Forgive me, my sweet, atheistic prophet

After reading Jesus' excoriation of the pharisees in Matthew chapter 23, I've been thinking about the prophets. Here's why:

³³ “You snakes! You brood of vipers! How will you escape being condemned to hell? ³⁴ Therefore I am sending you prophets and sages and teachers. Some of them you will kill and crucify; others you will flog in your synagogues and pursue from town to town.

The passage came up while I was writing this post: Jesus was talking to us when He spoke back then. Except for this one part. I've been thinking about it ever since, and contemplating what it means to be a prophet.

The traditional Christian view of prophets comes from the Hebrew scriptures, with John the Baptist bringing up the tail end. (I've even heard him called the last of the prophets.) This crowd of greats preached repentance and a turning away from other gods: "Turn back, oh man, or be consumed by fires and floods and pestilence."

But here we have Jesus telling us that He will send prophets, sages, and teachers. So who are these modern day speakers of God's truths to the religious who refuse to listen?

Turns out my daughter was one. For years she tried to open my Pharisaical heart to truths that I could not allow myself to embrace. She tried to explain that my views on gender were narrow minded and culturally inflicted. She told me stories of the good people she knew who were transgender. She debated with me about the causes and social ramifications of homosexuality. And she did all this gently, and for the most part, very patiently. She knew I was like those Pharisees that Jesus disdains, and I think she also knew that she would not be able to persuade me of the truth of her words.

And so I say now, on the record and officially, that I'm sorry, my brilliant and beautiful atheist. You were right. I couldn't hear it, and I was like the pre-Paul Saul, on fire with my own inaccurate idea of who God was.

I hope I can be as brave and truthful a prophet as you some day.