The voice of God—Who is speaking? Who do we hear?

The voice of God—Who is speaking? Who do we hear?

“However much of My law

I write for him,

Ephraim regards it as alien...”

(Hosea 8:12)

This reading from Hosea gives me comfort and gives me a question.  It gives me comfort in the assurance that God writes His law not against us, but for us.  God’s law is not a barrier or a constraint (a wall) set up against us, created to keep us from having too much fun or make sure we don’t stray into the deep end of the pool.  God’s law is written for us, to aide us and guide us (like an owner’s manual) as we learn how to live and become the best us we can be.  God made each and every one of us to be gifts, to be blessings for the world.  To be fruitful and multiply. We are all beloved children of God—all of us.  And God wants only the best and the fullest lives for us, that we might each express the giftedness of who we are fully in the world, share the blessing of who we are fully with the world, and so God writes laws that set us free to live fully; never shackling us to rules and regulations, but always opening doors and windows of grace that we might see more clearly and live more wholly (and Holy) the life we have been given.

But, like Ephraim, we too often regard the law of God as alien. As a barrier to experience and pleasure and fulfillment.  I wonder if it doesn’t have something to do with our ability to see.  When I first come out of the house to go for a walk on a bright sunny afternoon, I often find myself squinting into the glare of the light. The brilliance of it is almost blinding.  Even the reflection from the driveway and the street is too much. Just out of instinct, I close my eyes, perhaps turn away. There is a temptation to even retreat back into the shadows of the house (or porch).  I could tell myself, it’s too sunny to go for a walk. Too bright and too hot! But, if I pause for a moment, let my eyes adjust, become accustomed to the light and the warmth of the concrete, I soon find that I am quite comfortable. And after a half mile or so, I don’t even notice it anymore. It’s just part of my walk, part of my quiet, peaceful afternoon.  I quickly come to love the sunlight and even the heat. I don’t think of it as “sacrifice” or effort or work –in fact, very quickly I find that I don’t even think about it at all.  Stepping out of the cool airconditioned shade of my house, the sunlight feels alien at first, but with little effort it soon it becomes so natural I don’t notice it.

All right, so that was my little insight; here’s my question:  Whose speaking?  It seems pretty clear to me that the voice we are supposedly hearing is God’s.  But isn’t that pretty amazing? Audacious, I would say!  Quite audacious. That a writer (or prophet, anyone...) would stand up in front of people and say: This is the Word of God. This is what God said! God is speaking through me! These are HIS words.  Not: this is what I think God wants us to believe, this is what I THINK God wants us to do. This is what I THINK God is thinking.  No. He just speaks in the voice of God and says things like:

I shall slaughter the darlings of their wombs! (9:16)

And says it without any hemming or hawing. Look at the prophets and how often they speak in the voice of God, without any hesitation or literary equivocations. And often it will come in the middle of a prophecy that seems to be in the voice of the prophet but suddenly changes to the voice of God without explanation.  For instance, the line I just quoted, transitions immediately back to the voice of Hosea after this monstrous vision.

“I shall slaughter the darlings of their womb.  Because they
have not listened to Him, my God will cut them off…”   (9:16-17)

And we are left to ponder: who is speaking? When God speaks in scripture, what did that mean to the human author?

Here is an example from my own life.  The other morning, as I walked, I saw some birds darting in and out of the branches of an oak. Watching them, I remembered that my father used to tell me stories about how I was raised by blue jays. And in my head I heard a poem forming:

My father spoke to me

of blue jays

of how they cared for me

when I was young

Like you were one of their own

he said

The year your mother left us

for Tulsa

with that shoe man
she couldn’t stand…

I heard a voice speaking these words to me. In my head I actually heard these words. And I had a desperate urge to get home to my notebook and write them down.  Was I experiencing something like a prophetic moment?  I certainly don’t think I was hearing God.  Heck, I wasn’t even hearing my actual father!
Clearly it was my imagination. I was contemplating the blue jays and remembering my father’s stories— and my imagination became untethered and began to play and suddenly this voice was there.  But was it just play?  I can assure you, my mother never left us. And (as far as I know) none of us ever lived in Tulsa.  Though my dad (and I) used to sell shoes. But... was it just play?  And whose voice was I hearing? My own? My father's? The muse? Who was speaking this to me?

And so, coming back to Hosea and the prophets, I am pondering: Whose speaking? Hosea or God? And how do we know? In fact, when he heard the voice, how did Hosea even know?

Could it have something to do with how we see the law? How we listen to God’s word? Do we regard it as alien, as the voice of rules imposed from the outside? Or do we regard it as a light to help us find our way? Do we hear it as an angry voice of judgment? Or do we hear a still quiet voice calling us. Saying: I know you. I made you.  You are my beloved child.  Come, let us go for a walk in the quiet of the day and let me tell you something new. A blessing unto the world.  I will speak your name.