On her 16th birthday she met a young man whose presence filled the room. Three weeks later they were married and by the time she was 25, she’d given birth to five children. Over the years, their dinner table became a place of vigorous exchange, peppered with zealous interruptions and intense debate.  She, however, mostly sat back and observed, a quiet witness to the noisy chaos. A friend once asked her if she ever got a word in, to which she quickly replied: “Well, someone has to listen.”

In the last few blogs, I have written about our need to feel known, positing that not only is God’s gaze ever on you and me, but that he delights in what he sees (Read that blog here). To live for God’s pleasure, I suggested, is our highest privilege and greatest joy, if we can get past the hurdles that hinder us (read that blog here). 

​As fulfilling as it is to be seen by God, he doesn’t intend for it to stop there. In fact, Jesus says to each of us, freely you have received, freely give. If  I could wish for one thing this year, it would be that we would all get better at giving the gift every person longs for, but seldom receives, the gift of being heard.

How many people can you think of who really show up when you have something to share, who bring their undivided attention to the table when you are serving up your thoughts, who seem to really want to know you from the inside out?  According to a burgeoning body of research, listening well has become a thing of the past, leading to a dearth of social connections and what the  U.S. surgeon general has labeled an  “epidemic of loneliness and isolation.”**

Someone has to listen...but most don’t. And before we pass judgment, the research also shows that most of us think we are much better at listening than we really are.  Listening well is a lost art for a host of reasons, and I’d like to suggest that as people of faith, we are uniquely graced to turn this around.  

What if, instead of focusing on our own need to be heard, we took Jesus at his word that it is more blessed to give than to receive? This would mean that our own happiness lies in prioritizing people, listening to them in a way that they feel deeply cared for.  

While this is easier said than done, a little effort can go a long way in making others feel heard. To that end, here are some tips for developing this much-needed skill, using the acrostic Listen.

​Most of us simply do not know how to listen. It hasn’t been modeled well but because the need is so great, a single google search will turn up a plethora of free resources. Be a learner by setting an intention to discover something new every week about the art of listening and then put it into practice. A great read on the topic is How to Know a Person by David Brooks.

An invitation is a kind request for someone’s presence or participation. We want to have an inviting heart posture when others speak. Asking questions rather than giving advice or telling your own stories is the best way to do this. If curiosity doesn’t come natural for you, develop a list of options to rely on. Here are a few I keep handy: Can you tell me more about... What has this been like for you? How are you navigating these things? I heard you saying________________. Can you unpack that for me some? What did it feel like when that happened?

​The only way we can create space for others to be heard is by silencing distractions. We need to put away our phones or silence notifications if we want to have a meaningful connection with someone. Even more important, we need to simply stop talking about ourselves. Only as we silence every urge to make ourselves the center of the conversation, can we listen well to the words others share. 

​Let’s face it—the badges of busyness we wear are not conducive to meaningful conversation. When we are hurried, others can feel that they are a bother when they share something with us. It doesn’t have to be this way. Even when we only have a few minutes to chat, we can act like we have all the time in the world for them. How? By leaning in, nodding, looking people in the eye, following what they are saying and offering expressions of interest such as: Really? Wow! No kidding! That’s great! How hard! Amazing! Oh no! etc.

​People are amazing and every conversation can be a journey of exploration to discover the fascinating twists and turns of their stories, which are often peppered with pain. Listening well is like going on a treasure hunt—an incredible privilege that only human beings have, so enjoy the process!

Work at noticing how a person is engaging in the conversation—not just with their words, but with body language and facial expressions. Notice tension or tears, weariness or anxiety, pain or perception, and don’t be afraid to mention what you see. For example, I see some tears there...what is that about? Or This seems distressing to you, can you tell me about it? or I can see this really matters to you...

There is so much more to be said about listening well, but these six steps are a great starting place and can make a difference in whether the people you encounter feel seen, heard, and ultimately loved.
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Someone has to listen.
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​Mom is 95 now and her short-term memory is slipping a bit. Yet day in and day out, she continues to show up to every person she encounters. Whether in person or on a facetime call, her eyes always light up when she sees me and immediately asks about my day. I’m not the only one. She has a fairly steady stream of visitors—from kids to grandkids to neighbors to old friends from afar—who have experienced the wonder of her lifelong mantra--someone has to listen.

**https://www.nytimes.com/2024/08/27/magazine/loneliness-epidemic-cure.html​

​​It was the gentlest whisper... I was at a worship night with a dear friend I’d brought, knowing God wanted to lavish her with love to soothe the suffering she’d endured for years. I held her 3-month-old baby while she encountered God through the glorious praise that filled the room. 

Wrapped up in the wonder of it all, I found myself asking God for a personal touch-a word, a vision, a tangible expression of his presence. I waited in quiet hope, and that’s when I heard it—that gentlest of whispers saying thank you.
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Thank you? Was it even feasible that the Almighty, the One we were exalting in that place, would reach down and whisper words of gratitude to me? I was starting to question my theological acumen, but then I heard it again...thank you.

Tears now flowing, I understood that God was giving me the gift of his pleasure. He knew better than anyone what it has taken for me to stay faithful through a rough season and wanted me to experience his gratitude. I still can’t quite fathom the mystery of such a thing.
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In the last two blogs I have written of God’s delight in us, something I believe ought to be a bedrock of every person’s spiritual journey. Yet having walked alongside others for decades, I know that most people find it difficult, if not impossible to believe that God’s face lights up when he sees them, that their pilgrimage with him, fraught as it might be with flaws and failures, still brings him immense joy.  

Why do we find this so hard to take in? I have shared how our stories, imprinted on our brains from childhood, create a lens through which we often  view God, making it hard to connect with how he really feels about us. Unfortunately, many of these stories have their roots in our religious upbringing, in the churches of our childhoods.
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Although I hold deep gratitude for the Baptist church where I came to know Jesus, I have spent a lot of years casting off yokes it gave me that Jesus never intended.  Simply put, the message I learned to embody was that it was all up to me. And  if it was all up to me, then it was all about me, and I knew I’d never be able to do enough or even be enough for God to approve of, much less take joy in me.   

This, I believe, is at the crux of the most egregious error churches make. Well intentioned as we may be in trying to prod believers toward faithfulness, a Christianity that focuses on our works, our efforts, our zeal or our effectiveness, denigrates the very centerpiece of our faith—the cross of Christ.

Paul faced this in dealing with Jews who were trying to coerce young Gentile believers to live up to their religious law. You can feel his frustration when he declares: “I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!” (Galatians 2:21)
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Do you see this? When our religious experience keeps us at the center, subtly extolling self-reliance and human effort, we nullify grace and disparage the exorbitant price Jesus paid to make us new. It becomes impossible then for us to experience God’s pleasure, caught up as we are in ourselves and how well we are getting the job done (or not).

I am not saying we have no part in our growth journey, or that there won’t be seasons of repentance or restoration when we’ve sinned and grieved our Lord. But even then, what I know is that when God looks at me, he sees a woman made perfect by his Son’s righteousness, and he loves what he sees.

The blood of Christ on Calvary covers my faults and failures, my sins and my shortcomings, and though I am ever aware of how much I still need to grow in grace, I find comfort in the reality that it is not up to me, and that it is not about me, but about the One who gave his all, the beautiful Savior who purchased me for himself and delights to call me his own.
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The miracle of grace is this; that God takes pleasure for the things that he has done in me. Then he imparts the gift of letting me experience his delight, and this makes me want to follow and serve and obey and love him even more. He smiles at this...and my joy is full.