In my junior year of college, I met a girl. I was serious about my relationship, and felt a bit of apprehension when I realized that our parents would be in the same town, free to share a meal to meet. Preparing for the coming embarrassment, I was asking my mother what I should be sharing about myself as we were growing in the relationship. The words my mom had to offer were lacking in encouragement when she replied, "You should make sure she knows that you aren't going to make much money; I mean, you'll most likely only be able to provide a lower-middle class house." Thanks mom. When I told my girlfriend this, she scoffed, "I was planning on probably living in mud hunts anyway, since I'm called to the mission field." Needless to say, this was not the girl I married (she found a good guy in the future though).

There is little to convince me that my mom had malice for my future in her advice; as a matter of fact, her forthcoming comments convinced me of her better intensions for my life than I had! Point being, my mother loves me, wants the best for me, and many times that has taken on a form of apparent cynicism.

No one calling you to a higher standard, a more selfless way of life, a more adequate Christ-likeness, will be seen as an optimist by the majority. Those who receive the critique, and struggle with the blemishes, they will find themselves in the place of the prophet. They will find that all along, what the prophet sees is a potential that is not being reached, an ideal within reach, a beauty misunderstood.

Whether a football coach correcting my undisciplined routes, or a drawing teacher challenging me to draw a different way, the result is not a sense of bewildered folly, but the ghastly and humbling realization that I was not right. Church, you confess too late, you only soundbite the critiques you agree with, but misunderstand. Church, you see too many shepherds (which makes for enablers, coddlers, and babysitters) and not enough prophets.

That day, when my mother shared what she really thought, she risked what it would do to our relationship, and my self-image. A coach risks players reacting poorly to the guidance. A teacher risks reputation and the student’s abandonment of the craft altogether. For the prophet, the voice of critique and optimism, the risk is a loss of life, the chance that some may desert, and burned bridges. I fear that without risking much in the near future, I will become a useless, coddling, enabler in the distant future. Perhaps it is time…

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