Soul of a Prophet: A Trialog
“But the house of Israel will not listen to you…” —Ezekiel 3.7.
“Well, how exciting. How delightful. Here’s
a formula for sheer disaster if
there ever was one. I’m afraid I have
a bad, bad feeling about all of this.”
“I think your fears are premature. But I
can understand your disappointment and
distress. Perhaps, though, if we think this through,
we might yet find a way to make it work?”
“Don’t be so condescending. Let’s recall
the facts here: We’re to spend the rest of our
productive years proclaiming that the LORD
has had it up to here with these profane,
corrupt, and godless people—people who
expect to hear from such as we sweet words
of reassurance, hope, and courage. And
instead, we get to tweak their noses and
throw dust into the air and, in the main,
make ourselves odious to them. And they,
for their part, won’t hear anything we say.
Instead, their hearts will become harder still,
they will resent our preaching and reject
our warnings, while we keep on keeping on
a tack that cannot have a happy end.”
“I think that is the essence of it, yes.”
“Well, it’s a waste of time and passion. I
can’t see me being satisfied with this
for very long. I feel as if we ought
to dedicate the years remaining to
accomplishing some lasting legacy,
you know? Instead, we get to preach and write
and dabble in the arts and make ourselves
a spectacle before the world. And not
a soul will care or take us seriously.”
“So, what you’d like is some assurance that
the people will appreciate our work
and say nice things about us, treat us like
the big-boy theologians and buy all
our books. Man, you can be so immature
and utterly irrational at times!
Our situation’s not about the way
we feel, but that we understand what God
is calling us to do, and carry out
His plan. We need to think this through, not vent
our worst affections at this hopeless cause.”
“May I remind you both that it will not
advance our cause to lose sight of our role
in this vocation, which is, simply put,
to motivate the body to the work
and keep it moving in God’s perfect will.”
“Ah, conscience speaks! And I expect as much
from you. Well, you’re consistent anyway,
and not a little irritating, too.”
“I gather that you don’t feel anything?
Not now or ever? What a perfect bore.”
“It’s not my place to feel or think, but to
remind, recall, evaluate, confer,
and then insist we stay the course with what
we all know well and true. And to suggest,
when needed, that complaints and arguments
among ourselves will not facilitate
our efforts to attain an outcome which
lines up with what we all agree to be
complete fulfillment of the will of God.
Moreover, my responsibility
is to enable us to reach a course
of action that we’ll all embrace, and to
pursuing it with all the strength of all
our best affections and according to
such thinking as lines up with God’s own Word.”
“Ouch. Sorry, friends. I let my feelings get
the best of me there for a little while.”
“And I, unsympathetic as I am
at times, was wrong to bash you with a fit
of raw, unfeeling rationality.”
“But where do we come in at times like this?”
“Yeah, what are we supposed to feel or think?”
“It’s clear the nature of the calling has
sunk in with both of you. The prophet’s mind
is working hard to process what this means
and how we should prepare; meanwhile, his heart
has summoned strong affections for review
and readiness. Well done, the both of you.
Now, to consult our settled values and
priorities—the Law of God and all
His Word—will help us get our thoughts
and plans and our affections all
in order for the days ahead. Once that
is done, we’ll act as one devoted soul
to move the prophet into action for
the long haul. So, whatsay we get to work?”
“I feel like you have worked this out already?”
“I think your feeling is correct, my friend.”
“Of course. That’s why we have a conscience. So,
it’s settled. We embrace the calling, pour
ourselves into it with our best thoughts, pure
affections, and sound judgment, and we leave
the consequences to the LORD. Who knows?
This generation surely will condemn
us, but it might please God to keep for all
the generations yet to come some small
and worthy token of our efforts to
enrich their own attempts at serving Him.”
“You’re right, as I conclude. So, count me in.”
“I feel that this is best for all of us.”
“Ah, one again! United in the fear
and love of God and ready for the work.
So let’s inform the body to begin
the movements that this sacred call requires.”
Poet’s Note: In Scripture and Christian thought, the soul is a tripartite spiritual entity. It is thus a reflection or “shadow” (John Davies) of the Trinitarian God. In the soul, the heart engages the affections, the mind governs rational thought, and the conscience holds the default values and priorities. This is all analogical, of course, because the soul is, like the Triune God, one spiritual entity in three manifestations. In this “trialog” I have tried to assign each “speaker” aspects of its function in the soul to indicate which part of the soul is speaking.
T. M. Moore is Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, a spiritual fellowship in the Celtic Christian tradition. He and his wife and editor, Susie, make their home in the Champlain Valley of Vermont.
TM, your poem expresses adeptly the debate that probably everyone’s soul would have about being a prophet. Beginning it with the heart’s sarcastic doubts is genius; it impels the reader in.
Please clarify: Which aspect of the soul says, “But where do we come in at times like this,” and which says, “Yeah, what are we supposed to feel or think”?
Thanks, Mary. I don’t think it matters which is which, but I have the mind first asking “where do we come in”–seeking a rational answer, then the heart chiming in, inviting the mind into its domain.
