Speak, but gently
Our ability to hear is like an overzealous guest. It is often the first to arrive and the last to leave. The eager caller will arrive inconveniently early, just when the host still puts finishing touches on their makeup or is tidying up the table. This guest will also stay longer and linger, not getting the hint that it is time to leave. He might be treated to the sight of bleary-eyed children about to launch into tantrums because the parent can’t come to bed just yet. She might witness the dimming of the lights, the floor sweeping and the change of linen. She sees and hears more than she needs. Isn’t this like us? We often hear more than what we ask for.
We literally hear volumes. For one, we can hear over ten octaves of the vocal range. We are impressed by voices that stretch beyond the average of two octaves (“taas ug tingog”). The classically trained singer can free his voice up to three octaves. Maria Callas’ performing voice was just short of three octaves. Yma Sumac, the Peruvian Soprano who tantalized audiences in the 1950s, could sing up to four octaves. At present, Mariah Carey can reportedly emancipate her voice through five octaves. (The attending staff at her delivery room must have had an earful.)
We begin to hear even before we are born. An unborn child will shift position to be near a pleasing sound. An oft-repeated story is of the just-borne tot, squinting and disoriented, yet turning in recognition to a familiar voice. He is hardly able to see, coo or manage his limbs—but he will already distinguish the voices heard in utero. At 135 days of gestation or at nearly five months, the hearing portion of the inner ear or the cochlea will already have developed. Our brains begin to be shaped by what we hear.
A linked part of our hearing is the vestibular system, which is responsible for balance and helps us to ascertain our body’s position in space. Thus a soft, soothing voice is heard and felt, then interpreted by the brain to be safe and comfortable. It is almost automatic and our bodies expand, unclench and relax. Why do you think you unfurl with the pleasing tones of the honey-voiced disc jockey? On the other hand (or earlobe), a grating, high-frequency sound will make us recoil. Notice how a room uniformly flinches at the sound of fingernails scratching the board. A loud, unexpected car honk warns us and makes us jump back from crossing the street too soon. An angry shout also makes us cower in the corner, and fold our body into occupying the smallest space possible.
A verse in the Gospel’s second reading today is especially marvellous for the insight and instruction that it gives to disciples. It comes from a Maker who knows the ins and outs of his creations. It comes from a Creator who has designed every hair, every follicle, every crease, every pigment and every breadth of ability. In 1 Peter 3:16, the apostles were specifically instructed: “Should anyone ask you the reason for this hope of yours be ever ready to reply, but speak gently and respectfully.”
Tell them in a manner and volume that will not bring fear. Speak to them in tones that will make them hear and experience my respect for their current circumstance. Tell them of this reason for your hope, but speak in a way so that they may recognize Me in the quiet of your voice.
