My son “needed” a new violin. We protested because he had bought one only a few months earlier. But his musician’s ear heard what we could not. It made “a weird sound,” a strange vibration that simply made it impossible for him to play. Well, I’m exaggerating the pretentiousness, and to be fair, the violin was already well loved when he bought it second-hand. So, he saved up a bit of money for another second-hand violin that was better quality.

The old violin was listed to sell, with an honest description and a more than fair price. It was quickly sold, and a pick-up time was arranged. Our house is kind of in a funny spot. If I give specific directions, and the person listens well, they’ll do fine. If they depend on their GPS, forget it. They’re already lost. The woman who bought the violin seemed clear, but unfortunately, she changed her plans. Her mother was now coming to pick it up.

The daughter messaged me to say that her mom was lost, and could I phone her with directions. “She isn’t very good on the Internet,” she said. No problem, I called the mother. She answered the phone, already ticked off at me. As cheerful as I tried to be she wasn’t interested in friendship. She complained that she had gone in the opposite direction and it would take her a few minutes to get here.

I waited at the window so that when she approached I could take the violin out to her but missed my chance when I realized I didn’t have any shoes nearby. I opened the door with a big smile, trying to laugh off the confusion. She was walking closer, muttering under her breath, no smile.

“You can’t see your house number from the road,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“I couldn’t see your house number. Do you know that no one can see your house number? The ambulance would never find you.”

“Yeah,” I replied. Then I smiled and tried to laugh and make small talk.

“I passed your house (no she didn’t) and couldn’t see your number. The ambulance would never find your house. You need to move your numbers.”

I don’t really like to be told what to do. It’s a re-occurring confessional issue. But she was working hard to tell me what to do. I thought I’d kind of laugh it off and correct her at the same time, “Well, the ambulance has found us before. They’re pretty good about finding places, ha-ha.”

“You should move your numbers. Put them on your basketball hoop,” she continued. The funny thing is that I had told the daughter to look for the basketball hoop as a marker. “Everything’s here? The bow and violin are in here?”

“Yes, everything is there,” I smiled.

“Move your numbers.”

Don’t you feel like there is movement focused entirely on telling other people what to do? Not suggesting, or discussing, just outright telling people what to do, whether they asked or not. If you're like me, you don't want to listen.  But it’s everywhere, like an epidemic.  And because a lot of the world’s “conversations” take place on the Internet, it’s easier to tell people off when we can’t see their faces. This is what you should eat, this is what you should wear, this is what you should post or not-post on Facebook, vaccinate, don’t vaccinate, vote for them, sign this petition, buy organic milk, move your numbers ... And we listen. We may not like it or always obey, but we listen.

In the readings of this past Sunday’s Mass, St. Paul joins in and tells us what to do: “Whatsoever else you do, do all to the glory of God.” It’s one simple thing. He isn’t spending much time on the details about where you choose to live, or what you choose to eat. It’s simple to him: let your life be a witness to God’s love and you won’t fail. Everything you do, do it to his glory.

I can only speak for myself, but I know that my life does not always give God glory. How many times have I chosen to obey the world, or to justify my poor choices? How often do I compromise the truth that I know, to please, or to fit in, or to condemn someone else? How often am I actually a counter witness to those around me, when I seek to give glory to myself, and not to God?

God continuously calls us out of the mire, and back to himself. He asks us to trust him, and to believe in his love for us. What risk is there in that? He has already given us everything; there is nothing for him to gain in our obedience. The command that our lives bring him glory is for our sakes, not his.

We are surrounded by a mob of voices telling us what to do. Listen well and we will hear the quiet voice of God’s Holy Spirit inside of us instead.