The Prophetic Call is Always Social

The Tears of Things

When we approach scripture, we must remember that it was not written in a vacuum. The Bible is a collection of texts shaped by real people in real historical contexts, wrestling with the same fundamental questions we face today. Such a view of Scripture helps us realize that real people in real contexts wrote the Bible; it did not fall out of thin air onto an inspired page. [1] To understand its message, we must engage it with the same depth and complexity with which it was written. Reading scripture as a frozen, ahistorical document distorts its meaning and prevents us from entering into the living, evolving wisdom it contains. Instead, we must seek to understand the conditions that gave rise to these texts, the communities that preserved them, and the ongoing conversation they invite us into (2 Timothy 3:16-17; Hebrews 4:12).

This means moving beyond literalism, which can trap us in a narrow, self-serving reading of scripture and turn it into a tool for justifying harm. The moment we approach the text as something to be mastered rather than something that can transform us, we have already lost the way. Rather than reading the Bible inside our own bubble, we must allow the Bible to read us. [1] The sacred text is not an object to be wielded in defense of our assumptions but a mirror that reveals who we are and who we are called to become (James 1:22-25; Psalm 119:105). When we allow scripture to challenge and change us, rather than merely affirm what we already believe, we begin to see the prophetic tradition for what it truly is—a call to transformation, not comfort (Isaiah 55:8-9).

This transformation is evident in the prophetic figures themselves, who move through stages of moral awakening. The prophets begin in outrage, naming injustice with fiery conviction, but as they deepen in wisdom, their anger gives way to sorrow, and finally to a vision of renewal. Religious motivation is no longer based on fear of punishment but on compassion for all suffering—not just mine or ours. [1] True spiritual growth does not stop at judgment; it moves toward lamentation, then beyond lamentation to a love that encompasses even those we once condemned (Micah 6:8; Hosea 6:6). This evolution is essential if we are to become agents of justice without becoming embittered by it (Amos 5:24).

Spiritual maturity requires a shift in motivation—from self-concern to a concern for the common good. In the early stages, religion is often about personal security: Am I saved? Am I right? Am I blessed? But as one grows, these questions become less important than the call to serve and uplift others. To 'do something for God' is another way of saying to do it for the common good. [1] The more we awaken to the divine presence in all things, the more we realize that true devotion is not found in private piety alone but in a life given over to love, justice, and solidarity with the suffering (Matthew 25:40; 1 John 3:17-18).

And yet, this shift is not merely about external actions—it is about the transformation of our very being. The prophets did not merely demand better behavior; they called for a radical reorientation of the heart. Divine perfection is precisely the ability to include imperfection! [1] The spiritual journey is not about erasing our faults or striving for an impossible ideal but about integrating every part of ourselves, even the parts we would rather hide, into a wholeness that is honest and true (2 Corinthians 12:9; Romans 8:28). When we understand that imperfection is not a barrier to the divine but the very material through which grace operates, we begin to live with greater humility, patience, and compassion (Psalm 51:17).

This transformation is not a comfortable process. Divine encounter undoes and remakes us, stripping away false security and leaving us vulnerable before the truth. Isaiah, upon experiencing the presence of God, cries out in despair, recognizing his own unworthiness (Isaiah 6:5). Yet, it is in this undoing that he is also remade, sent forth as a prophet. We must include the shadow side in the solution. [1] Spiritual awakening is not about transcending our humanity but about embracing it fully, allowing even our brokenness to become a site of divine presence and healing (Genesis 50:20; 2 Corinthians 4:7-9).

But this kind of seeing does not happen instantly. Understanding unfolds slowly, requiring deep listening, patience, and the willingness to be changed over time. Forgiveness is not denial, but 'yes and': Yes, you did wrong, and I forgive you. [1] This is the pattern of spiritual wisdom—not a rejection of reality, but an opening to its complexity (Luke 23:34; Matthew 18:21-22). We are called to hold both truth and mercy, to see clearly while also extending grace. When we practice this kind of seeing, we no longer approach life with rigid certainties but with an openness that allows transformation to take root (John 8:7-11).

And transformation is never immediate. The spiritual path does not yield quick results or simple answers. We may long for certainty, for a moment of clarity that resolves all doubt, but wisdom does not work that way. Gradualism is the only honest way one can know spiritual things without becoming ego-inflated. [1] The deep truths cannot be rushed; they must be lived into, wrestled with, and allowed to shape us over time (Ecclesiastes 3:1; Proverbs 4:7). Patience is not just a virtue in this process—it is the very means by which wisdom unfolds (James 1:4).

And what ultimately unfolds is the realization that love and suffering are the twin forces that shape all genuine spiritual growth. Love draws us out of ourselves, and suffering strips away our illusions. Love and suffering are its two major wrecking balls, the first being positive and the second seemingly negative. [1] The prophets understood this intimately, for their vision was forged in both joy and sorrow (Romans 5:3-5; 1 Peter 4:12-13). Those who love deeply will suffer deeply, for to love is to be open to the pain of the world. But this suffering is not without purpose—it breaks us open so that something new can emerge (Isaiah 61:1-3).

This breaking open is not just about individual salvation. The prophetic call is never merely personal; it is always social, always directed toward the transformation of the world. The prophets teach us how to let both love and suffering operate together. [1] Redemption is not an escape from the world's pain but a commitment to entering into it fully, to standing in solidarity with those who suffer, and to working for a justice that reflects the divine love at the heart of all things (Luke 4:18-19; Micah 4:3-4). Only when we allow both love and suffering to do their work in us can we truly become agents of healing in a broken world (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).

[1] Richard Rohr, The Tears of Things