Had my father lived to see this digital age of ours, he would have been hooked just as his daughter is. Now, my mother? Not so much. She relied more on face-to-face than FaceTime for her communication. As a college student, I came to value her reliance on the face-to-face.

We were a one-car family that operated on the principle that if you wanted the car for fun and someone else needed to be somewhere else, then you had to take the other person to wherever and pick her up from the same said place on time and without complaint. That principle explained why, one summer, I woke up every morning at 5:20 to take my mom to work. As part of the facilities crew at our church, her shift started at 5:30 and I was forever thankful for our very local church.

Our routine was simple: pull up in front of the main glass doors of church, a quick I-love-you-have-a-good-day-be-careful goodbye, wait until my mom clocked in and returned to the doors to wave me on my way, leave. I was usually home by 5:40 a.m.

Except for the day my mom was taking longer than usual to come to the doors. I turned the car off and closed my eyes until a bright light shined into the car. It was one of the city’s finest shining his flashlight into the car.

License, please?

Uh. My license? I just rolled out of bed to take my mom to work.

No license? Why are you here?

The conversation went back and forth. I kept glancing at the door, hoping to see my mother waving me on my way. No such luck. Then just as I envisioned my college career coming to a screeching halt, my mom was there at the doors, waving to me.

“Mom,” I shouted. “Tell the policeman who I am.”

Mom opened the door and called out, “What did you say, honey?”

Instantly, both the officer and I relaxed.

Now that my identity had been established, I learned that an alarm had been tripped in the church that sent the police to the scene, at the same time that my mother was calling her supervisor. Think how quickly all this could have been resolved with a simple text to two, but all it took for the police was my mother’s voice responding to my voice.

The gospel writers show us wind and raging waves responding to Jesus’ voice in Luke 8:23-25. They show an unclean spirit, who said his name was Legion, for he was many in Mark 5:1-13. Then there’s Lazarus who responded to Jesus’ loud voice, “Come out” in John 11. So, wind and waves, an unclean spirit, a dead man—all obeyed his voice.

And then there’s Jesus’ followers who question that voice. The disciples who sat in the boat in a calm sea, asked who this Jesus was that “he commands even winds and water and they obey him.” (v. 25). In Mark 5, the people in the region who saw the formerly demon-possessed man in his right mind, begged Jesus to leave the area. And Martha warned Jesus about the odor because her brother had been dead four days. They questioned the voice that wind, waves, demons and death obeyed.

I’m not sure that I question Jesus’ voice as much as I like to drown it out with competing voices that promise something that poses as abundant life here and now, especially when the here and now is weighted with burdens and cares. When that happens, I need to hear Jesus' voice again, calling me by name, reassuring me that I am a sheep of his pasture.

In Luke 23:46, Jesus calls out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!"

There is no other voice. Jesus goes before me. He lays down his life. He promises me abundant life in him alone. His voice brings grace and truth and mercy, finishing the work only he could do. So I join the storm, the spirits and the dead man in hearing and knowing and obeying his voice that gives me strength and courage and grace to face this and every other day he gives.