In Mark 7 Jesus’ travels bring him face-to-face with a man who is deaf and unable to speak properly.  Jesus pulls the man away from the crowd, speaks aloud, “Ephphatha” (Aramaic for “be opened”), and immediately the man can hear and starts speaking perfectly.

I preached on this seemingly straight-forward healing story at Shift tonight.  It was one of the many instances I have experienced in the last few years where I am certain the content of a sermon is for my own benefit more so than those who have come to hear.

Too often I choose spiritual deafness, and too often I am unable to speak properly as I’m meant to.

Many of us have the following tendency: when we hear God speaking correction or rebuke into our lives that would require sacrifice or change on our part, we disregard his words and carry on like all is well.  When God repeats his selfless act, we repeat our selfish response.  At some point we get to the painful end that ignoring God always leads to, and then we promptly lash out at God for not speaking to us.  We choose being deaf over becoming different.  We fear change that much.  We value our own desires that much.

I told my students tonight it is not unlike the garbage truck that comes by your house entirely too early one morning each week.  For a few weeks the truck wakens you, and you’re livid.  The few weeks after that the noise only partially disrupts your slumber.  At a certain point you’ve conditioned yourself to never have a clue the truck is even nearby.

I/We are capable of doing the same thing with the voice of God – and that is not a good thing.

Our disobedience brings us to a dangerous place where we can no longer hear the voice of God – not because He is no longer speaking, (he most certainly is), but because we have chosen silence – we’ve taught ourselves not to hear.

I noticed something about this passage; Jesus only commands the man’s ears to be opened (and obviously, his authority is honored).  But he never says anything in regard to the man’s tongue; it is just loosed and enabled all on its own.  I’d like to believe we are to conclude that if we are truly hearing from God, we will in turn speak on his behalf – I’d like to think speaking is the natural, rational response to hearing.

Unfortunately I’ve found it’s not that simple for me, even though it should be.

Too often I choke on the gospel I’ve been called to herald.  I let moments that were meant to be characterized by declaration be taken over by fearful hesitancy.  And the only thing more tragic than a deaf man who chooses not to speak is a man that can hear that chooses not to speak.

I have experienced what I now call “The Silence of Sin.”

When we should be hearing the voice of God encouraging us, empowering us, rebuking us, redirecting us, guiding us, and we choose our own desires instead – we hear silence.

When we should be hearing our own voice sharing the glory of what God has done for us, and we choose comfort instead of obedience – we hear silence.

And most heart-breaking of all, when those around us should be hearing of the hope and joy they think is nonexistent, and we let the good news stall out in our throats – they hear silence.

I don’t want to have anything to do with silence.

I want to hear the voice of God – not in ambiguous whispers, but through clear instruction and passionate encouragement.

And I want to be the voice of God – yes, when I have a microphone in my hand, but even more so when I don’t.

Lord, open my ears to hear, and loose my tongue to speak.

I will not be silent.