The old prophet answered, “I too am a prophet, as you are. And an angel said to me by the word of the Lord: ‘Bring him back with you to your house so that he may eat bread and drink water.’” (But he was lying to him.) So the man of God returned with him and ate and drank in his house.
1 Kings 13:18-19 (NIV)

It’s been fascinating to experience the proliferation of podcasting over the years. The amount of content available to anyone, anywhere is staggering. Never has there been so many voices saying so many things readily available to everyone everywhere.

Which reminds me that never has there been a greater need for discernment regarding the voices I allow to put words in my head through my airpods.

Today’s chapter is a quirky little story about two prophets. A prophet from the Kingdom of Judah travels north the the city of Bethel where King Jeroboam has set up his counterfeit religion. Despite the risk, the prophet boldly proclaims the prophetic word God gave him. It was a message against what Jeroboam was doing. When Jeroboam extends an invitation to enjoy royal hospitality and dine with him, the prophet says that God told him clearly not to eat or drink and return to Judah a different way than he came.

Then another prophet living in Bethel hears about what happened. He chases down the prophet from Judah and invites him to dinner. Once again the prophet from Judah repeats God’s command not to eat or drink or return the same way. The prophet from Bethel then claims that an angel appeared and countermanded the original instructions. The prophet from Judah listens and joins the prophet from Bethel for dinner. Then the prophet from Bethel prophetically proclaims the other prophet’s doom. Sure enough, the prophet from Judah is attacked by a lion and killed.

The obvious moral of the episode is be obedient to what God has clearly said. But I found an even deeper spiritual lesson in the story.

The man of God survives the obvious threat and succumbs to the plausible voice.

King Jeroboam says, “Seize him!”

No problem.

The old prophet says, “I too am a prophet.”

Problem.

The enemy who announces himself may be easier to resist than the voice that sounds almost exactly like wisdom. And in an age where there are so many voices saying so many things readily available to everyone everywhere – that’s increasingly relevant.

We live surrounded by voices claiming authority. Pastors and politicians. Authors and influencers. Experts and friends. And now machines can produce remarkably persuasive words in seconds, and even give them authentic sounding voices.

The question isn’t merely, “Does this sound wise?” nor “Does this person have spiritual authority?” nor even “Did this person say God told them?”

The question remains: “Does this align with what God has already revealed?”

Because the old prophet’s lie contained precisely the elements most likely to persuade the man of God. I’m a prophet like you. I have spiritual authority. I received a revelation, too. An angel confirmed it!

But none of those claims changed what God had already clearly said.

And there’s Jeroboam, who experiences practically everything a human being could ask for as evidence. He hears God’s word. He sees a prophecy immediately fulfilled. His hand is supernaturally crippled, then supernaturally healed. The altar miraculously splits. The prophet dies exactly as judgment foretold.

And “Even after this, Jeroboam did not change his evil ways.”

It’s a reminder that evidence doesn’t necessarily produce repentance. Nor do miracles, consequences, answered prayers, or religious experiences. My heart can become so invested in preserving the personal altar it has constructed that even God breaking the altar in half won’t change it.

That’s the great contrast between the two men. The man of God compromises God’s word because he trusts another voice. Jeroboam rejects God’s word because he trusts his own kingdom. They different failures, but spring from the same root. Both allow something else to become more authoritative than what God has said.

Which, in the quiet this morning, leaves me meditating on the fact that the greatest danger isn’t always that I won’t hear God’s voice. Sometimes it’s that I hear it clearly—and then allow another voice to talk me out of it.

And there are so many voices willing to do the talking.

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