This is quintessential religionist poetry. “Edify, evangelize, and enroll.” And how we all “must do the Lord’s work.”
Yes, it is, Joseph. Like much of the poetry in Scripture, although neither inspired nor authoritative. Just my own attempt to make sense of my soul.
T. M.
Guilty as charged. Glad you noticed.
I really like this trialog, T.M. It makes a compelling narrative (I really did want to keep on reading) out of the conversation of the three characters. Though these characters aren’t three different people, the conversation seems realistic, given the internal arguments we all have with ourselves — to which there often don’t seem to be any definite answers — when trying to evaluate how we should react to frustrating, seemingly contradictory possibilities for thoughts, feelings, and actions, and given that the conscience is, indeed, an irritating thing.
The poem expresses the aggravating burden that prophets must bear: “… and, in the main, make ourselves odious to” other people. They (sometimes we) are given a duty which seems “a waste of time and passion”, because people don’t take prophets seriously.
The blank verse seems to be the perfect vehicle for this poem.
It’s just an attempt to figure out how my own soul works. Thanks for the encouraging words.
I’m still trying to understand how a poem can “not mean, but be”–even a pure imagist poem about a flowering bush says to me “Admire Beauty!” This is an example. I don’t think of myself as a prophet, though some might say that building Glyphosate Awareness is in a prophetic category of vocations. So I don’t read this poem as preaching at me, but as illustrating someone else’s internal conflict. It says “Understand what person is thinking about!”
In the same way, Bhairab Barman’s poem might be read as a tribute to a wife, or a mother…or to some others it might seem like a nag about what modern women can’t afford to spend much time doing, or about what some men can’t seem to attract a mate who does, and they might resent its “preaching” when most of us don’t read any “preaching” into it.
I can see visual arts and crafts as just ways to recreate and/or use what was there. Words can work the same way: I look out the window, I see a flower, I write about the flower in the same way a painter who didn’t feel otherwise inspired might paint the flower. But don’t good poems always move us in the direction of our ideals–at least appreciating the beauty of flowers, or of rhythm, rhyme, and alliteration? And is there any objective standard of which poems express joy in playing with words, preserve and share a sight or a thought, or preach at readers?
(I am a student here, and I thank you all for the opportunity to be one.)
I really love this, T. M.!
I have similar internal dialogs, although the balance of power may be out of kilter from the ideal.
“I think that is the essence of it, yes.” is SUCH a great line, with almost comic timing!
Also, “big-boy theologians” is awesome!
Thanks, Paul. I have been thinking and studying about the soul for many years, mainly trying to sort out why I do some things and how I might learn to do others. I continue writing on this, including poetry, because this is a primary way for me to learn. I appreciate your encouragement.
T. M.
Good creative variation on the dramatic monologue, T. M. As Cynthia and Priscilla recognize, this poem expresses internal ideas in one soul. You clarify that this soul reflects your own. If you had chosen to write a more common dramatic monologue, there would be only one voice–speaking to some well-chosen but silent listener. The silent interlocutor acts as a person to whom the speaker can reveal his thoughts, even the ones apparently in conflict. He describes his conflict or perplexities or history to the silent listener. But in your “trialog,” there are three speakers to represent the mind, heart, and conscience of one soul dealing with the difficulties of being called to prophesy. That makes for a more dramatic internal conversation. Reasoning, emotion, and conscientious demands each have a voice, though since they are united in one person, it is necessarily difficult to distinguish them. And differences in ideas emanating from the three elements of the soul tend to coalesce.
A significant piece of artistry! I tried to remember any similar poem, and came up with “Recogitabo” by 17th century poet William Habington. It declares, “My soul’s at war.” And it explicitly consults both conscience and memory. It is, however, a monologue in the voice of King Hezekiah, when a prophet has told him he’s soon to die. Habington’s piece listens to a soul, without investigating it as yours does, T. M. The listener is the soul, so it’s internal like yours. There is the same issue of deciding what to do–but for Hezekiah (presumably on his deathbed) this involves the call to the hereafter.
Comparable poems on the call to prophesy reveal other kinds of treatment. There’s “Ezechiel” by Whittier, a long poem that could be called fictional autobiography. The Ezechiel speaker goes over his life from the time of first feeling the call to be a prophet. And as I recall, it’s a monologue with no listener. Brian Yapko makes a dramatic monologue with silent interlocutor in “Jeremiah Imprisoned in the Cistern.” At that point in Jeremiah’s life, the prophetic call has been accepted and exercised.
Thanks, T. M., for the unique trialog that’s helped me search memory for others not quite like yours!
Thank you, Margaret, for your kind and encouraging thoughts. I was sure other poets had done things like this, but I didn’t know where to look. Thank you for sharing some additional resources with me. The soul is a mystery to many people, I think, and to many more, not something to fuss about. But I find that I’m fussing about it within myself all the times. Thanks again for your lengthy, thoughtful, and encouraging reply to my poem.