Imagine being somewhat of a hermit. You live in an old farmhouse miles away from any incorporated town. The only electricity you use is generated by windmills and solar panels. You don’t have a television, a radio, a phone, or internet, and it wouldn’t really matter if you did because you don’t speak English. Or Spanish. Or anything anyone around here learned in high school. Your only friends are your three dogs, your rotating population of feral cats, and your giant stash of money. You grow your own food and make your own clothes, but you have to drive to the nearest town any time you need the essentials . . . namely, toilet paper.

On April 19, 2020, you do just that. However you manage to get to the store, you know something is wrong without comprehending a single word. Here’s what you see:

• Lots of people wearing masks

• A few pickup trucks flying what appear to be battle flags

• Sporadic bare spots throughout the store . . . in the produce section, in the freezer aisles, lots of empty shelves

• Scared expressions on the faces of the few children actually being brought in the store

• Customers yelling at cashiers

• People in line standing far apart from each other

• Scowls and horrified stares that one time you cough

• No toilet paper . . . ANYWHERE.

You didn’t need social media or media of any kind to know something was wrong in the spring of 2020. You didn’t need to know how to say or comprehend a single word. The visuals told enough of the story to know something was wrong . . . nothing says it’s time to panic like running out of toilet paper.

Words matter. Nonverbals matter more.

I cringe at the authoritarian role of words in the legal system. We have laws comprised entirely of words. The court reporter records the words spoken in legal proceedings, but they don’t capture facial expressions, gestures, or uncertainty in a witness’s voice. There’s no written record at all of the imposing austerity of the courthouse itself that seems to body the entire weight of the governing body presiding over whatever action is being brought before it and the people who cower within its walls. The entire charade allows us to pretend that it’s the words that matter, that we are rational people operating on sound logic and fair principles. “The law is reason, free from passion,” as Aristotle put it so naively.

Yeah, I’m calling out Aristotle. That’s not how it played out, man.

Moving on from law, we see nonverbal communication absolutely reign in the world of advertising. All forms of media rely on nonverbals, really, but we expect narrative, emotion, and general nonverbal artistry to permeate our entertainment; we forget about it when someone’s trying to sell us something.

Whenever anybody talks about the sneaky subtleties of American advertising, it always boils down to verbalizing what the nonverbal messaging is. Even that obscures what’s really going on. I encourage you, next time you come across something you know is an advertisement, consider what it prompts you to feel. Notice the music. Notice the energy. Notice the vibe. Experience the feelings you have looking at the facial expressions and the fashion of the people. All of that is a message . . . it’s most of the message. The words are just fine-tuning for the sake of your need to rationalize and verbalize the experience after the nonverbals do the real work.

What’s love got to do with it?

Rest in peace, Queen Tina.

Okay, Adam, you said in the headline this post was going to be about love. You haven’t mentioned love yet. . . . What gives?

You’re right. I’ve talked about the nonverbal communication a hermit would have noticed in the store at the dawn of the pandemic. I’ve pointed out the nonverbal government of the courtroom. I’ve glossed over nonverbal manipulation in advertising. Now, let’s think about . . . let’s feel what the Church or what anyone tells us about love without using words. (Cue the one Extreme song we all know.)

This is going to be different for everyone. And I want to distinguish between nonverbal communication and actions. Yes, actions speak louder than words too. Eighty percent of the Five Love Languages are nonverbal, but they’re also intentional, easy to document, and obvious. I’m really going for more subtle or overlooked nonverbals.

What does the church building say about love? What does the music (not the lyrics, the music) tell you about love? What does the booming voice of the pastor say about love? How does the tone of voice, the smirk, the scrunched-together eyebrows when someone in the church says woke reflect their feelings of love and hate toward certain people? How did the flannelgraph images of flames and crosses and drowning Egyptians communicate love and the nature of God’s love to you as a child? How did you perceive love in the silence at church, from the church, within the church? How important were those smiles, those frowns, those expressionless stares?

I don’t know what you saw. I don’t know what you heard. I don’t know what you felt.

I just want you to think about it and ask yourself how it affected you. How did you feel? How do you feel? How will you move forward?