He who can no longer listen to [others] will soon be no longer 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.
—Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together.
I’d be lying if I said no one ever told me about the power of listening.
It was a week before my first child was born, and I was looking for advice when I asked my dad, “How will I do this whole parenting thing? How will I take care of my child?”
His answer was simple. “Just listen, and they’ll tell you what they need.”
Years later, I’m surprised how often his words ring true. As a father, educator, pastor, spiritual director, and social service worker, listening has become essential to my life and work. It is the most essential way I express love and service to others.
As I write this, I think of the moments when listening helped those around me feel seen and heard and free to show even a little more of themselves to the world. I think of a distracted student pulled through the day by schedules and peers who could say, “My daddy isn’t at home anymore.” Or a young widow confused after her partner’s sudden death who has humbly confessed, “I’ve never had even to drive home alone before … and it’s so hard.” And a young, homeless woman forced into the quick fixes of social services who was honest enough to say, “I feel trapped by all these systems trying to fix me. I want someone to listen to me!”
“I just want someone to listen to me.” Why? Because then (and only then) are deep places of desire, questioning, hope, and need seen and acknowledged. That’s when I can begin to receive those who are otherwise separated from me by the gulfs of assumption, convention, quick answers, and mere niceties.
There is a listening that allows these gulfs to be crossed, assumptions to be corrected, conventional wisdom to be expanded, quick answers to be silenced, and niceties to turn into genuine concern. It is this listening where I become the student, first, allowing another person to teach me their life, tell me their story, and expand my own life to include them.
“If you are willing, tell your story,” I tell my congregants and clients. “If you would like, you are free to cross this gulf, and as we connect there, I may have something to say or do as we meet there.” Or perhaps I won’t have anything, but I will be with them, the real them. And that is what people need most often.
“The first service that one owes to others [is the partnership that] consists in listening to them,” Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote in Life Together. “[T]he beginning of love for others 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.”
God’s love for us is not only that he speaks but that he listens. One of the most poignant images of this can be seen when Jesus accompanied two confused and hurting followers on a back road near Jerusalem. In Luke 24, we find Jesus, full of God’s Spirit and every ounce of certainty a human could have, walking patiently with two people full of disappointment and sorrow. And yet, how did Jesus approach them? Not with teaching and correction, but with a simple question, “What are you discussing so intently as you walk along?” (Luke 24:17)
Then, he listens.
God listens. The spirit-raised Christ hears, understands, and asks questions because then (and only then) he knows how to respond to the deep places within them. When the gulf is crossed and hearts are opened, real people meet with a real person. Those who were divided are now together.
So, I’ve heard it before, experienced it in my own life and work, and have seen it exemplified in the life of my God and Lord. “Listen, and they will tell you what they need.”
If we can do only one thing for each other, let’s learn to listen. Let the gulf be crossed. Let what’s deep be seen because that is when true love begins.