Voices

Voices

I solemnly assure you that the man who hears what I have to say and believes in the one who has sent me has eternal life. He does not have to face judgment; he has already passed from death into life. Yes, I assure you that a time is coming, in fact has already come, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God and when they have heard it they will live! For just as the Father has life in himself, so by the Father’s gift, the Son also has life in himself. And he has given him authority to judge because he is Son of Man. No, do not be surprised—the time is coming when all those who are dead and buried will hear his voice and out they will come—those who have done right will rise again to life, but those who have done wrong will rise to face judgment! (John 5:24-30)

You want success? Here’s your model. You want achievement? Here’s your prototype. You want bright lights, pageants and media attention? Consider a previous front-page, center article from the nation’s largest daily newspaper, The New York Times. It was a caricature of “Miss America.”

The “vital” data of the fifty-one participants was compiled to present the perfect woman: a brown haired, brown eyed beauty who can sing. Oh, and she has the perfect figure, too: 35–24–35. She’s Miss America. She’s the ideal. The message leaps off the page: “This is the standard for American women.” And the implication is clear: Do what it takes to be like her – firm your thighs, deepen your cleavage, pamper your hair and improve your walk. No reference is made to her convictions, or her honesty, or her faith, or even to her God. But you’re given her hip size because, well … that’s important.

And in a small photo, four inches to the left, is another woman. Her face is thin. Her skin is wrinkled, almost leathery. No makeup; no blush; no lipstick. There’s a faint smile on her lips and a glint in her eye. She looks kind of pale. Maybe it’s the imagination; then again, maybe it’s true. The caption reads, “Mother Teresa: In serious condition.” (Jan. 1, 1992)

Mother Teresa. You know her story. When she won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1985, she gave the $200,000 to the poor of Calcutta. When a businessman bought her a new car, she sold it and gave the money to the underprivileged. She owned nothing. She owed nothing.

And there you have it. Two women: Miss America and Mother Teresa. One walks the boardwalk; the other works the alleys. Two voices. One promises crowns, flowers and crowds. The other promises service, surrender and joy. Now, I’ve got nothing against beauty pageants, but I do have something against the lying voices that are the cacophony of our world.

You’ve heard them. I’ve heard them. The voices that tell you to swap your integrity for a new sale. To barter your convictions for an easy deal. And on and on they go. They whisper. They woo. They taunt. They tantalize. They flirt. They flatter. They say, “Go ahead, it’s OK.” Or, “Just wait until tomorrow.” Even, “Don’t worry, no one will know.” The voices of the crowd.

Our lives are like Wall Street – chaotic stock markets shouting their demands. Grown men and women barking in a frantic effort to get all they can before time runs out. “Buy. Sell. Trade. Swap. But whatever you do, do it fast and do it so everyone can hear you.” A carnival of pants suits and three-piece suits where no one smiles and everyone’s running. An endless chorus of booming voices – some offering, some taking but all screaming. What do we do with the voices?

Picture yourself seated at a desk in a hotel room, away from home. Away from people who know you. Away from family members who love you. Voices that encourage and affirm are distant. But voices that tantalize and entice are near. Although the room is quiet, if you listen, their voices are crystal clear.

A placard on the nightstand invites you to a lounge in the lobby, where you can “make new friends in a relaxing atmosphere.” An advertisement on top of the television promises you that with the request of a late-night adult movie your “fantasies will come true.” On the television, a talk-show host discusses the day’s topic: “How to succeed at sex without really trying.”

Voices. Some for pleasure. Some for power. Some promise acceptance. Some promise tenderness. But all promise something. Even the voices that Jesus heard promised something. “After the people saw the miraculous sign that Jesus did, they began to say, ‘Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world.’” (John 6:14)

To the casual observer, those are the voices of victory. To the untrained ear, those are the sounds of triumph. What could be better? Five thousand men plus women and children proclaiming Christ to be the Prophet. Thousands of voices swelling into a roar of revival. And the people have everything they need for a revolution. They have an enemy: Herod. They have a martyr: John the Baptist. They have leadership: the disciples. They have ample supplies: Jesus the bread maker. And they have a king: Jesus of Nazareth. Why wait? The time has come. Israel will be restored. God’s people have heard God’s voice. “King Jesus!” someone proclaims. And the crowd chimes in. And don’t think for a minute that Christ didn’t hear their adulation.

A chorus promising power was intoxicating. No cross was needed. No sacrifice was required. An army of disciples was at his fingertips. The power to change the world was there without having to die doing it. Sweet revenge. Yes, Jesus heard the voices. He heard the Sirens’ song. But he also heard someone else. And when Jesus heard him, he sought him.

“Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by himself.” (John 6:15) Jesus preferred to be alone with the true God, rather than in a crowd with the wrong people. Logic didn’t tell him to dismiss the crowds. Conventional wisdom didn’t tell him to turn his back on a willing army. No, it wasn’t a voice from without that Jesus heard. It was a voice from within.

The mark of a sheep is its ability to hear the Shepherd’s voice. “The sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.” (John 10:3) The mark of a disciple is his or her ability to hear the Master’s voice. “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.” (Rev. 3:20)

Today, the world rams at your door; Jesus taps at your door. The voices scream for your allegiance; Jesus softly and tenderly requests it. The world promises flashy pleasure; Jesus promises a quiet dinner with God: “I will come in and eat.” Which voice do you hear?

There’s never a time when Jesus isn’t speaking. Never. There’s never a place where Jesus isn’t present. Never. There’s never a room so dark, or a lounge so sensual, or an office so sophisticated that the ever-present, ever-pursuing, relentlessly tender Friend is not there, tapping gently on the doors of our hearts and waiting to be invited in. Unfortunately, few hear his voice; fewer still bother to even open the door.

But we should never interpret our numbness of hearing with his absence. Because amid the fleeting promises of pleasure is the timeless promise of his presence. “Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matt. 28:20) “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Heb. 13:5) There is no chorus so loud that the voice of God cannot be heard – if we will just listen.

That’s true in that hotel room. Go back there in your mind’s eye. It might take you a few minutes to find it, but you will. It may not be as visible as the lounge placard or the movie advertisement. But it’s there. It doesn’t grab your attention like the escort ads. But wouldn’t you give up those lies every time for the peace you can find in that treasure? Treasure? What treasure?

A Bible. A simple, hard-covered, Gideon-placed, King James Version Bible. It might take you a few minutes to find it, but you will. And when you do, open it to one of those “voice” passages: “A time is coming when all who are in their graves will hear his voice and come out — those who have done good will rise to live, and those who have done evil will rise to be condemned.” (John 5:28-29)

Interesting. A day’s coming when everyone will hear his voice. A day’s coming when all the other voices will be silenced; his voice — and only his voice — will be heard. Some will hear his voice for the very first time. It’s not that he never spoke, it’s just that they never listened. For those, God’s voice will be the voice of a stranger. They will hear it once — and never hear it again. They will spend eternity fending off the voices they followed on earth.

But others will be called from their graves by a familiar voice. For they’re the sheep who know their shepherd. They’re the servants who opened the door when Jesus knocked. Now the door will open again.

Only this time, it won’t be Jesus who walks into our house; it’ll be us, who walk into his.

Grace,

Randy