Listening and Grace

Silence as Listening

As a chaplain, I listen. This sounds easy, but listening is complex. To listen, we must be present, maintain our focus, and hold our heart open so we don’t get lost in judgment. Typically, it helps to insert comments, such as paraphrasing what you hear or asking for clarification.

Yet sometimes, simply paying attention can make all the difference. The most extreme example of this kind of silent listening occurred when I met with a patient for an hour, saying nothing other than, “So what’s going on?” at the beginning, and “You’re welcome,” at the end.

The man told me about his childhood, about a grievance with his girlfriend, about his fear that he wouldn’t find work, about how guilty he felt for all he’d done in his addiction, and about the deep and lingering sadness in his heart that he tried to cover up with drugs. When he finished his monologue, he stood up and thanked me, saying he felt much better. He’d even figured a few things out.

As he left my office, I felt bemused. Had my attention really mattered that much? If, instead of focusing on him, I had thought about the creak in my knee or the work on my desk or my shopping list, would he have felt so refreshed? I doubt it. He would have felt my distance, shut his mouth, and left.

Listening as an Antidote to Boredom

Knowing that, I try to concentrate on the person before me, even when I’m bored. Besides, I suspect that boredom is less about what the other person is saying, and more about our failure to listen deeply enough.

If we aren’t interested in a topic of discussion, we’re likely to drift off. Yet when we do so, we lose the opportunity to catch moments of confusion, resentment, sadness. Everyone has experienced pain, and beneath our cheerful chatter lie wounds, sometimes well scarred over, sometimes raw. Bringing them into the open may help, yet if we stop paying attention, we lose the chance to point out the suffering we see.

Besides, some people need to assess how much you care before they speak what is on their hearts. Many times I waited while someone droned on about insignificant ideas only to be blessed by her sudden sharing of an aching and breathless memory. How often have I failed people, not listening patiently enough, so that which needed voicing remained silent? I will never know.

That’s why I try to remain curious and open, no matter what is being talked about.

At other times, people may not even know themselves what inner fears and needs they have. When we listen closely, we might hear hints that we can lift up. By pointing out what we see and asking open-ended questions, the person may be able to unfold what has remained hidden within him for so long.

Respecting Reticence

Yet people do not always welcome such unfolding. It can cause pain. Scratched scabs bleed. Twice, after “hearing” patients “into speech,” as Nelle Morton might put it, [1] I returned to their rooms the next day only to be kicked out. Being vulnerable can be terribly uncomfortable.

That’s why it’s important to respect a person’s hesitancy. We don’t always need to rehash someone’s darkest loss. People can heal without our help. Maybe all they need is a warm smile. For some, simply the fact that we took time to sit with them makes them feel worthy of life and love. 

How do we know when to push and probe, when to let go, when to shore up a person’s defenses, when to honor how far they’ve come? We practice. Though we won’t always get it right, deep and honest listening helps us decide. Such listening requires watching, waiting, and being silent. To do it well, we must sense with our body and heart, hear beyond the words, and hold the most cherished, frightened, and defended parts of the person with trust.

“Effective Listening”

Perhaps this is not what you think of when you think of listening. Scott Williams, in his article “Listening Effectively,” provides a more traditional description of how best to listen to another. “Effective listening,” he writes, “is actively absorbing the information given you by the speaker, showing that you are listening and interested, and providing feedback to the speaker so that he or she knows the message was received.” [2]

In the normal course of our day, such as when we talk with co-workers or friends, this works very well. It’s even a fine thing for a chaplain. As Williams notes, effective listening includes techniques professionals use, such as reflecting back what the speaker has said, asking clarifying questions, taking care not to draw attention to ourselves, and refraining from offering advice.

Additional listening skills include holding silence to give the speaker time to frame her thoughts, pointing out discrepancies or ambivalence, and acknowledging the speaker’s pain without trying to fix it or take it away. On the other hand, if we respectfully suggest alternative ways of approaching a problem or reframe what we hear, we might help the speaker discover new possibilities.

These are great listening skills, and ones all of us need to develop if we want to deepen our relationships. Yet it is possible to go a step further. If we listen with an inner emptiness, with an open heart, our listening becomes sacred. It transforms. Within this type of listening, lies grace.

Grace

What do I mean by grace?

The writer, Annie Dillard, likens grace to a stream that flows all night long, whether anyone notices it or not. About such a stream, she writes, “I can hardly believe that this grace never flags, that the pouring from ever-renewable sources is endless, impartial, and free.” [3] You can find this sentence quoted throughout the internet. What you probably won’t find is the next line, which tells us that on a night when the ground was frozen, Dillard went outside and discovered that the stream “had vanished.” No longer was it a thing of grace. The endless bounty and shimmering vitality had disappeared. Instead, she saw what seemed like a parody of life, “senseless and horrifying.” [4]

Yet this is not the end. Even in darkness, grace insinuates itself. Two weeks later, Dillard visited the creek to discover that though the water may have disappeared from her sight, and though it seemed stiff and rigid, “it was never broken.” At times, shadows appear in our hearts, in landscapes, in corners of our minds. Yet no matter how deep and dark they are, even they “may resolve into beauty.” [5]

Transformation

This is the cycle of our lives. Joy turns to loss turns to awe turns to disappointment. Though we easily find grace in the grandeur of the natural world, the bounty of a cornucopia, and the love that flows through everything, it’s harder to experience grace when our hearts are bewildered and the air frigid with frost. Harder, but not impossible.

