By Jackson Posey | Sports Editor
You need to shut up.
We all do.
Studies show that the most tantalizing lifestyle for Generation Z isn’t fabulous wealth or an island in the Caribbean. Hoop dreams have faded for America’s young adults, as have visions of Hollywood fame. Those fantasies and others like them have lost ground to an all-consuming desire to be heard.
A 2023 Morning Consult poll found that more than half of Gen Zers want to become influencers, a profession founded on winning the fanatic obsession of as many strangers as possible. Every stream of consciousness constitutes a string of proverbs; every throwaway video deserves a public response. Documentation of menial tasks becomes akin to vlogging scripture.
Of course, such success is rare, but it represents a lifestyle many aspire to. When our every thought is idolized, we tend to idealize our opinions and place ourselves on perfectly crafted pedestals, staring down at our dominion in detached agony.
Regardless of how interesting one may be, cloistering ourselves in personalized kingdoms puts us all in danger of what author Paul David Tripp calls “self-glory.”
“The bottom line is this: proud people tend to talk about themselves a lot,” Tripp writes in “Dangerous Calling.” “Proud people tend to like their opinions more than the opinions of others. Proud people think their stories are more interesting and engaging than others. Proud people think they know and understand more than others. Proud people think they have glory to offer.”
Sages across time and place find agreement on this point. From the Greek philosopher Plutarch, “If young men have not the power to listen … the speech brought forth by them is windy indeed,” to 1950s American parents at the dinner table, “You have two ears and one mouth!”, wise guides have consistently reminded the next generation that other perspectives matter.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a 20th-century German pastor and anti-Nazi activist, lamented the widespread personal bigotry he saw around him in the lead-up to World War II. As he faced the dual chaos of violence and persecution — he would ultimately be hanged by the Nazis in 1945 — the undercover pastor pondered whether listening might be more valuable than speaking.
“Christians, especially ministers, so often think they must always contribute something when they are in the company of others, that this is the one service they have to render,” Bonhoeffer wrote in “Life Together,” a book penned from his parents’ home after the Gestapo shut down his seminary. “They forget that listening can be a greater service than speaking.”
Those words vibrate like a clanging gong to 21st-century sensibilities. As thousands of videos flood down our social media feeds like so many digital waterfalls, an alcove of silence — of intentionally going unheard — feels unthinkable. But it’s not.
When Jesus faced the death penalty, standing before a sham trial set up by his political enemies, he remained silent, refusing to defend himself. In 1 Kings 19, the Lord speaks to Elijah not through the fire, but through “the sound of a low whisper.” The apostle James calls for his readers to be “quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger, for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”
He who has ears to hear, let him hear.
The late American author Ernest Hemingway, intentionally or not, echoed the teachings of both Jesus and Bonhoeffer when he advised a young writer in 1949 to listen attentively, rather than formulating his thoughts while his conversation partner spoke.
“When people talk, listen completely,” Hemingway wrote. “Don’t be thinking what you’re going to say. Most people never listen. Nor do they observe.”
The company of one’s own thoughts may be pleasant at first. The ego always enjoys its time with a sycophant. But the more time one spends in that dim chamber, the louder the echoes become. It will become unbearable. It is a weight we were never meant to carry.
After telling a brief parable in Mark 8:15, Jesus pointed out a group of pedants in the crowd. While they argued over terms, he decided to ask them a question.
“Do you not yet perceive or understand?” he asked, surveying the crowd. “Are your hearts hardened? Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not understand?”
That same question remains today, piercing and touching at the core of Gen Z’s identity. All we want is to feel heard, to have influence, to feel needed. But when my speaking, influencing and importance come up against the teachings of Jesus, the choice is clear.
I must cede to the one who died for me.
I must listen to man and to God, embracing the chaos and the noise and the beauty of it all. Success is measured differently in an upside-down kingdom — for one, fulfillment begins with hearing. And swapping our pale imitations of glory for humility has always been a worthy sacrifice.
