Here God... Talk To My Hand

>>> The Voice We Ignore

There is a universal gesture that needs no translation. It crosses cultures, languages, borders, and time zones. Teenagers use it. Grandkids use it. Some husbands use it. And nearly every wife has perfected it. It’s the motion that says: “I am not receiving incoming messages at this time.”

The hand goes up.

The head turns slightly.

The eyes go somewhere else.

And the message is clear.

“Talk to the hand.”

Now we use it as a joke—an ironic shield, a dramatic boundary. But if we’re honest, that same gesture has a spiritual version. We don’t raise the physical hand, but we do raise something inside us—a wall, a resistance, a shrug, a hesitation, a voice that whispers: “Not now, Lord… not today… later… maybe… after I sort this out.”

We may never say it, but heaven knows we’ve done it:

“God… talk to the hand.”

And here’s what startles me every time I read Scripture:

We are not the first ones to do that. God’s people have been dodging His voice from the beginning.

Adam hid.

Israel hardened their hearts.

Jonah booked a cruise in the opposite direction.

Balaam pretended not to hear until the donkey started talking.

The rich young ruler heard the very voice of Jesus and walked away sad.

Felix trembled but said, “Go away. When I have a convenient season, I’ll call for you.”

Humanity’s default instinct toward God has almost never been enthusiastic obedience—it has been resistance.

We want burning bushes.

We want angels.

We want open-field concerts like the shepherds.

We want a talking donkey just to spice up the week.

But the irony is breathtaking:

The same people who beg God to speak are often the same people who freeze when He does.

That brings us to a quiet but thunderous text:

> “Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts.”

—Psalm 95 / Hebrews 3–4

It is God’s gentle way of saying: “Take your hand down. Listen. I’m speaking.”

And yet many of us live years—decades—feeling like we’ve never really heard His voice. Never seen a sign. Never felt a clear directive. Never had the burning bush. Never had the donkey. Never had the handwriting on the wall. Never heard the thunder from Sinai.

Sometimes you want to shout into the heavens:

“Lord, if You want my attention, could You please use something visible? Audible? Preferably dramatic? Something with special effects?”

And then God whispers back:

“I’ve been speaking all along.”

But the problem is not always the volume of His voice.

It is the condition of our ears.

And this is where Hebrews takes us somewhere unexpected. The writer does something radical, something translators have been smoothing out for centuries. In Hebrews 4:8, when describing the wilderness generation and the lost promise of rest, the Greek text uses one name: Iesous—the same name used for Jesus.

Some translations say Joshua.

Some say Jesus.

But the writer’s point is unmistakable:

The voice in Psalm 95 is not Joshua’s voice.

It is God’s voice.

And the God who spoke then is Jesus who speaks now.

Jesus is the One who gave the Sabbath rest at creation.

Jesus is the One Israel resisted in the desert.

Jesus is the One David wrote about.

Jesus is the One speaking “Today… if you hear My voice.”

So the question Hebrews forces onto our lap is simple:

Why don’t we hear Him?

If the Lord of creation is speaking—

If the God of Sinai is still addressing His people—

If the Shepherd’s voice still calls out to His sheep—

Why do so many of us feel like we’re catching nothing but static?

Let’s be honest.

Some people feel like the heavens are brass.

Some feel like God is silent.

Some feel like their prayers hit the ceiling and slide back down the wall.

Some feel like they have served God faithfully and yet never had a single burning-bush moment.

And deep down, we envy Abraham who got a personal visit.

We envy Elijah who heard the whisper.

We envy Mary who got an angel.

We envy Moses who saw divine flame dancing on desert bark.

We envy Balaam who at least got a talking donkey—because frankly, that would at least make for a great story at potluck.

But here is the part we rarely think through:

Every one of those dramatic moments happened to people who were not listening the first time.

Moses saw the bush because he had avoided Egypt for forty years.

Jonah got a fish because he said “Talk to the hand” to God’s call.

Balaam got a donkey because he was blinded by greed.

Gideon got fleece because he doubted the angel standing right in front of him.

Peter got the rooftop vision three times because he argued with the Lord of the universe.