I Need "Hearing Aids"
Learning to Listen Better in a Loud World
As I sit down at the computer to catch up on emails, text messages, responding to social media posts, and work that requires not just the time to write, but time to let all that is within me marinate and mature. I have just returned from Annual Conference for the Western North Carolina Conference of the United Methodist Church. This week has been mostly a joy, connecting with old friends and colleagues, and making new connections and what I hope will be new friendships. Well, the extrovert in me loves all of this -- the meetings, the dinners, the gatherings, the worship services, and even (usually) the business sessions where we vote on petitions, hear reports on various parts of our connection, and sweat together in the not-quite-ever-cool enough Stuart Auditorium.
It occurs to me that every last bit of this week, and really, every week, is all about communication. Most of us take for granted the ability to hear and respond. We learn as babies to mimic the sounds and learn words from our parents and others who nurture us in those early years. Some of us grow to really love the sound of our own voices. Others prefer to listen more than speak. Every time I have taken the Myers-Briggs test on personality types, it tells me that I am half extrovert ( who likes to speak and be with lots of people), and half introvert (who likes to quietly listen and needs some alone time and quiet one-to-one conversations). I know that some of you who have seen me in action don’t believe that I have an introvert side, but, hey, you may not see me when I am peopled out and alone, or just sharing time with one or two people! I have spent a good deal of time trying to develop my extroverted side. It serves me better, usually, in what have been life goals, vocational accomplishments, and development of connections that benefit me, my family, and my community.
De-briefing from being at a gathering of 2000 or so United Methodists means that I look back on the worship services, the discussions around amending, accepting, or rejecting petitions brought before us, and also taking mental note of all the little conversations with friends and colleagues. We all do this in our own way, and see the whole event through our particular biases and the happenstance of what you attend, or which conversations you stumble into by chance, or where you sit in the auditorium or at dinners. No one sees and hears everything. We all have a different slice of pie.
Sometimes I am taken aback at what other people report on from their own perspectives. I didn’t see that person, or hear that bit of conversation. I may have missed part or all of a meeting or worship service. Or, perhaps, I hear the same thing that someone else does, but interpret it in an entirely different way.
One thing that I think we all could approve upon is actually listening more than we talk. In fact, a few years ago, serving on a district board that interviews those at various stages of ordained or licensed ministry, I found a couple of acronyms that help remind us of this principle,me included, that I suggested we all heed. The first is the W.A.I.T. principle: “Why Am I Talking.” If somehow we fail at first to do this, we may need to move on to the W.A.I.S.T. principle: Why Am I Still Talking. Most of us, at least some of the time, fail to listen more and talk less. My time learning the work of Trust Circles (via Parker Palmer and the Center for Courage and Renewal) has helped me do a little better, most of the time.
I still sometimes talk when I should listen, react when I should just absorb for a while, or, worse yet, talk over someone who is also trying to talk, or spend my time listening not really listening, but planning my next response.
I have a long way to go to get better. But I am determined to try. Sometimes the listening needs to be to my Inner Teacher, or, as some call it, the Holy Spirit.
These days my vocational work as a clergy person centers around my desire to listen better and be the best ally I can for other people who are often ignored, rejected, dismissed, and harmed by the lack of agency and voice of our embedded cultural systems. I sincerely want to hear my black and brown neighbors, my LGBTQIA+ neighbors, my immigrant neighbors, my neighbors who may be neglected or abused children or elders, my working-class-barely-making-it neighbors, my unhoused neighbors, my lonely neighbors, my neighbors held by the grips of depression, anxiety, and doubt about self worth. The list is longer than that, too.
When it comes to individuals and groups of people who we sometimes call “the marginalized,” we generally do a poor job of listening. We often fail to make way for silenced voices. We lack the realization of the need to lift up those voices, or maybe we lack the courage to do so. Sometimes we act out of fear that making way for others to be heard will somehow diminish our own voices. I do this. Even though I intend NOT to do this. I am learning, and let me be clear, it is my job to do this myself, not the other way around, to be a better ally to all these “others.” I fail, time and again. When I reflect back to how I have responded, or failed to respond, I die a little inside. Sometimes I hear the same presentation, the same talk, the same sermon or report as someone else, and just don’t hear it or interpret it the same way. I am a person who has benefited from a position of privilege -- not by my own doing, but by way of when and to whom I was born. I don’t know what it is like to be an immigrant fleeing life-threatening circumstances. I will never know what it means to be brown or black. I will always be unsure of what it feels like to be a gay, trans, or non-binary.
What I do know is that I need to listen more, talk less. Ironic, isn’t it, that I’m “talking” (writing) such a long diatribe. But I am writing this for those who read it, and begging you to help me. I don’t mean it is your responsibility to tell me how to remember the correct pronouns, or when to see a statement as racist when it doesn’t occur to me to do so. It is my responsibility to know better, and when I know better, to do better. But I am asking you to help me. I am asking you to call me out (hopefully in a kind, perhaps private way, so that my stinking ego can hear you better). And when I am slow to respond, even when I should respond, please be patient with me. Most of the time I am probably trying to figure out how someone other than this middle-aged (please don’t call me old, yet) white lady might hear what I am hearing with different ears.
The beauty of the week at Annual Conference, especially in the last few years, has been laced sometimes with a bit of sadness. Sadness, because our time apart is so brief, but also some sadness when I hear others share what they have heard and seen that I somehow missed altogether. Sometimes other ears hear much better than me. Please be my hearing aids when you can.
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Amy