How do we listen?
We live in a world that apparently values listening. As a society, we are committed to the voiceless acquiring a voice… except those we decide shouldn’t speak. We care that everyone shares their stories… except those who offend us. As a society, we are particularly bad at listening when we disagree.
But Christians should be good at listening. We listen to God, through his Word, by his Spirit, breaking into our lives, rearranging us and calling us to faith and repentance. We know that we have fallen short in all kinds of ways and we need to listen to those (whom we trust) as they bring Scripture to bear on our behaviour and choices. This isn’t easy listening. It requires a kind of submission that calls on us to work hard to hear clearly what we don’t want to know about ourselves. Being Christian, however, means that we continue the struggle to do this kind of listening because of our trust in God and his process of transforming us.
Listening Well
How though, do we listen to those suffering ones in our lives as we support them. We know that Job’s friends sat and wept with him for days. We like the idea (and, for them, it was better than what came after). But for us that would be frankly unpractical and probably a bit weird. In our time and place it would look different.
But this raises the question of how we listen well and properly to those who grieve.There are two things that I’ve been thinking about here.
The first is not being scared of unbelief.
One of the reasons I speak quickly and listen poorly is fear. I want for my friend the kind of peace I know comes from knowing that God is real and strong and present, and that in Christ God loves us more deeply than we can understand. So, I pile up my words to force this belief, lacing it with Scripture to make sure it ‘works’. If, however, I trust God with my friend, the same kind of trust I’m wanting them to have displaces my fear. I don’t know how God might act in their life. Maybe this is a long, long road for them, through places of unbelief and confusion. Maybe it’s short and clear and paved with strong faith statements. I can listen well because I can trust God to know the right way for this person and bring them through. I can listen to what is happening now without the need to fix everything, because only God can save. I can listen well and patiently, accepting this person in this place because I know they need God and ultimately only he can bring peace. I may be useful in this place speaking words which may evoke trust, and I must be faithful with my words, but to engender trust is beyond me. I need God for my friend. It might be difficult for me to trust God with her, but it is far easier to listen properly when I am not frantically frightened for her. And in my trust of God I model my greatest desire for her.
The second is identifying with people. I think this is what we admire about Job’s friends. They sat down where Job was in the ashes and just sat and cried together. To suffer is to feel alone. The warmth from human companionship of any kind in the darkest of places is valuable beyond the telling. In modern life, this is terrifically difficult. We don’t slow down for death or tragedy. We are all about moving on, so it’s hard to enter into grief with those we love. They are in a place dislocated from the rest of life. They are expected, after a very short space of time, to undertake the stuff of life. How to be with people as they are overcome with moments of pain, how to navigate the embarrassment of towering emotions unleashed, how to sit well with someone who fears unravelling and so totters away from consuming pain – this takes a wisdom which is frankly beyond most of us. In the diary-driven hurly-burly of our worlds, there is no space to sit and weep, even for those who have the most need and right to do so, let alone those of us who would want to sit and love and weep alongside them. Somehow, prayerfully, doggedly, we need to dart into those moments when the dust and ashes are upon our friends and sit with them, be with them. Somehow, in the pace of our own lives, we need to get comfortable with tragedy such that sitting and feeling their pain with them is something we can tolerate. Somehow, we need to have the expectation that just being together, not necessarily speaking or doing or achieving, is something with which we are comfortable.
It is a well and often-spoken truism that we must be preparing ourselves for our certain suffering. But we also need to prepare ourselves for the suffering of our brothers and sisters in Christ. Before the storm hits, we need to be praying for the wisdom given by God, who knows better than we our inadequacies as listeners. Because we are Christian we care about loving well, and that means learning how to sit and listen, and pray and trust, and get the dust and ashes of others’ suffering in our hair.
Image: Gustav Dore, “Job and his Friends” (getty images)
