Voices in My Head

Follow me as I follow Christ.—1 Corinthians 11:1

I hear voices in my head.

These aren’t the voices of schizophrenia or mania. These are the voices of influence—past and present. These voices range from the seemingly insignificant taunts of childhood bullies to the mentors who have lovingly spoken wisdom. They include the foolish comments I read on social media and the powerful proclamations of preachers. They are the voices of family members and of friends.

These voices make up a Great Conversation, a Conversation taking place inside of me. In times of stress or need, I find myself listening to any number of those voices, allowing my own actions to be guided by them. I am a people-pleaser by nature, one who values his ability to listen to others, to see their perspectives. But I do not think I am alone. I think you, too, likely have a conversational moment you cannot shake—words that you want to shed but instead cling to you. Like a wet t-shirt clinging too closely, revealing my middle-aged belly, those words fit to me tighter than I want, they shape me more than I want, they reveal more of me than I want.

Those voices have an oddly powerful sway over me. They have been with me for what seems my entire life. They have worked their way into my Being in some way.

I no longer wanted to be guided by those voices. So I started noticing their origin. I started putting them in their rightful place. I started getting healthier.

But there are other voices, too.

Many of those voices are pastors of influential churches and teachers of the Bible. Many of them you would know by name. I was once held rapt by the size of their churches, the sales of their books. I once wanted to be them, to stand on a stage, to have people hang on my every word. But as I have grown older, I have realized that those who are the most like Jesus are rarely the ones in the spotlight. There are exceptions, and I am happy to say so. I know some of them personally. But that is what I want—Jesus-likeness. I do not want notoriety. I want faithfulness. I want fruitfulness.

I resolved some time back—maybe ten years ago—that I would not support spiritual bullies, that I would not give credence to those whose words and actions did not look like the words and actions of Jesus. This means I have—over time—had to prune some voices from my life. There are books and conferences I have missed—but I have not missed them. I have happily filled those spaces with those who craft Beauty, with those who speak Truth, with those who do those things in the name of Jesus.

No regrets.

Jon Tyson recently tweeted, "The sort of people that we become is, in large part, determined by the voices that we choose to listen to."—Adam McHugh [I’m] going to do an audit of whose voices I am paying attention to in this crisis. We can be disproportionately susceptible in times like these.” Wise words. His words remind me of the oft-quoted statement that you become like your three closest friends. Is this true? I do not know. It makes sense to me.

I choose to listen to the ones I most want to emulate. I want to let their words form me, their fruitfulness be a guide. Paul said to follow him as he followed Christ. Centuries earlier, Socrates said similarly said that in order to be a good person, you should find a good man and do what he does. Both Paul and Socrates knew: We are moldable creatures. We become what we esteem. The human heart is molded on the potter’s wheel of relationship.

Who do you look to? Who do you listen to? Who do you trust as authoritative? Chances are you will become as they are.

Choose the voices in your head carefully. They are making you.

This is why Christians must—first and foremost—listen for the Spirit. And listen we must. This Voice does not come loudly—at least, not usually. The Spirit likes stillness. The Spirit likes intimacy. The Spirit likes to whisper, like parents when the kids have just been put to bed, sitting close, talking in low levels, with painstaking care. The Spirit likes to whisper, like friends laying on their backs looking at stars, heads close together, afraid loud voices might spoil the galactic vista. The Spirit sits close. The Spirit takes care. So the Spirit whispers. I need this Voice. This is why I rise early and go to the Scriptures when it is still dark. This is why I read prayers in the pre-dawn hours awaiting the dawn chorus. This is when the Bible comes alive. This is when the Spirit shows me—perhaps— one verse or even one phrase. Yesterday it was one word: “zeal.” I thought about that word for some time. The Spirit whispered, “You’re tired. And your tiredness is affecting your leadership. Rest. Regain your zeal.” I needed the Voice to whisper. So I came to draw near.

You cannot hear a whisper from across the street. You cannot hear a whisper when you are sprinting.

And yet the Whisper is the Voice you most need.