Blessed are they who listen when no one can

Blessed are they who listen when no one can

Commentary by Walter Hesford | FāVS News

I love the definition of “sacrament” in the 1992 American Heritage Dictionary: “a visible form of invisible grace.”

Free floating grace is made accessible to the senses by the water of baptism and the wafer of communion, to cite two sacraments shared by several Christian denominations, including mine.

Traditionally there is a hierarchical dimension to the serving of these sacraments. A priest or pastor — someone with religious authority — sprinkles the water on the babe, serves the wafer to a parishioner knelling before him or her.

For devotees these are spiritually meaningful events. I would like to propose a non-hierarchical meaningful sacrament: listening.

Listening can make grace accessible to both the listener and the one listened to.

Listening vs. talking

For years I made my living mainly talking, professing as an authority on such fascinating topics as Emily Dickinson’s dashes. My favorite teacher evaluation was, “I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about, but he sure was enthusiastic.”

I did try to listen to students, and more importantly, get them to listen to each other. This is also my goal when in retirement I organize interfaith discussions. I try not to talk too much, but to stimulate the conversation of others.

Over the years, I also have enjoyed listening to folks I visited in care centers. When I asked a woman what food she missed most since moving into one, she said a peanut butter, red onion and dill pickle sandwich. Thus I was introduced to what is now my favorite lunch.

Listening as a sacrament

Only recently, however, has listening become for me a religious experience, a sacrament. My realization that this might be so started after a failure in listening.

During fellowship hour following our worship service, I sat down by a young fellow sitting by himself. From previous contact I knew him to be autistic and shy. But I hated to see him alone so I joined him and tried to start a conversation by asking some general questions. I received some muted responses but felt I had not really engaged him.

After he left, another member of the congregation, seeing me now alone, joined me at my table. Now in his 90s, this man had for many years been a prison chaplain. I mentioned my failure and asked him for his experience in talking with people who didn’t want to talk. He reported that many of the inmates he had ministered to fit this category, but it was nonetheless vital to sit with them and listen.

“I listened, at first, just to their silence,” he said. “Sometimes a relationship developed. I respected them … respected their humanity.”

Ministering to others by listening to them

I decided to join a group ministering to people no longer able to make it to church. My education in the sacrament of listening continued. In training sessions we were reminded to consider first the situation and welfare of those we were visiting and, if possible to let them do most of the talking, to let them share their memories and concerns. The sacrament of listening is a mutual exchange, but ideally controlled by those being visited.

We were surprised to learn in these training sessions that we may offer the sacrament of communion to those who desired it. Several of us objected, saying we were not worthy. Our pastor told us that the worth of the sacramental wafer and wine do not depend on the worth of the one giving it. As with the sacrament of listening, the spiritual experience is not in our control.

Listening and serving communion similar sacraments

I’ve just begun my listening endeavors in various local care facilities, and several times have also served communion with a visitation partner. I’ve discovered that the two sacraments have much in common, though that of listening can be more broadly shared.

Sometimes while waiting to see a member of our congregation who desired communion, I’ve enjoyed conversations with other residents eager to share their life experiences. For example, a woman who learned to swim in Puget Sound spoke of dangerous encounters with jellyfish. I could easily relate since jellyfish also inhabited the beach where I learned to swim south of Boston.

Older folks like myself especially enjoy remembering childhood experiences. Listening to the memories of others is a form of communion, while partaking of the sacrament of communion with others deepens the faith of all of us.

When visiting care facilities one also learns of course how painful and lonely the life of many who reside there can be, especially for those without nearby family members or friends. And one gains immense admiration for the dedicated caregivers. Blessed are they who night and day are listening while no one else is around, making grace visible.