Unfinished Prophets
The Tears of Things
Prophets often begin their journey driven by righteous anger, compelled to speak out against injustice and wrongdoing. While this initial fire may be necessary, it is not enough. Growth requires a deeper transformation. Maturing prophets let these experiences change them, allowing themselves to evolve into nondual and compassionate truth-tellers. [1] This movement from anger to compassion reflects a spiritual maturity that embraces complexity, paradox, and mercy—a path that leads beyond simple moralism into deeper wisdom. Without this growth, a prophet’s voice may become harsh and brittle, unable to inspire meaningful change. The fire of righteous anger must soften into the warmth of compassion if it is to heal rather than divide (James 1:20).
Some prophets, however, never make this transition. They remain fixed in a posture of judgment, blaming others for the world's faults while overlooking their own inner work. This failure to mature leaves their message incomplete. A person can operate as a prophet on occasion without being a complete or mature one. [1] Their insights may still contain elements of truth, but the delivery lacks the generosity and wisdom that come with spiritual depth. These unfinished prophets often speak with certainty but without the humility that allows truth to penetrate hearts. As a result, their message may repel rather than transform, offering correction without compassion and justice without mercy. While they may succeed in shaking people awake, they struggle to draw them toward lasting change (1 Corinthians 13:1-2).
True spiritual growth requires something deeper than moral correction or outward purification; it demands an inner awakening that reshapes the way we see and respond to the world. This is why John the Baptizer’s message, while important, fell short of what Jesus offered. John's baptism represented an external cleansing, but Jesus pointed to a baptism of “fire and Spirit,” an inner transformation that expands consciousness and awakens love (Matthew 3:11). We must believe what the Bible says, but often keep an eye open for what it does not say. [1] This wisdom invites us to read sacred texts with both trust and discernment, recognizing that much of what matters is found in the silences—the moments when the deeper invitation lies just beneath the surface. What is left unsaid is often where the greatest transformation can emerge (John 16:12).
At the heart of this unfolding story is the recognition that divine presence is not reserved for those who appear flawless. Not everyone in the Bible is a saint by later standards, but most are people God can use for some purpose. [1] This is a profound comfort. It means that our imperfections, our doubts, and even our failures do not place us outside the reach of grace. If God can work through unfinished prophets like Jonah, Elijah, and John the Baptizer, then surely we are not excluded (Jonah 3:1-4; 1 Kings 19:9-13; Matthew 11:11). This truth liberates us from the exhausting pressure to be perfect and invites us instead to embrace our imperfections as part of the sacred journey.
In fact, this reveals something remarkable about the nature of God. I think God must be very humble; if not, he could not act through such fallible humans as all of us. [1] Divine humility makes space for our weaknesses, missteps, and limitations. Rather than demanding flawless instruments, God seems content to work through the messy, unfinished, and imperfect lives of ordinary people. This humility is not weakness but strength—the strength to entrust the unfolding of divine love to deeply flawed yet willing participants (2 Corinthians 12:9). It reminds us that our inadequacies are not obstacles to grace but places where grace is most deeply revealed.
This, perhaps, is the most important lesson of all. Even those who never outgrow their shortcomings still have something to teach us. The presence of incomplete and misguided prophets in scripture underscores that spiritual wisdom is not about achieving perfection. Such an overwhelming power comes from God and not from us. [1] The real invitation is to remain open—to trust that even in our weakness, God’s presence can break through (2 Corinthians 4:7). Our task is not to become perfect but to stay surrendered, allowing divine love to work in and through us, no matter how unfinished we may feel. Spiritual growth is rarely linear, and maturity is not achieved by effort alone but by learning to trust that the deeper work is already underway.
[1] Richard Rohr, The Tears of Things