A Pastor Learns about Listening

I've had three experiences in the last 24 hours that have re-oriented my spiritual attention to the power of listening. I must write about these experiences because i don't want to forget them. I don't want to forget the dangers of not listening or the possibilities for transformation present when we offer ourselves an ear (or two). I mostly don't want to forget because of the work I do. Pastoral ministry affords me the unique opportunity to listen deeply and while I'd like to think I take up that opportunity whenever its presented, the truth is I'm often way too quick to speech. Part of that is because of the expectations placed on pastors, namely that we have some 'word' to comfort, calm, and/or challenge up our sleeve at all times. We don't. But the expectations are real and people defer to our power all the time, silencing themselves in favor of 'hearing' us. It can be a seductive dynamic, one where the deferred-to-person/pastor becomes enamored with her own voice and thereby forgets to listen first, or listen long enough, or listen deeply enough. God has given me 3 experiences to place into the archives of my heart today and I write to remember the lessons therein.

Experience #1
My friend David Judah Oliver is a spoken word poet from the Inland Empire of Southern California. We met  a long time ago and mostly keep up with one another through facebook. I am a fan of his language and ideas that mostly manifest in artistic form though Judah is prophetic in nature. We are Christians of a different kind, but agree through and through that Jesus' main message was/is about the stuff of social justice. Yesterday when the world was processing the still fresh Arizona atrocity, Judah updated his facebook with this: "They call this an act of terror, but I bet we aren't about to start our war on "White Domestic Terror." Excellent piece of social commentary. Pretty quickly thereafter a white man (who I've never met), a friend of Judah's, began asking questions about why Judah was shining a light on whiteness, in particular. I entered the conversation (if you can call status-update-debating a converation) and talked about the hypocrisy of white-on-white violence not being taken as emblematic of all white people and I lifted up the legacies of white violence in the united states. This guy, Mike, instantly starts being defensive and universalizing how all people suffer from power distortions and tendencies toward violence, accusing Judah and myself of targeting white people unfairly. When Judah answered him from the perspective of a black male living in America, Mike continued to discount Judah's word, even belittling the importance of the conversation by saying "it's been a while since I've had a healthy debate"--as if the stuff of white violence is something to get one's intellectual rocks off about. Talk about distancing and personal avoidance. Brilliantly, one of Judah's friends wrote in and said "this conversation is an example of white terror." Touche.

Now I understand that facebook is an amorphous matrix of soundbyte communication and what's possible, in terms of meaningful dialogue and exchange,  is limited on a social networking site. That aside, just encountering the inability of Mike to set his ideas about the world aside and trust someone else's perception of their OWN experience...well, it was the height of psychological violence to me. Even though I participated and tried to impart a different view of history (from a white perspective, thereby negating a monolithic, eurocentric perspective), I felt like I was witnessing something profoundly sick and twisted. I could barely fall asleep last night it was so disturbing to me. And then this morning I woke up and another white man (this guy also named Mike), had taken issue with Judah's comments by invoking Christ's name, doing the typical white protestant "we are all equal in God's kingdom" dance. Judah of course handled him brilliantly by confronting Mike #2 about the fairy-taleism of peace without justice. But I'm not able to put down my discomfort with white people invoking universal truisms (and even in my savior's name!), as a means of denying the reality of experiences different than their own. Not listening, example #1

Experience #2
I've been thinking about having a baby for a while. I've decided that I'd like to be actively pursuing pregnancy (through artificial insemination) by the time I turn 30. Naturally, I've tried to get prepared for this process by seeking ob/gyn consultation and care here in Michigan. Six months ago I was told (by the ob/gyn recommended by the Kalamazoo Gay and Lesbian Resource Center) that I couldn't be given a referral to a fertility clinic at my personal request because I wasn't married to a man. Explicit meaning: patriarchy, heterosexism and homophobia are alive and at work. Again, my own religion is being invoked in the business of inequality: evangelical theology is under-girding the medical philosophy employed by the Methodist health care system I belong to. But the irony is that the PA I see for my ob/gyn care is a lesbian! I want to give her the benefit of the doubt because she's one of my own and seems to understand the injustice, but honestly even she gives me less than competent care. She walks into the room ready to roll and doesn't listen to why I'm there or what I need. Today I blew up and told her to stop talking over me because I couldn't get a word in. Eventually I started crying and yelling because I wasn't being heard. It was embarrassing and I immediately felt ashamed, though i did eventually get her to put her medical chart down and to give me space to talk. We talked about what was necessary for me to proceed with my pregnancy plan, but before she left the room she had to get her digs in. "You can't come in here swinging." "Don't shit where you live." "I'm one of the good ones here on your side but the people in the hallway wouldn't know that because of how you're yelling." All of these statements were aimed at putting me in my place, enforcing the silent (yet oppressive and deadly) contract we white people seem to have about not upsetting the status quo, about respecting professionals in power no matter what, about not getting too emotional because it lacks self-control. Here she is shaming me about yelling and crying instead of examining her own bed-side manners. Had she done the latter, she might realize that adults generally don't scream and cry when they feel heard. Not listening, example #2

Experience #3
This morning I worked out at the YMCA with my dear friend Karen. Karen is someone I love deeply, a woman with brains, grit, wit and the wisdom of having lived as a woman in leadership for 30+ years. Our relationship contains many elements, but the stuff of mothering/mentoring is quite alive between us. I trust her and rely on her feedback to shape my professional development. But she also doesn't treat me like a child, which has enabled us to foster profound respect and mutuality. Most of the time. Today, I found myself dominating the conversation. I got on a roll about almost every topic she brought up. By the end of our time on the treadmill, I realized I'd taken up about 70% of the talk time. Whack. With ten minutes left and my tail between my legs, I asked her a probing question about something she'd brought up earlier. Of course that probing question led to the most meaningful exchange we'd had all morning. But right now I'm wondering what would have happened earlier if I had left my opinions at the door. I sit here wondering what would have happened if we could have explored that particular topic for 40 minutes instead of 10 minutes. How much connection did I miss because I wanted to pontificate? How much more of Karen could I have learned about if I probed her understandings instead of verbalizing my own? This isn't the first time I've had to pause around this issue. Just two weeks ago one of my good friends brought to attention that when working together she often experiences me as one who doesn't listen.

Just when I get self-righteous at "the world" about not listening, I go and blow my own intentions. No one is immune, I suppose. Yes, I too, am on the path. Not listening, example #3.        

Moral of the story...
Experience #'s 1 & 2 showed me the deep need we have in this culture for profound listening, and not just any listening, but listening by non-target group people that trust the self-articulated experiences of target populations. Experience #3 showed me that no matter how well I think I understand issues of justice and injustice, power and inequality, needs and solutions, I better approach the articulation and implementation of that understanding with humility.

Here's the implication of what I've learned: today I will try to give my whole ear to every person I encounter, including myself.. And hopefully I'll wake up tomorrow willing to do the same. If not, I have these words to remind me.