The Burden of the Prophet
by Cleve Stafford
“The word of the LORD came to me: ‘Son of man, behold, I am about to take the delight of your eyes away from you at a stroke; yet you shall not mourn or weep, nor shall your tears run down. Sigh, but not aloud; make no mourning for the dead. Bind on your turban, and put your shoes on your feet; do not cover your lips, nor eat the bread of men.’ So I spoke to the people in the morning, and at evening my wife died. And on the next morning I did as I was commanded” (Ezekiel 24:15-18).
I want you to read today’s selection again, but this time focus on each word and let it thoroughly sink in. The Lord’s prophet is not being told that he will lose some meaningless object, or even something meaningful like a favorite pet. The “delight of his eyes,” the woman he fell in love with and vowed to spend the rest of his life with, his best friend and confidant, was going to be taken from him at a stroke. Most of us who are happily married cannot imagine a greater pain than losing a spouse, but that is exactly what would happen to Ezekiel.
But that is not the strangest part of the story. That questionable distinction goes to the command, “…yet you shall not mourn or weep, nor shall your tears run down. Sigh, but not aloud; make no mourning for the dead. Bind on your turban, and put your shoes on your feet; do not cover your lips, nor eat the bread of men.” Not only was he going to lose the love of his life, but he also wouldn’t have the chance to grieve her loss. What loving husband wouldn’t want to mourn the passing of his wife? More importantly, why was God telling him not to shed a tear or mourn her loss?
Let’s answer the second question first. God didn’t just allow this; He orchestrated it as a sign to the people. Ezekiel’s personal pain became part of his prophetic message. The death of his wife was meant to mirror the fall of Jerusalem - a loss so overwhelming that the people wouldn’t even know how to grieve. Now, let’s be honest. That feels heavy. Maybe even unfair. Why would God ask that of someone? Why would He take what Ezekiel loved most and expect him to keep preaching through the pain? But maybe that’s the point. Obedience isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes, it costs more than we ever imagined.
We often talk about following Jesus in terms of blessing, and rightly so. In Him, there is joy, peace, and eternal life. But obedience also involves a cross. It requires sacrifice. Sometimes, it even means experiencing deep, personal loss. Yet, consider Ezekiel’s response: “…And on the next morning I did as I was commanded.” How many of us would demonstrate the same level of commitment and obedience? How many of us would act as if nothing had happened when we lose a spouse? It might be a story that feels unfair - one that shows both tragic loss and unwavering obedience.
We could spend the rest of our lives questioning God’s reasons for doing what clearly seems harsh to us, but instead of trying to analyze God’s mind, we should be asking, “Is my level of commitment the same?” Would I follow Jesus’s command no matter what? Would I continue preaching despite a broken heart? Would I still show up if the person or thing I cherish most is taken from me? In other words, is my trust in God genuine or superficial? Do I trust Him even when the worst thing imaginable happens? Ezekiel did. That morning, he spoke to the people, and that evening, his wife died.
Somehow, the next morning, he got back up and did exactly what God had commanded. Not because he didn’t love her, but because he loved God more. That’s what faith looks like when it’s stretched to its limits. Now, I’m not saying God will take your spouse or strip your life down to nothing. But I am saying there may be moments, if you follow Him fully, when the cost will be high: moments when your heart breaks and obedience feels more like a burden than a blessing.
In those moments, Ezekiel reminds us that faith isn’t just about feeling good. It’s about trusting God fully when it hurts. It’s about believing that even our pain can be used for His glory. Ezekiel’s silent grief preached louder than any words. It said, “God is still worthy. Even now. Even here.” So, what would you do if obedience cost you everything? Would you still follow? Would you still preach? Would you still trust?
