The Disappearing Art of Conversation

When my mom picked my brother and me up after school (our tiny educational institution didn't run school buses). I'd climb into the car, settle my backpack on the floor, and wait for the expected question: "How was your day?"

Usually, I'd make her work for it. "Fine," I'd say... and I'd wait.

After a pause: "Well? What did you learn?"

And then I'd dredge up some factoid or piece of knowledge I'd gleaned and toss it toward the driver's seat. This served as the beginning of the word-flood. After I'd satisfied Mom that I'd learned something, she kind of settled, and I -- with the barrier broken -- let the barrage of words break through. It was a full twenty to twenty-five minutes home, and I filled those minutes up with speech.

Mom sorta glazed over. Now and then, she'd offer an mm-hmm in response to a statement, but after that first little bit of pressing, she didn't really ask much more. I have a clear memory of heading over the mountain past the erstwhile Ben Lippen high school, when she glanced over at me. "Do you think you can stay quiet for just a few minutes? You've been talking nonstop since you got in the car."

It made me so mad, I sealed my lips and refused to speak for the rest of the way home. Boy, I really showed her. Ha! ;)

I'm sure she was profoundly grateful. I'd successfully managed to weary her with my words.

I flipped my Bible open today to Malachi and read through the book. It contains some of my favorite passages: Malachi 3:1-4, for instance, comparing the Lord to a refiner of silver, or the hope and joy of Malachi 4:2, where I almost leap out of my chair dancing like those calves freshly released into the freedom of the fields.

Today, a single line caught my attention: "You have wearied the Lord with your words" (Malachi 2:17).

I'm gonna be honest; I talk to the Lord like I talked to my mom. I don't stop; it's like... a continuous stream of internal chatter. 

Now, the Lord is a great listener. He listens and listens and listens and listens as much as I talk and talk and talk and talk. 

But the problem comes... when I don't listen in return.

Here's the context: "You have wearied the Lord with your words. 'How have we wearied Him?' you ask. By saying, 'All who do evil are good in the eyes of the Lord, and He is pleased with them,' or 'Where is the God of justice?'"

The Lord is listening to Israel talk and talk and talk and talk, and the things they're talking about -- well, they need a bit of adjustment. "All who do evil are good in the eyes of the Lord." Sound familiar? "He is pleased with them." Do you recognize this? 

I do. I've heard many people say it. "If it feels good... do it. Do it in the name of self-care. Do it in the name of identity. Do it in the name of political or social correctness." And then: "It's the right thing to do." Some even say: "It's the Christian thing to do."

Wearying words, so, so many of them. And there's no chance for the Lord to get a word in edgewise, to respond, to teach, to refine the conversation.

See, conversation isn't monologuing. Conversation is a dialogue. Reciprocal. Back and forth. Give and take. Talking and listening.

Wearying words are one-sided. For example, in my new career path (teaching), I've spent a lot of time in graduate classes learning not to monologue, not to spend a lot of time in direct instruction, because as soon as the wearying words flood through the barrier, they drown the feedback. 

Jesus says in John 10:27: "My sheep listen to My voice; I know them, and they follow Me."

Most of the time, it's really hard to make myself shut off my internal monologue. It's a learned skill; it takes practice. Sitting quietly, intently listening. Zipping my lips so that I don't miss the wisdom He has to offer. Proverbs 3:15 recognized this importance: "[Wisdom] is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her." Do I want to miss something more precious than rubies? No!

When I was a part of REACH, the one-year mission experience I participated in after high school, we regularly practiced "listening" prayer, where we sat for approximately fifteen or twenty minutes in listening mode. We asked the Holy Spirit to clear our thoughts, our agendas. We made ourselves ready. We prepared to be met. 

And then we listened. And the Lord came. He met with us. He spoke. He taught. Sometimes, He healed.

Those were some of the most powerful experiences with the Lord I had ever had up to that point. In all the busy-ness of life, it's easy to lose that skill, which is truly an art, and is becoming a lost art.

We have too much to say and too little time to listen for the answers. 

I'll bet if I had asked my mom about her day in return... after she'd picked herself up off the floor where she'd landed in the shock... she might have talked to me and told me, and we could have had a conversation. A dialogue. A back-and-forth. (That's not to say we haven't had many great conversations. This was just one specific time I'm remembering to make a solid point).

So here's this: When the Voice that spoke the world into existence speaks my name... I don't want to miss it. When the Voice that set the stars in place and called them "good" says: "Listen to this," I want to be on the edge of my seat, waiting for that word. When, as the Psalmist says: "He lifts His Voice; the earth melts" (Psalm 46:6), I want to hear the Voice that does it.

Listen. Listen. Hush, hush now.

Can you hear Him?