I'm Not Listening

“Cover girls line the windows you walk by
Selling more than you're able to buy.
High-finance and romance are unified.
Hear the television cry, "Open up your eyes"

All around the world, It's all about a girl.
We're drowning in the noise of another song for boys.

I'm not listening.”

- “Another Song” by The Silent

Catherine and I were at the grocery store the other day and the cashier’s lineup was long. So much so, in fact, that I had ample enough time to scan the tabloid titles on the racks of either side of the cash. I was not intentionally looking for the latest tidbit of gossip, sex secrets, or fashion tips but found myself attracted to the colorful magazines amongst the batteries and chocolate bars. I glanced over the titles & headlines when Catherine wasn’t looking; not because I felt like I was doing anything wrong or looking at anything I shouldn’t have been looking at, but because I was afraid of what she might think I was specifically looking at something. Rather, I was attracted to the front page headlines that were so bolded and big that I assumed they were important:
“Jamie-Lynn Spears Pregnant Again! Should She Abort?”
“Which of these celebrities has lost 50 lbs?”
“How to Lose Your Mummy-Tummy in 30 days”
“Jennifer (Aniston)’s Sexual Obsession”

Pretty disgusting stuff. I’m not much a magazine reader (unless it’s The Hockey News, Guitar World, or something similar), so I don’t know what always makes the headlines for more important social magazines like MacLean’s, TIME, and Popular Science. But I do know enough to realize that the above mentioned titles are not important; at least not to me. I love pop-culture and I love meida. But true or untrue, the headlines of those magazines made me feel a bit sorry for the lives on the covers. Not quite pity, but sympathy. I felt like I was sticking my nose in someone else’s business. I guess that’s part of the shame I felt when reading the titles. Maybe I don’t want my wife thinking I’m interested in the pictures of the Hollywood beauties that grace the pages or the sob-stories and cellulite secrets. I’m not. I don’t have cellulite. And I don’t care if anybody else has. Why would I?

But my dilemma reminded me of the song above ("Another Song”) by some friends of mine. We’re surrounded, even bombarded, by sex, drugs (including medical “help/loss” strategies), and celebrity. Women in bikinis selling hair-loss cream; young girls the size of a flag poles selling weight-loss plans; buff, muscular dudes convincing teens of the best malt liquor to overuse. Even music is selling us mental images of what we don’t have and should want (Nelly’s “Hot in Here” comes to mind). So much stock (figuratively speaking, considering the TSX/DOW as of late) has been put into making people look better, eat thinner, dress nicer, communicate more efficiently, smell fresher, and just plain "be" better. It’s everywhere. It’s “all around the world” and we’re “drowning in the noise” of it all. And why? So people will like us more? So we can seem more important and successful than we actually are?

We find this is a small story in Mark 12:28-34 where Jesus is confronted about which commandment is most important. “29"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.[a] 30Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'[b] 31The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'[c]There is no commandment greater than these." There is a difference between demand and suggestion. This, here, is not a suggestion. To love our neighbor (besides our faults or masquerades) is a command. To love our neighbors “is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices” (v. 33b). That is, more important than ourselves, what we wear, how we smell, what we offer, and what we do.

Ok, I’m getting of track here, so back to my dilemma. So, why are we so interested in other people’s lives if we’re so consumed with making our own so much better? Why are we bothering to wonder how Ms. mini-Spears is going to cope with another baby while trying to fll our own tummys with material posessions? Why are we interested in someone else’s sex life when the magazines are telling us how to make our own sex-lives better? And why are people so concerned with weight when we’re constantly on search for the best Chinese buffet in town? Why are we killing ourselves to live? I’m not one to worry about my weight. Sure, I’ve gained 20 lbs since I got married, but my wife still loves (and feeds) me unconditionally. Why do I need to look better? My wife says I look nice. Why do I need to smell better? Ok, my wife is quick to tell me when I need to roll on the Speed-Stick, I’ll be honest, but I’m still not going to pay $119 for the latest smelly water because it has a cK logo on it.

Why is it that we can’t tune out the magazines on the rack? Why is it that we wade in the “noise of another song for boys”. Why must we need the next gadget to impress? I realize I'm posing far more questions than I am answers so I must admit that I am not perfect. My eyes have looked at things they shouldn’t have and my ears have listened to things that were not a sweet sound to His ear. I’d also love to replace my 20G iPod Classic with an 80G iTouch, I’d love to trade in my Bongo jeans for some expensive Levis, and I worry about when my belly goes from bicycle-tire to spare-tire. But it’s not important. Not to me, not to my wife, and especially not to God. We are a personal, hand-crafted creation of His. He made us what we are and what we will be. I don’t know where our eyes, nose, and ears got us in trouble, but we need to use them for the right reason. We’re seeing things that aren’t there, we’re sticking our noses where they don’t belong, and we’re listening to things that are not true. When it comes to the point that I’m using my eyes to hear and ears to see (yes, I said that right), pass me the blindfold so I can love without impression and hear your heart; pass me the earplugs so I can ignore the noise and see your heart.

I’m not listening.