Dictionary.com recently chose “6–7” as its Word of the Year. Though, curiously, it’s not a word at all. As someone who so appreciates words and their weight, I found the selection a bit perplexing, even disappointing.
“6–7” … It’s not a word, but a numerical phrase—and, as I’ve come to realize, also a gesture. How many other parents of middle schoolers have noticed kids holding out their hands, palms up, as if weighing the difference between six or seven of something? Apparently, “6-7” has come to mean: “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Who’s to say. It’s all the same.”
It’s the shrug of a generation. A posture of indifference. Shorthand for not committing.
This expression’s rise feels timely, given the prevailing spirit of relativism. We live in a culture saturated with words, and yet we’ve allowed some of the richest words to be stretched thin. “Love” has shifted from a sacrificial choosing of the good, to simply a feeling that comes and goes. “Freedom” is now often taken to mean doing whatever one wants, instead of being ordered toward what is virtuous and true. The very definition of “human person” is at the heart of the abortion debate, because once we decide that some individuals are less “person” than others, we lose the foundation for protecting any life at all.
I can hear the echoes of youth: “6-7,” and behind that sing-songy shrug, I think, is something deeper. I think there’s a fear of being wrong. A fear of caring too much. In an age that elevates the artificial over the authentic, many hesitate to seek what is real, not for lack of faith, but for fear of being mocked for having any.
But He meets us where we are. Even in the shrugs, the fear, the hesitation. Into a world prone to 6-7, God gives us something astonishing: A Word that means everything.
“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us,” (John 1:14).
Jesus is not vague. He is not optional. He is definitely not noncommittal. Where 6-7 holds its hands out in indifference, Jesus stretches His arms out on the Cross.
Maybe this is the invitation hidden in the silly little gesture that’s become a cultural symbol: to notice the ache beneath it. For those of us who remember those tender middle school years, we know that apathy is rarely assurance; it is the cautious veil we draw when the world feels too sharp. It’s the protective shrug guarding the heart from disappointment.
Oh, I wish it would pop up like a notification no one could ignore: There is something worth leaning our whole weight upon. The Word has meaning. The Word is alive. The Word is a Person who knows your name.
I think the answer is not to mock the number/not-word/gesture, but to gently respond to it—especially to our young people and to meet them where they are. And maybe ironically, I think the answer has to do less with our words and more to do with our actions.
May we live in such a way that our lives do not hollow the best words we speak, but fill them with fidelity, mercy, and holy boldness.
*Feature Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
