

[8] Jeremiah 36:22-26

[9] 2 Corinthians 11:4-5

[10] Stephen Marche, “The Left has a post-truth problem too: It’s Called Comedy,” Los Angeles Times, Jan 6. 2017

[11] Parables of Kierkegaard, 3

[12] Henri Ghéon, The Secret of the Curé d’Ars, 44

[13] Acts 2:37

[14] Origen, Homily 5 on 1 Samuel 7

[15] Matthew 3:3

© 2019 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield