"Recognizing the Shepherd’s Voice Amidst the Noise”
- by Gabriel Voorhees
There is a sound in the Kingdom—an unmistakable sound—and Jesus says that His sheep know it. Not just hear it. Know it. There’s a difference between hearing a voice and recognizing a voice.
Hearing is biological; recognizing is relational.
When Jesus says in John 10, “My sheep hear My voice,” He is speaking about something far deeper than audio waves. He is describing the mysterious bond between a Shepherd and His sheep. In the ancient world, several flocks could be placed together overnight in a common fold. In the morning each shepherd would come to the gate, give his unique call, and only his sheep—only the ones who walked with him, ate from his hand, trusted his care—would come out.
Anyone could shout.
Anyone could imitate the words.
But only the Shepherd carried the tone the sheep were formed by.
Sheep don’t follow vocabulary; they follow familiarity. They follow the sound that has fed them. This is what hearing God is like. We don’t hear because we’re spiritual experts. We hear because we’re His.
But here’s the challenge: the world is full of voices.
Fear has a voice.
Shame has a voice.
Religion has a voice.
Your past has a voice.
Your trauma has a voice.
And in the noise, you must learn not only the words God speaks, but the language God speaks.
The Kingdom has a language. It’s not just verbal; it’s relational. It isn’t only words; it’s tone. A child knows the voice of their mother not simply because of the lexicon she uses, but because of her tone—her warmth, her cadence, the rhythm that shaped them since birth. So it is with God. If you know the words of Scripture but not the tone of the Shepherd, you will misunderstand nearly everything He says. Words matter, yes. But tone reveals the heart behind the words. This is why two people can read the same verse—one hears condemnation, the other hears invitation. One hears judgment, the other hears mercy. The difference isn’t the verse; the difference is whether they have learned the tone of the Father.
So the first step to hearing God is to become familiar with His sound—His peace, His gentleness, His correction that lifts instead of crushes, His presence that steadies instead of panics. And when the language changes, everything changes.
There’s a story from the Welsh Revival that captures this perfectly. When the Spirit of God swept through the coal mines, the miners were radically converted. They stopped cussing—stopped using the harsh, profane commands that had marked the culture of the pits for decades. But something strange happened: the mining mules and horses suddenly couldn’t understand their owners. They had been trained to obey profanity. And when the language changed, they didn’t know what to do. That is what revival looks like.
When God gets ahold of a life, He doesn’t just change the message; He changes the sound of that life. A new culture begins to surround you. A new atmosphere comes out of you. You stop speaking the world’s language, and you start speaking the Kingdom’s. And here’s the prophetic truth:
If the animals recognized the change in sound, how much more will the people around you?
If mules could discern a shift in tone, surely you can discern the sound of your Shepherd.
But there is a deeper layer to this idea of Kingdom language—one that stretches back to the very beginning of the human story.
Most people believe the gift of tongues began in Acts 2, but the first divine intervention in human language didn’t start in Jerusalem; it started in Genesis. Yes, the first “gift of tongues” wasn’t empowerment—it was judgment. It wasn’t to unify—it was to scatter. It didn’t launch a Kingdom—it halted a counterfeit one.
At the Tower of Babel, humanity had organized its strength around its own greatness. “We will ascend. We will build a name for ourselves. We will establish our own heights.” They echoed the pride of Lucifer, attempting to build a kingdom without God, a throne without His presence, a future without His leadership.
And God said something astonishing:
“Nothing they plan will be impossible for them because they are unified.”
Even in rebellion, humanity carried the imprint of divine capability. The image of God is so powerful that even united pride could accomplish almost anything. So what did God do? He changed their language. He didn’t strike them dead. He didn’t destroy the tower. He simply made them unable to understand each other. And the work stopped. The first act of supernatural tongues was to disunify a false kingdom.
The next act of supernatural tongues—in Acts 2—was to unify a true one.
At Babel, language scattered. At Pentecost, language gathered. At Babel, men woke up unable to understand one another. At Pentecost, men woke up able to understand God. At Babel, tongues stopped a human project. At Pentecost, tongues started a heavenly one. Tongues at Babel said, “This kingdom dies.” Tongues in Acts said, “This Kingdom begins.”
In Genesis, the language of the world collapses. In Acts, the language of the Spirit is born.
So here is the prophetic thread:
The Kingdom of God has a language. And you must learn that language if you are going to hear His voice. Jesus says, “He who has ears, let him hear.” Everyone has ears—but not everyone understands. Some hear sounds but not meaning. Some hear God but don’t recognize Him. Some recognize words but miss the tone.
Some read Scripture but hear condemnation because they don’t yet know the Father’s heart. Just like those miners’ mules, you can be surrounded by words but unable to understand the language. Hearing God is not about spiritual superiority—it’s about spiritual familiarity. You learn His voice like a child learns the voice of a parent—through proximity, repetition, and trust. The more you walk with Him, the more His sound shapes your soul. The more you dwell in His Word, the more you recognize when He is speaking.
The more time you spend in His presence, the more the tone becomes unmistakable. And when you do hear Him—when you truly hear Him—you don’t follow out of duty; you follow out of recognition. Sheep don’t obey the Shepherd because they fear Him. Sheep obey because His voice is home. We live in a world loud with competing sounds—fear, shame, anxiety, deception, agenda, distraction. But in the middle of the noise, the Shepherd still speaks. The question is not whether He is speaking.
The question is whether we have trained our ears to understand His language.
And so the invitation of the Spirit today is simple:
Come close enough to let the sound of His voice shape you.
Come close enough to learn the tone of His heart.
Come close enough to recognize Him in the middle of the noise.
You were born with ears.
But the Kingdom gives you understanding.
He who has ears, let him hear.