Listen.

My inspiration to write this blog post comes from Wednesday of Week II’s reading from Evening Prayer. But to be honest, when I first read it I thought to myself, “Tell me something my mum didn’t already tell me when I was 3.” I thought to myself that I have a practical knowledge of the statement that the apostle James so eloquently states in Chapter 1:

“[19]This you know, my beloved brethren, but everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak and slow to anger; [20]for the anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God.”

Then I said to myself, “Josh, if you know this so well and are confident that you are such a fantastic guy, then you must act on this and do the things that James talks about, right?”

I am writing this post on purely selfish instincts. I’m writing this as more of a reflection on my life rather than to lecture or instruct others how to live. I hope that you might draw from this whatever you can.

Anyway, there are several points that I’d like to attack here:
- James’ use of endearment, “My beloved brethren”
- “Be quick to hear and slow to speak” and
- The issue of anger

As I sit here in front of my computer screen, I reflect. How James can address people whom he doesn’t even know as he does? He is instructing the twelve dispersed tribes (major groups of people spread out among many countries) with gusto on how to live a better, more full, and more Godly life. This implies that these people weren’t living a very holy life in the first place. As I thought/am thinking about this I asked myself how I typically think about or address people who are not being intelligent. I call them things like “jackass”, “idiot”, “moron”, “dumb ass”, and they only get progressively worse. And yet James calls them, his “beloved brethren”. He speaks to them with almost serene patience. All the other letter writers in the Bible also use this language, addressing people as their brothers and sisters...even in the face of their idiotic tendencies.

“Be quick to hear and slow to speak.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, you were always right, Mum. I should listen before I talk. I should be a better listener than talker. I should listen to peoples feelings. Yadda, yadda, yadda. While all this stuff is great, I’m reflecting on what I think are the deeper cues and hints in which James might be trying to get at. I am just wondering what the world would be like if we took this statement, “Be quick to hear and slow to speak,” to its most extreme limit. If we could never speak and could only listen. What would the world be like then? Imagine the things we would hear: a more profound whisper of the wind, the intricacies of Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3 in G Major, the howl of a distant coyote, the sigh of a stressed passerby, and the tick of the rushing second-hand of my watch. I have more than enough to say but how much of it is truly influential to the world or even to those that are immediately connected to me? I know for a fact that I have taken the common sounds that I hear every day for a grain of salt, but without that grain of salt I would have nothing, eh? I figure I should talk a whole lot less and perhaps not worry internally so much and genuinely listen to the beautiful sounds of things around me.

Also, on this note, not only would I hear just the physical things that surround me, I imagine I might hear the voice of the One who created these sounds. Maybe I should try this out more often.

Lastly, anger. Probably one of my greatest weaknesses. It rarely amasses to anything substantial but a little bit of it everyday always manages to squeeze itself into my daily routine. This little bit of frustration tends to sometimes overwhelm me. I think that in these situations, if the previous two points that James make are taken care of then we will be ready for action. Imagine for a second how incredible we could feel if we responded to a sticky situation with an address of endearment and then listened to the person or hear out a nasty situation. If I could only take a step back and comprehend what is going on and hear out the beauties of humanity, then I highly doubt there’d be any room for frustration. If I am constantly reflecting on the subtle complexities of what I am surrounded by, is there any room for any feelings other than the desire to call an idiot my friend and to embrace the internal beauty upon which I should be reflective upon?

With all this under our belts, we may not be as fantastic of people as we think we are. There is always stuff that needs fixing. End of story.