School of the Prophets

The school of the prophets is equivalent to the modern-day seminary or yeshiva.  Pastors, rabbis, and teachers ask where is Elijah?  Surely his body is somewhere up there in those mountains.  Let’s go find him.  While the prophet Elisha tells them that Elijah is gone.  They will not find him.  Elijah having already served his purpose has been taken away.  They don’t believe Elisha so they go searching anyway but can’t find him.  Eventually they realize that Elijah was taken away and Elisha has taken his place with a double-portion anointing.  Elijah and Elisha never attended the school of the prophets.  They were formed in the wilderness by the Hand of God. 

The wilderness prophet is equivalent to the plowman or the treader of grapes.  He is often confused with the reaper and sewer of seeds and while one day the plowman will overtake the reaper, he neither reaps nor sews seeds.  Where the plowman plows up the hardened religious and cultural ground, the school of the prophets becomes unhinged by these acts of the wild man.  They counsel among themselves to restrain this reckless fool and train him to reap and sew seed.   They unleash their communities to pursue, surround and, ultimately, civilize the uncivil character.  The school of the prophets prescribes marriage, children, and work as the pathway to the fruitful and quiet life.  They place detour signs in front of any road less travelled.  Unsuccessful in thwarting the wild man, they find other ways to add to their religious and cultural resumes by harassing the man. 

Plowmen are solitary independent figures who primarily work alone.  They don’t worry what others think about them.  If they did, they wouldn’t be plowmen or treaders of grapes.  Reapers and sewers of seeds consider their reputations as being of primary importance.  Hence, they become comfortable with and even desire admiration.  Always cognizant of what their community, spouse, and children think about them, they show honor in the hope of receiving honor.  The wilderness prophet doesn’t even belong to a community and if he did, he certainly would not fall into the admiration trap that leads to pride.  As the religious leaders and cultural architects of the MotherLand, reapers and sewers of seeds put family ahead of faith.  This is changing as the culture shifts from a feminine to a masculine orientation. 

The school of the prophets doesn’t believe what they don’t see.  They have already formed in their minds what they believe.  Whereas the wilderness prophet sees where the school of the prophets can’t see or is unwilling to see.  The school of the prophets believed that Elijah was the prophet of God, but they couldn’t believe or accept that he was taken away from them.  The prophet Elisha knew that Elijah had been taken up and that they would never see him again.  The wilderness prophet tells the school of the prophets that what they once saw is no longer there.  They refuse to accept this.  They still search for what they believe is relevant to their faith.  This kind of seeing is the difference between being formed in the wilderness and being formed in the school of the prophets.  The school of the prophets is like having a sit-down dinner with all the appropriate foods and protocol while the wilderness prophet is being fed by an unclean bird by the Brook Cherith. 

After 10 years in my present city and more than 20 years of walking in this calling, I realize that my time has come to Ramble On.  Religious communities have been stirred to the point of imploding, ethnic communities have been challenged in ways they never considered possible, and cultural influences have begun to shift from female-centric to male-centric propensities.  As this shift progresses there will be less gender and sexual orientation confusion because the ability to focus will replace multi-tasking as the dominant cultural trait.  This is the result of breaking up the hard barren ground of religion and culture.  This ground is now ready for the reapers and sewers of seeds.  Another wilderness prophet will be anointed and given the calling of treading the grapes.  Just as Elisha received the anointing from Elijah, so also this new wilderness prophet will receive his anointing.  As he treads the grapes, he will commission many reapers and sewers of seeds to cultivate and bring in the harvest.  He will commission a Jehu like figure who will finish what was started in the book MotherLand. 

As for my future, I’m on my way to the enchanted land of fun in the sun, sipping the finest tequilas, and chasing senoritas up and down the beach while holding a Mudslide drink in my hand.  Let’s call it a halfway house on the highway to Heaven.  This paradise on earth is called Mexico where my sun will finally set.  I’m going to renounce my citizenship in the United States of America and any connection to the Cherokee Nation. Once established in Mexico, I might start publishing posts and writing songs in Spanish and then export them to MotherLand.  Yes, it’s true.  I’ve been brought to a point where I have to choose either moving, marriage, or employment.  Marriage and employment are not viable options so that leaves moving.  And now’s the time, the time is now.  To sing my song.  Ramble On! 

Hello Cancun Mexico! 

Mama, don’t let your babies grow up
to be prophets
Don’t let ’em plow fields and drive
them old mules
Make ’em be pastors and teachers and
such

Mama, don’t let your babies grow up
to be prophets
They’ll never stay home and they’re
always alone
Even with someone they love

Prophets ain’t easy to love and they’re
harder to hold
And they’d rather give you a song
than diamonds or gold
Big brass belt buckles and old faded
garments

And each night begins a new day
And if you don’t understand him, and
he don’t die young
He’ll probably just walk away

Mama, don’t let your babies grow up
to be prophets
Don’t let ’em tread grapes or drive
them old mules
Make ’em be pastors and teachers and
such

Mama, don’t let your babies grow up
to be prophets
They’ll never stay home and they’re
always alone
Even with someone they love

Prophets like smoky old bar rooms
and clear ocean mornings
Confrontations, flirtations, and
girls of the night
And them that don’t know him won’t
like him and them that do

Sometimes won’t know how to take
him
He ain’t wrong, he’s just different but
his pride won’t let him
Do things to make you think he’s right

Mama, don’t let your babies grow up
to be prophets
Don’t let ’em plow fields and drive
them old mules
Make ’em be pastors and teachers and
such

Mama, don’t let your babies grow up
to be prophets
They’ll never stay home and they’re
always alone
Even with someone they love

Mama, don’t let your babies grow up
to be prophets
Don’t let ’em tread grapes or drive
them old mules
Make ’em be pastors and teachers and
such

Make ’em be pastors and teachers and such