The prophet in Nineveh stands in the center of the bar, speaks into the din of top-40 music and somehow awakens a sleepy world to their own glory, then to the glory of God. He speaks and some would mock, but they are hushed, maybe just once, just for a minute, and so the poem of love and eternity begins. Someone, just one person, weeps, and the light from the Feathered Stone shines where it will. “Kasyapa understands!” the prophet smiles, and that is enough.
But we are victims of the most recent love song. We have accepted the fickleness of life even as we make promises and declare our love. We speak of eternity and know we don’t mean it. Or, we mean it for now and will change our minds later. It’s too late! The words of the prophet have already been taken and used up. They can no longer hold the precious nectar; they leak.