It struck me of how much this feels a lot like my social media feed. We rant, react and argue across digital fences. But are we really listening? Or just defending our own turf?
It’s easy to bark when there’s a fence between us. But Jesus didn’t shout from a distance. He came near. He touched lepers. He broke bread with enemies. He loved loudly, but not violently.
“Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” That kind of posture doesn’t trend, but it might just heal wounds.
And yet, not all barking is the same. I know of another dog barked who began barking recently—not in conflict, but in alarm. That bark alerted a family to a loved one in trouble. It wasn’t noise. It was a cry for help. Sometimes barking is the only tool we have. The prophets barked (cried out). The blind man shouted. The persistent widow wouldn’t stop knocking. And Jesus heard them.
Do I cry out or remain silent? Isaiah 58 opens with a divine command: “Cry aloud; do not hold back; lift up your voice like a trumpet…” Yet in Isaiah 42, we’re told the Servant of the Lord, Jesus “will not cry aloud or lift up his voice…” So, what gives?
In Isaiah 42, the silence is restraint in the face of power. Jesus refused to play by the world’s rules of shouting and posturing. But in Isaiah 58, the cry is lament — a plea for justice. One refuses to mimic empire, the world, the devil and the flesh. The other refuses to ignore the suffering they cause.
The question isn’t whether to cry out or stay silent. It’s why are we raising our voice? Are we barking to win a fight or to wake a sleeping world? Because one just adds noise. The other is heard on high.
So be discerning. Be prayerful. Walk around the fence. Start a real conversation. And when you must speak, speak truth to power. Not to seize it, but to serve a better kingdom. Not to dominate, but to deliver. Not to shout over, but to cry with. Let your words be a prophet’s lament, not a weapon of pride.
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