The Importance of Listening in a Politically Divisive Climate

The other day, I saw a post from a sweet momma of little girls. Their smiling faces paused my scrolling. She said the words on many people’s hearts: I hope and pray that – should the horrible moment come – my girls will be believed.

I pray so, too. There have been many years (an understatement) where men’s words were implicitly believed and women’s counted void. Too, over those years, many a woman has been abused in the quiet of night and scorned by the light of day.

I know, also, that men have been wrongfully accused by women (over those same years and in our culture today).

As I’m typing this, I’m keenly aware of my Little Noah, my boy, still growing big within the protection of his loving momma. I’m aware of my desires and hopes for him, the newfound prayers I mumble in the morning to the only One who hears. I’m aware that I would desperately want someone to listen to him if he were ever falsely accused of anything.

Friends, I want to talk about our political climate for a moment. Politics is a topic I’ve religiously avoided on social media because of its divisive nature. We’ve all seen a well-meant comment spark the hottest anger. It happens most easily online, but we also see it happening on street corners and outside government buildings. Hurtful words morphing into bloody fists - a country torn in two. And that’s a problem.

If a coin does in fact have two sides, then justice is never as simple as one human’s word against another. Understanding takes listening. Listening intently with the end goal of understanding – not staking a case against the other. Listening rebukes violence by its very nature; it seeks to ease tension and to embody respect. It says, “you first.”

A key benefit of listening is that an apt (appropriate) reply can be made. We stand on the basis of mutual understanding and can move forward from there. When we speak without listening, we act out of pride, endorsing chaos, creating enmity. We have this on good authority: “If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame” (Proverbs 18:13).

Listening does not mean accumulating sound bites until we “think” we have the gist of what’s happening. It means searching out the truth with diligence until we understand the story in context. Without context, and without hearing both sides, we’re left without any real sense of justice: because “The one who states his case first seems right, until the other comes and examines him” (Proverbs 18:17). This is justice – to weight both sides impartially and to reach a conclusion from the outcome.

So. Here’s where we take a breath. Here’s where we realize that harsh words do, indeed, stir up anger and that no one benefits from that. Here’s where we lay the rocks down and pick up peace instead.

And if we’ve truly listened and sought to understand, here’s the truth we can cling to at the end of the day: we Jesus-followers, who trust in the Living God, can know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He will bring justice. Sometimes we see it here on earth, and sometimes we don’t. But we take comfort that He sees, knows, and protects those hurt or wrongfully accused.

And with that I’ll say amen.

The Seeds We Are: on death and resurrection

I woke up weeping twice last week. The dreamed anguish spilling out and pooling on my pillow: the imagined bleeding into reality. Both times, I dreamt a family member died.

We all know this pain—in the already-experienced pang of loss or in the wary waiting, knowing what’s to come amidst having “them” near. The reality of loss seems to loom nearer, the older I get. I wonder when “their” car pulls away and out of view—“will I see them again?” When I see an accident in the news, I wonder whose faces will be pictured. Will I know them?

During those mornings last week, as I wiped away the dream-tears and struggled to find my way back to reality, I was, in the end, confronted with the truth of the dreams, however falsely they were timed. We all understand the reality of death. The way it sneaks in and steals the ones we love. The way we don’t know when it’s coming—we just know that it is.

The way this fear can hide itself in dreams and tormented wake-ups in the darkness of night. And the way, sometimes, it becomes too much for us.

And yet, He sees us in these places. I’m consistently thankful for the Lord’s timing. The way He sees my thoughts and questions and fears and feeds me the answers I crave.

I’ve been reading in 1 Corinthians and came across the section about the resurrection of the dead. Paul chastises the Corinthians for not believing that people can be raised from the dead. He spells it out clear: if no one can, then Christ didn’t. And if Christ didn’t, then we won’t. And then the comfort: but Christ did, and we will.

Not believing this—not placing our daily realities into this eternal perspective—suggests a lack of faith, or of understanding, in Jesus’ resurrection. That pivotal reality means there is a new, resurrected, reunited reality coming. And—to my soul—that speaks hope.

Paul, continuing on in the hope of eternal life, compares our future resurrection to a seed.

When the outer shell breaks open, the life within buds out green and growing. The outer shell, that we’ve been accustomed to for so long—that we love, in its familiarity and nearness—is completely destroyed in the transition. And something far more glorious is made manifest. Something different, and beautiful, and living.

About this miraculous transition, we receive the comforting words: “The body that is sown perishable, it is raised imperishable, it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body” 1 Corinthians 15:42-44.

I’m breathing this in and out and speaking it with boldness to my fears. That, though I can’t imagine the pain of losing such precious people even for a time, it will not be the end. It will be at that time that life takes its firmest hold on us and blooms us into spiritual beings.

Glory. What a thing to anticipate.

New Year, New Day Thoughts: hopes and prayers to be a little more like Jesus

I’m sitting here, cuddled on the couch in my great grandmother’s quilt, staring out into the snowy world beyond. There’s always something thrilling about turning the calendar to January.

We see the social feed filled with thoughts about resolutions and whether or not they will be made. We see the end-of-year thoughts and praises and pictures. We see the age-worn smiles and the baby new faces. And we try to sum it all up—these months, these weeks, these 365 days—with a word or a phrase or a hope for the empty-paged year.

So I’m adding my little hopes and dreams for the New Year here. Nothing too fancy, too new. Just these hopes and prayers to be a little more like Jesus. I’m asking aloud, Lord, would You help me . . .

1) To replace my expectations with thanksgiving, dwelling more on what I have than on what I thought I’d have. To treat each blessing like an undeserved, unexpected present, believing that it came straight from the Father of Light and that He knew best when giving it.

2) To understand better that my Provider is Abba, Father, and to cry out to Him like the child of God I am. To have childlike faith, trusting that some things are too high to think about, too lofty to attain, and leaving them at that.

3) To be a little more lowly, a little more still, leaning in to listen better to the One whose Words mean most. To take to heart His promises and peace-giving, and to draw my strength from Him.

I know there’s nothing magical about the clock striking twelve. And not even about the first morning of the New Year, when our eyes slowly open to a Monday off work. But I so value this precious time, this grace to remember, reflect, redirect.

Thanks, Lord, for these very first days.