I prophesied once, and it was about something important. Maybe it was a prediction. Doesn't matter, as the prophesied event did not come to pass, and people were hurt by the prophecy failure. I've been wanting to feel superior to Harold Camping this week, but I remember that I grew up Pentecostal, and after a ten year hiatus, returned to a Charismatic version of the faith. Basically, that means we were a little more metropolitan and a great deal less adamant about "speaking in tongues as evidence of the baptism of the Spirit." (Theological bullshit. Don't worry if you don't know.) In that particular Christian tribe, the gifts of the Spirit are encouraged, especially tongues, interpretation of tongues, prophecy, word of knowledge, and word of wisdom. They have their own definitions for those things, but suffice it to say, each is a bit of God-inspired utterance.
It didn't take long for my pastor to mark me as one who was gifted in prophecy and word of knowledge. Cynically, that means I can talk like a motherfucker and read nonverbal cues incredibly well. I used to think it was some hoodoo voodoo bullshit, but I've come to believe we middle children just learn to read body language, faces, tics, and eyes for the sake of survival; we are, after all, navigating angry older siblings and petulant younger ones. It's also true that I like people, and if you spend enough time around them, you learn a great deal about response to stimuli.
My pastor picked me as a prophet for a couple other reasons. I had actually read the Bible more than once, a feat that puts me in into rarified air in Christian circles, since most of them haven't read it once. Also, my retention rate has always bordered on ridiculous, so what I read, I remember. It's one of the reasons I always found it funny that people were engaged in devotional reading. There ain't a single fuckin' word has changed since last time you read it, I would think. I didn't realize that retention was an issue for people. I also learned quickly how to apply ancient words to contemporary situations in ways the pastor appreciated. (These days I encourage good writers to take a technical writing class. It's my new spiritual gift: exhortation.) All this adds up to prophet.
When I took over as senior pastor, it made sense my gifts would follow me. I can find a fan or two still who believe I was a good preacher. That is not something I care about any longer. I've found that the skill translates well to college classrooms, so it continues to benefit me. I still scratch my head at colleagues who worry over classroom management. My thought? Be more interesting. Still a dick, it seems. Or at least uncharitable. Never be proud of something you didn't work for: beauty, brains, breasts, bocce skills. Anyway, I was married to my ex-wife in those days (yes, there was a time before the hhdw, strange as it seems), and we (she) wanted a child. I still believe I am living proof that actively not wanting another child kills the potency of semen because she couldn't conceive.
Here's where things get a little weird. In those days I would spend time alone thinking. Some Fostery types would call it meditating, but I don't give a shit. I just sat around and thought "deep" thoughts, not like Jack Handy deep, although the idea of affixing used aquarium coral to a child's head with wood screws is occasionally appealing and amusing. These deep thoughts were based on a "prophecy" that was spoken over me by a ministerial team who was allegedly good at reading people's spiritual personality. One gentleman likened me to Nathaniel, a man without guile (John 1:47), which just goes to show he didn't have a fuckin' clue what he was actually reading. A face like Ron Howard's and Jesse Eisenberg's love child will get you into good graces no matter how fucking guile-ful you are. Someone on the team also referenced Psalm 42:7: Deep calls unto deep... It was allegedly a reference to how deeply I would understand spiritual things. Oh sweet irony...
Anyway, I was having one of those "deep" moments the last full year of my ministry. It occurred to me that my ex was going to have a child. God was going to make it possible. I even had a name "given" to me: Ashleigh Renee. I later learned the name meant "truth reborn," which just made it seem way more Jesus-y. I told her the happy news. She was a bit skeptical at first, but trusted my "prophetic" status ultimately. We announced it to the congregation. "Before the end of 1998, D___ and I will conceive a girl, whose name will be..." There was much joy in the house of God. I was congratulated and D____ was hugged as if the happy event had already occurred. You know the rest.
By January 1999, six months before my divorce, it was crystal fucking clear that there would be no baby. The congregation was sad; some were genuinely puzzled, but most, I think, understood that youthful exuberance often trumps good sense. I don't recall standing before the congregation and explaining why I was a false prophet. I do believe most were more sympathetic to my ex's plight; she wanted a baby more than anything she could ever imagine. Most felt her pain and devastation, and Christians acted like Christians, for which I shall always be grateful. We never spoke of it as a couple. It was too painful. The biblical word barren didn't just describe a womb; it had great potency in describing the fragmented end of a marriage. We rushed into affairs, both of us, and we never undid the damage. Catharsis was good, but the collateral damage was severe.
Harold Camping believed he found a secret in the Bible that functioned as an "infallible proof." I was arrogant enough to believe that I heard the kol YAHWEH (voice of God) in such a way that I could bet my wife's future happiness on my assertion. We are all fools at some point, and many of us are fools for gods. Our best hope is to translate the blood and shit and pain of a multitude of disappointments into a reason to hope for redemption. We fall short. We fuck it up. We hurt people. We suck at being us. I gave up on hearing voices. Everyone hasn't, and many pursue it with far more integrity than I did. I wish them well, and I pity a sad old man who appears to be an opportunist tonight, but I'm willing to believe he thought he had that infallible proof. Christians and atheists can agree tonight: God (or vast emptiness) mocks the arrogant. Feel a bit of pity for them tonight. Or for those they hurt. Grace and peace.
