In which listening is part of life together - and I'd rather do that

I came across this today:

The first service that one owes to others in the fellowship consists in listening to them. Just as love to God begins with listening to His Word, so the beginning of love for brethren is learning to listen to them. It is God's love for us that He not only gives us His Word but also lends us His ear. So it is His work that we do for our brother when we learn to listen to him. Christians, especially ministers, so often think they must always contribute something when they are in the company of others, that this is the one service they have to render. They forget that listening can be a greater service than speaking.

Many people are looking for an ear that will listen. They do not find it among Christians, because these Christians are talking when they should be listening. But he who can no longer listen to his brother will soon no longer be listening to God either; he will be doing nothing but prattle in the presence of God too. This is the beginning of the death of the spiritual life, and in the end there is nothing left but spiritual chatter and clerical condescension arrayed in pious words. One who cannot listen long and patiently will presently be talking beside the point and be never really speaking to others, albeit he be not conscious of it. Anyone who thinks that his time is too valuable to spend keeping quiet will eventually have no time for God and his brother, but only for himself and for his own follies. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, 97-98)

HT and thanks to Molly Friesen at Peacemakers for this.

As I look back on my last post about missing the point, I've realised that this may be part of the problem. Maybe we've forgotten how to listen to one another with respect.

Did we ever really know how?

We all talk talk talk talk. Last night, Brian and I were (what else?) talking. I mentioned that I've started to unsubscribe from a lot of blogs and websites that I read. I almost feel like taking a sustained break. It can be overwhelming and more than a little depressing. Whether they are friends, former friends, acquaintances or people I've never met but whose blogs or books or articles I read, every one has an opinion. And so we blog and write and talk and ruminate and it goes on.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to live a real life here.

For instance, I'm trying to figure out why my friend's 14 year old son died tragically this week by accident as a result of The Choking Game. Oh, Cindy - what can words say to your aching heart and empty arms tonight?

Listening.

I've learned over the past 4 years that I need to listen much more than I need to talk.

I think that listening is a form of loving.

It reminded me of this from Nouwen:

More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.

So to be honest, I'm weary of your talking. I'm weary of your notes and your blogging. I"m weary of your opinions and your apologetics. I'm weary of your magazines and your radio shows. I"m weary of your services. I'm weary of your building programs and your worship extravaganzas. I'm weary of your ads and your books.

Over the last few years, since we left our church and "ideal" ministry job, to discover Jesus outside of the walls, the interesting thing is this - we did. We found that Jesus is more real to us now - away from the crazy Christian bubble and the megachurch and the "ministries of excellence" - here, amongst our own desert, the rose has bloomed. And it is beautiful.

My easy Christ has left the building. Whither goest thou, my Lord? Somewhere else. I'd rather be one small candle in the darkness than one more lamp in a brightly lit room. Sometimes that's exhausting. Most of the time it's rather exhilarating.

I'd rather be known as a good listener than a good debater.

I'd rather be known as someone that truly cares than someone that always made sure I got the last word.

I'd rather put my money - and my time - where my mouth is.

I'd rather they feel loved than feel that I'm right or smart.

I'd rather people feel valued. Maybe because I listen, they might feel loved. And if they feel loved, in some small measure by me, then maybe they will see that I love them because He first loved me.

We, though, are going to love—love and be loved. First we were loved, now we love. He loved us first. (1 John 4:19)