Putting On Your Active Listening Ears

I know this will shock some of you, but it is what it is: I like to talk. The funny thing is, I didn't think I liked to talk that much, and I still don't fully accept that about myself. 

That said, I'm one of those extroverted introverts who needs silence and by-myself time to generate energy in order to face down the next big social event, but once I hit that social event, I turn into my favorite Anne of Green Gables, and I talk nonstop until the poor, polite person sitting next to me can get a word in edgewise (or run away screaming).

I'm more aware of it now than I used to be, so I do try to clamp down that salivary appendage, but I'm not always successful, because you know who talkers love? 

Listeners.

I remember sitting in a class at Rosedale Bible College as we had a round table discussion about "active listening." "In other words," our professor said, "when you listen, don't already be thinking of the next thing you're going to say. Live in the moment, consider the words pouring into your ear, and then -- when the other person is done -- you'll be better equipped to answer."

I decided after that class to give it a try, and on my walk across campus to my next class, I pushed aside my own agenda and truly listened to what my friend walking beside me said.

It almost killed me; I nearly didn't make it. Y'all, it was staggeringly hard. And I realized that up to that point in my life, I don't think I had ever tried to actively listen. I had always listened with half an ear while planning my response simultaneously.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 is a beautiful portion of Scripture (and the basis for one of my favorite songs by The Byrds: Turn, Turn, Turn). "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven..." The writer pulls out a list of bookends: "A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build..."

He goes on until he gets to this one: "A time to be silent and a time to speak."

The thing about bookends such as the writer of Ecclesiastes uses (likely Solomon) is that in between those bookends is an complete idea. It's why I like to begin and end almost everything I write with the same or similar thought. It brings things full-circle.

As I read James 3:1-12 this morning, this complete idea came clear: Listening is just as essential as talking.

That time to be silent differs no less in importance than that time to speak.

As a teaching assistant and a teacher-in-training, the first part of this chapter in James grabbed my attention and held it: "Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly. We all stumble in many ways. If anyone is never at fault in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to keep his whole body in check." 

Ouch. The pressure!

I was off on a tangent as soon as I read those words: The pressure of being right! How can I do this? I'm not perfect; my students will vouch for that, so why am I even following this career path? As soon as I open my mouth, there will be some flaw, some mistake --

And the Lord stopped me: SLOW down there, daughter. Listen!

So... I listened. I stopped my train of very active inner dialogue with the Lord -- which was more of a monologue, because I wasn't willing to stop talking --

And I stopped talking. What are you saying, Lord?

This morning, the Lord pointed me to Elijah's conversation with Him when the prophet ran away from Jezebel in 1 Kings 19. Elijah runs into the wilderness to hide from the wicked queen who would kill him if she could. He's depressed, he's tired, he wants to die. He's at the very end of his rope, and he speaks out of that exhaustion: "I have had enough, Lord. Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors."

The Lord sends an angel with a drink and a snack (never underestimate the power of a drink and snack to cure a bad case of being hangry), and Elijah eats and drinks, takes a nap, and then heads to Mount Horeb. He goes into a cave and spends the night. The Lord says: "Hey Elijah, what're you doing here?"

And Elijah launches into a big old wordy explanation. "I've been so zealous for You, God. I've done it all, a big show-down with the prophets of Baal, and then rain on Israel -- the first bit of rain in three years, by the way. If anyone is on fire for You, Lord, I'm it. But Jezebel's trying to kill me; she's already killed everybody else who's working for You, and now all she has to do is lift her little pinky finger and I'm dead. I've tried and tried to get people to turn back to You, but nobody listens to me. I talk and talk and talk and..." 

(This is a loose paraphrase, by the way, in case you didn't figure it out).

Anyway, the Lord puts a kibosh on it.

"Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by."

So Elijah does. He goes out, and (as I tell my Kindergartners) he "puts on his listening ears." First, a powerful wind shrieks along the mountainsides, pulling down rocks and shattering them in the canyons. Wind is noisy, y'all.

Is this the Lord?

Elijah is listening, but even amid the shrieking, there's no voice.

Then the earth begins to shake. I assume more boulders are likely crashing down the mountain where Elijah is clinging to the sides. The quaking cracks rocks and silence doesn't return until the slide of pebbles finishes cascading down the slopes. Earthquakes are noisy, y'all.

Is this the Lord?

Elijah is listening, but even amid the quaking, there's no voice.

Then a roaring inferno sweeps across the mountainsides, the sound of oxygen feeding flames almost deafening as it catches and kindles scrubs and small brush. Trees explode, bushes flare up and just as quickly crumble to ash, and the flash fire is deafening in its fury. Fires are noisy, y'all.

Is this the Lord?

And then, in the stillness that comes after the last flame has smoldered out, the quiet stars peer through the placid night once more, and a voice, a whisper, barely louder than the night's breeze, asks once more: "What are you doing here, Elijah?"

Elijah's answer is the same, but his heart condition is different. When he came to the mountain, he was defeated, ready to quit.

It takes three episodes of active listening until he hears, on the fourth try, the quiet whisper of the Lord.

"Go back the way you came," the Lord says.

And Elijah does, because out of that experience of listening, the Lord has changed his heart. He goes back into the place where Jezebel still hunts him, he goes back to finish the work the Lord has prepared him to do. Out of active listening, he finds his next steps.

You know, I was going to really delve into all twelve verses at the beginning of James 3, but it turns out I only touched on verse 1. Par for the course, I guess. We'll try again tomorrow. 

For today, make this your challenge: What does it mean to actively listen for the Lord? What is the windstorm in your life? What's the earthquake? What's the firestorm? Where can you hear the gentle whisper of the Lord?

Do you have your listening ears on?