But the thing that David had done displeased the LORD and the LORD sent Nathan to David.
David has committed adultery, and conniving murder to get rid of her husband. Nathan goes to David and tells him so. Prophets are not so much future tellers, as they are truth tellers. They hold up a mirror to bad behavior, and call them out on their bad behavior, often without societal norms of tact and decorum. It is possible that I’ve been charged with this kind of tactless talk. It is possible it has gotten me in trouble.
And to be a prophet also means to be willing to take on the power structure. As someone who has always had great respect for authority, perhaps more than due, this is an area where my prophetic voice is frequently silenced. When asked, I will always speak my truth. When silenced, I tend to remain silenced.
It’s a tricky balance, to be an authority-deferent prophet, one I’m still learning.
Update on family drama: My husband and I travelled to the town where the thought our loved one had gone. It’s where we lived for years before moving to Portland. We drove all of the places where people tended to congregate – parks, plazas, downtown corners. Oregon has a ‘no eviction’ rule in effect during COVID, so land lords cannot evict people for not paying rent. That’s also been translated to government cannot evict homeless camps on public property, so we saw hundreds of tents in dozens of different sites around town. We walked through a few, but found nothing, or anyone who’d seen our loved one.
After lunch, we thought we’d drive towards our old home. Miraculously we saw our loved one, sitting on a bike trail drinking a beer. We approached, and they were not eager to see us, and definitely not interested in joining us. We talked for about 30 minutes, and eventually they got up to leave. My mama-bear instincts kicked in, and I could not leave them. I walked behind, with my husband driving slowly behind for another hour.
They periodically yelled rape very loudly, went to strangers’ homes to explain that we were attacking them, but kept walking. I remained a few yards behind. I tried to convince that they were sick enough to go to the hospital, and we’d be happy to take them. That they’d likely encounter the police or crisis workers, and we could avoid that if we just went to the hospital first.
Although that was definitely true, they did not want to hear that truth. They turned on me and threw several punches, one which knocked me over. Shakily, I called the police. Did I want to press charges? No. I want them to get the help they need. The police and crisis workers talked with them for another hour, while my husband and I retreated to our parked car. After an hour and further outbursts, they walked away, unwilling to go to the hospital voluntarily. And not sick enough to be forced.
So we returned to Portland, knowing our loved one was increasingly sick, increasingly vulnerable, and unwilling to accept the help of the crisis workers, or us. We may return to that town next week to continue to try to get them the help and services they need. It may or may not work. But as the spring rains begin again, it’s imposible not to try.
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