Some moments in life are so perfectly absurd, they feel like fiction—except they’re not. You really can’t make this stuff up.
My trip home from a far-too-short visit with family included a routine cross-country flight. Nothing extraordinary there. Like clockwork, the flight attendants began their standard pre-flight safety spiel: seatbelt instructions, emergency exits, oxygen masks, and of course, the ever-ignored directive to power down all portable electronic devices.
We’ve all heard it before—maybe even tuned it out ourselves.
But on this flight, one passenger decided the announcement wasn’t worth their attention. Not only were they not listening, they were carrying on a full-blown conversation over speakerphone. With Jackie.
How did I know? Because we all knew!
“Jackie, I’ll be there around…”
“Jackie, what was it I was supposed to do?”
“Jackie… Jackie… Jackie…”
The conversation went on—loudly—through the entire pre-flight instruction. Around me, passengers shifted in their seats and exchanged exasperated glances. I’ll admit—I was one of them. But beneath the irritation, a thought struck me:
Isn’t this exactly what happens to us?
The person who needs to hear most—who may be the very one requiring help in an emergency—is too distracted to receive it. Caught up in the urgent, they miss what’s truly important. The necessary becomes background noise.
And then, a familiar story from Scripture came to mind.
Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain, and right before their eyes, He is transfigured. His divine nature breaks through the veil of flesh. Glory fills the moment. Heaven touches earth.
And Peter decides it’s a good time… to talk.
“Master, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters…”
(Luke 9:33, NIV)
Peter’s impulse wasn’t malicious—it was probably a mixture of awe, fear, and not knowing what else to do. But still, it wasn’t the time to talk. It was a moment to be silent. To look. To listen. To take in the weight of glory.
Thankfully, God the Father cuts through the moment with crystal clarity:
“This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to Him.”
(Luke 9:35)
Back on the plane, as if scripted by divine comedy, a flight attendant walked over to the oblivious speakerphone passenger. With calm authority, the attendant leaned in, took control of the moment, and said clearly:
“You must turn off the phone.”
Then, into the handset:
“Bye-bye, Jackie.”
And just like that, the cabin exhaled.
That phrase stuck with me. Bye-bye, Jackie.
Not just funny—prophetic.
There’s a Hebrew word that captures what Peter missed, what Jackie’s friend missed, and what I often miss: Shema. It means to hear—but not just with the ears. Shema means to listen deeply, to understand, to absorb, and to respond. It is hearing that leads to action. And action that leads to transformation.
I wonder how often God speaks while I’m fumbling with my own figurative phone—scrolling through distractions, narrating my own thoughts, talking over the divine whisper that calls me to silence.
Lord, help me say “bye-bye” to my noise.
Give me the grace to pause.
To listen.
To receive instruction.
And to be transformed into your image.
Categories: Acts17seventeen
Pastor Mark
Mark, the eighth of nine children born to Reuben and Henrietta Meeks—dedicated church planters with nearly 30 congregations established across California’s Central Valley—is a preacher's kid who grew up immersed in faith and service. With over forty years of experience teaching, discipling, and ministering to communities, including the hospitalized and incarcerated, Mark responded to God's call to pastoral ministry. He holds degrees in civil engineering and public administration, as well as a Master’s in Theology from Fuller Seminary, equipping him to serve with both practical insight and spiritual depth.
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