Crazy or prophet? Hard to say.

I had a strange voicemail when I arrived at work yesterday. He didn’t leave his name, but he said he didn’t like churches set up like businesses with voicemail and fancy offices and well manicured lawns when people were out there homeless and spat upon. It was the type of voicemail you get occasionally from crazy people, except this guy spoke with an educated accent and his grammar was impeccable. But everything he said could have come out of the mouth of a crazy person.

I deleted the message and mentally put it down to one of those odd calls you get. I was also a little annoyed. He didn’t speak in the context of relationship. He doesn’t know me or my heart, or what I’ve been through in the past week. As for voicemail and lawns, I’m not sure God would be more glorified if we went back to the old answering system we used to have – I’m pretty sure God wasn’t getting much glory in that – or if we let the weeds grow instead of grass.

But what really bugs me is that, in a way, he has a point. I hate it when the crazies call me and when some of what they say actually makes sense. At times it’s hard to tell the crazies apart from the prophets.