Loud, Clear Voices

I like to re-read certain books. I’ve read some so many times I’ve lost count. The one I’ve read the most is That Hideous Strength, by C.S. Lewis. I don’t know exactly what drives me to read it over and over again, but it feels like a need.

Lately there’s one scene that keeps coming to mind. It’s toward the beginning of the book and takes place in a long, upper room in a fictional, English college called Bracton. As the fellows of that college are assembled in the upper room to discuss various concerns affecting the college, the conversation becomes heated and disorderly. Opinions are deeply divided on what to do about the problems they’re facing. Finally, an old man whose name is Jewel tries to make himself heard.

“When at last old Jewel, blind and shy and almost weeping, rose to his feet, his voice was hardly audible. Men turned round to gaze at, and some admire, the clear-cut, half-childish face and the white hair which had become more conspicuous as the long room grew darker. But only those close to him could hear what he said. At this moment Lord Feverstone sprang to his feet, folded his arms, and looking straight at the old man said in a very loud, clear voice:

‘If Canon Jewel wishes us not to hear his views, I suggest that his end be better attained by silence.’

Jewel had already been an old man in the days before the first war when old men were treated with kindness, and he had never succeeded in getting used to the modern world. For a moment as he stood with his head thrust forward, people thought he was going to reply. Then quite suddenly he spread out his hands with a gesture of helplessness, shrunk back, and began laboriously to resume his chair.

The motion was carried.”

I can see it all so clearly in my imagination. The dark crowded room, the men arguing, and Jewel standing in the middle of it all speaking but only being heard by those sitting nearest. I picture Lord Feverstone, his mouth like a shark, his words cutting like a sword, disrespectful and disregarding, and Jewel throwing his hands out and sitting back down.

It makes me think about loud, clear voices and quiet voices—about speaking out and sitting close and listening.

Loud, clear voices are the ones we hear the most easily, but they’re not always the wisest.

I Corinthians 13 says that when we speak without love, our voices become like “a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.” There’s a reason symphonies aren’t made up of lots of gongs and cymbals. It would be awful to listen to and would give everyone a headache. Those loud instruments would drown out the beauty of the violin, cello, and piano.

Jesus was born into our noisy world but His words stood in sharp contrast to it. They still do. We have to lean in to hear them, like Mary sitting at Jesus’s feet. He said she had “chosen what is better . . .” (Luke 10:42) And when we sit listening to Him, paying close attention to what He says is good, how He instructs us to treat one another, our words will be seasoned with love because they’ll reflect Him.

I love reading the words Martin Luther King Jr. wrote in his “Letter From a Birmingham Jail.”  Have you read it? His words were truthful, full of patience, respectful, thought-provoking, humble, and persistent. He wrote that letter in the middle of the noise—a beautiful, gentle, strong letter. Music you could only hear if you leaned in.

Blessings to you this week. I’m praying for you and for me, that we will listen to God’s voice and that when we speak up, we’ll keep our eyes trained on Him and nothing else, so that our words will reflect His love instead of the noise around us.

~Amy