Indeed, that grace that comes during difficult times is what Dillard is talking about. Such grace invites us to find our way back to beauty, even when our heart is shattered. This grace moves into and through us, holds us and helps us hold others. When we listen and when we are listened to, we feel that compassionate, encouraging grace.

How do we learn to listen in this way?

Being Heard and Learning to Hear

Start by being heard. Find someone who will receive your bruised heart, gently dig at your scars, and love you in your weeping and your laughter. It can be a chaplain, a counselor, a mentor, a grandparent, rabbi, a lover, a priest, or a dear friend. Through being heard, we learn to listen to others.

Once you have felt the peace that comes from speaking the truth that lies deep within you, then you are ready to learn to hold silence. To do this, meditate and pray. Take time to watch the quiet breathing and rustling of the natural world. Discover your judgments and biases, fears and opinions, so when they arise as you listen — and they will arise –, you will notice them and let them go.

Listening is not a debate. We are not making a point. In fact, to truly listen, we must relinquish our agenda and goals. Even if our only goal is to offer healing or hope, even if we just want to bind a soul wound, those are still goals and must be offered with care. The speaker might not be ready or willing to hear what we think. He might not even be seeking repair. Our task is to pay attention to the other’s inner voice. If we listen with the open heart of grace, what we hear might surprise us. We need to be humble. We are not the expert on another person’s life.

If this seems overwhelming, start by learning to love. For although listening skills can be taught and practiced, the relationship is what matters. Listening is about making a connection. Grace resides in the intersection where two souls meet.

Listening Generously

We find that kind of intersection in the work of Rachel Naomi Remen. A physician, she has written books about medicine, listening, grace, and healing. She also hosts workshops that help people find spiritual healing. She speaks about “listening generously.”

One exercise she leads during her workshops involves sharing stories of loss. The only instruction she gives is that each person “listen generously” to the other. During this time of sharing, participants discover the power of being present, of witnessing, of caring, and of “letting it matter.” [6] Remen means that when we let the words matter, we discover how much we matter. There is power in this. There is grace.

I wish I could say I listen generously with every person. Though it says more about me than the speaker, I do get bored. No matter how much I know about listening, and how much I practice, I sometimes get it wrong. That doesn’t mean that if you don’t listen for your profession, it’s hopeless to learn how. We can all learn to care about others, to focus our attention, to get out of the way, and let the speaker be “heard into speech.”

Grace-Filled Listening

So I invite you to seek that place of generosity in your heart that will help you truly hear. Strive to listen not just with your eyes and ears, but also with your skin, your pores, your viscera. If possible, listen for the core suffering that lies within the narrative. Perhaps it will reveal itself as an idea, an emotion, a worry, a memory. When it seems you have found that which holds all the strands together, you can offer it with deep humility and compassion, like a white-petaled rose resting on the palm of your hand. Yet do not take your suggestion personally. An offering can be accepted or not. Our assessment may be wrong.

Grace-filled listening requires that we honor the truth the other speaks, not insist on our own. We may have insights worth sharing, and a gentle challenge may change the way a person sees the world. On the other hand, perhaps we will have no ideas at all. At such times, it helps to remember that simply paying attention can be enough.

In listening, lies grace. That is true for the other person, but also for us. Even when the world conspires to freeze the surface of the stream and hide it beneath detritus, grace reminds us that the water is still there. Such grace is one of the gifts that come when we learn to listen. When we listen, and when we are heard into speech, we experience a grace that never ends.

In faith and fondness,

Barbara

Credits

1. “We empower one another by hearing the other to speech.” Morton, Nelle, The Journey Is Home, Boston: Beacon Press, 1985, 128.
2. Williams, Scott, “Listening Effectively,” http://www.wright.edu/~scott.williams/LeaderLetter/listening.htm, accessed 8/19/18.
3. Dillard, Annie, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, 1974, reprinted in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, An American Childhood, The Writing Life, New York: Quality Paperback Book Club, 1990, 68.
4. Ibid 69.
5. Ibid 69.
6. Remen, Rachel Naomi, “Listening Generously, On Being, ed. Krista Tippet, July 29, 2010, https://onbeing.org/programs/rachel-naomi-remen-listening-generously/, accessed 8/23/18.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Copyright © 2018 Barbara E. Stevens