While I was still a student at Mars Hill Graduate School I remember hearing Dan Allender lecture on the categories of Prophet, Priest, and King. He used them as descriptors for an understanding of maturity and that to which we are uniquely called as we strive to reveal God’s glory. I’ve come back to those notes many times recently because I’m thinking there’s something in there uniquely for women – and particularly for women as prophets.
Allender says that a prophet “dreams of that which will one day be. She exposes and invites. And she is not liked. We try to silence prophetesses with shame by telling them that they are too emotional and/or that they just see too much.” In another class, when covering similar material he said, “The prophet is the guardian of hope. She envisions glory as it will one day be.”
Doesn’t that sound like the courageous soul of a woman? Most of the women I know, especially those that are struggling with what it means to find and use their voices in relationships, in leadership, in the church, are those who see well. And they can name what they see – often at great personal cost. Too often, when women speak what they see and reveal what is true, many attempts are made to silence them – culturally, institutionally, and interpersonally.
What I’m wondering about though is what it would be like for women to intentionally come to embrace this as part of their persona. If I understood myself as a prophet; if I knew that a profound aspect of God’s design in creating me was seen in this role, how might I then speak, be, and live? I would know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the potential for misunderstanding, dislike, and harm would be high. And I would still speak. I could name what I see, reveal what is, and repeatedly invite hope, thereby functioning in ways that feel profoundly more true and consistent with who I most truly am. That’s worth wondering more about!
Here’s the problem: the stories of the prophets in Scripture are not stories any of us want to live. They did crazy things and had crazy things done to them. They weren’t heard. Or if they were, they were seen as practically diagnosable. Their own self-doubt was mammoth and their questions of the God who had purportedly “called” them were laden with conflict and angst. All because they spoke the truth. They called the Israelite people back to the God they’d forgotten. They spoke with kings and confronted corruption. They hearkened hearts to the glory of God’s faithfulness and promise. They brought about change. At great cost to themselves.
And that’s the beauty: there is already cost – when I do speak and certainly when I do not. If I could see and understand myself uniquely as a prophetess that might just change the way in which I choose to engage. It might just alter my readiness and expectation of potential harm. And it might just change my stamina, courage, and grace to persevere – holding on to hope and constantly speaking the truth.
These words describe many of the women I know. I pray that they increasingly describe me. Rise up, prophettesses. We have much to say, much to offer, and God intends to use us mightily toward redemptive purposes.
SUBSCRIBE to my Monthly Newsletter. SUBSCRIBE to the Blog via Email or your Kindle. LIKE me on Facebook.
