For Whom the Beep Tolls
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Please pick the beep you like best. You will be hearing it again shortly.
A beep is a short, high-pitched sound intended as a signal, summons, or warning. It also replaces words unsuitable for a family digital publication. For example: “Oh, BEEP! I dropped the hot casserole after taking it out of the microwave when it BEEPED.”
Beep is an example of onomatopoeia. That is a large word describing a small noise that is slowly driving me crazy.
The microwave beeps when the food is ready. Mine continues beeping until I open the door or push stop. Apparently, it fears I will forget the sumptuous frozen dinner it has prepared. Nothing says fine dining like a plastic tray and an appliance demanding that you come get it.
The oven beeps when it reaches the selected temperature. It beeps when the cooking time is nearly over. It beeps when the cooking time is over. Then it beeps until I acknowledge its contribution to the meal. I have known preachers who needed less affirmation.
The house alarm beeps when I turn it on, when I turn it off, and when the power fails. When the power returns, it beeps to tell me the power failed. I know. I was here. The lights went out.
Every button beeps. Then the system beeps to announce that I have thirty seconds to leave the house. Suddenly, I am a contestant on a game show, gathering my keys and trying to escape before the horn announces that I have lost.
Seeking peace, I retreat to the BEEPING car.
My Toyota has a mystery beep. Sometimes I turn off the engine, open the door, and receive a beep of disapproval. I don’t know what I have done. Perhaps I have disappointed it. Perhaps it is saying goodbye. Perhaps somewhere in Japan an engineer is laughing.
The car beeps when I get too close to something, when something gets too close to me, and when I change lanes without signaling. It has become a backseat driver with factory authorization.
It beeps when the gas runs low. At the station, the pump beeps when it accepts my card and again when I select the fuel. I suspect the car and pump are talking about me.
This morning, the car beeped as I got out. The office alarm chimed as I entered. A chime is a beep that attended finishing school. Then my computer beeped about something Microsoft wanted.
Oh, BEEP.
Eventually, we stop listening. We have to. Every machine believes its announcement deserves our immediate attention.
But I wonder whether that habit follows us into our relationships.
Someone starts telling a story we have heard before. A lonely person calls at an inconvenient time. A worried friend needs more reassurance than we think necessary. We hear the first few words and mentally reach for the mute button.
I can confess to occasionally wanting people to come equipped with one.
Jesus heard a great deal of noise, too. Crowds pressed around him. People demanded answers, healing, attention. Yet when blind Bartimaeus cried out and others told him to be quiet, Jesus stopped and called for him.
The crowd heard an interruption. Jesus heard a man.
That gives me something to confess. I can become so occupied with doing the Lord’s work that I resent someone the Lord loves for interrupting it.
Christian love takes shape in these ordinary moments: listening to the story, answering the call, asking one more question—and staying long enough to hear the answer. The person before me bears God’s image and is someone for whom Christ died. That deserves my attention.
Lord, help me recognize the difference between a noise I can ignore and a neighbor I am called to love. Give me the patience to stop, the grace to listen, and a heart willing to be interrupted.
The microwave can wait.
Somebody may need to be heard.
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