This Easter season, I want to address a cynical
and damaging perception about the Church of
Jesus Christ. Now, you won’t hear this perception
articulated directly, but it is an unspoken
assumption in far too many congregations. It goes
like this: the primary mission of the Church is to
serve the members of the Church. This myth can
cause congregations to operate by the rules of
consumer culture or political expediency—to cater to
the base, to keep the customers happy. We see it in
preachers who aim only to reinforce the preexisting
perspectives of parishioners. We see it in worshipers
who demand this constant confirmation. We see it
in churches obsessed with mere survival, becoming
carefully curated clubs for likeminded individuals,
rarely reaching beyond the familiar and comfortable
confines of self-selected assemblies. (I’ve got some
feelings about this…)
When we allow these fears to control us, the
Church tends toward stagnation. We become overly
institutional, inwardly focused, unadventurous, and…
well…boring. We cease to be a called community
of courageous witness to the Gospel. A friend of
mine in Charlotte, a pastor there, tells the story
about an encounter after worship one Sunday
morning. A member of the church marched up to
the pastor—finger wagging—and proclaimed, “I did
not like worship today.” My friend was feeling bold
that morning and responded just as sharply. “That’s
okay. We weren’t worshiping you.” Now as far as I
know, both the pastor and the member are still a
part of that church.
But here’s the truth: The Church does not exist for
the sake of the Church. Our highest aim is not selfpreservation.
The Church exists solely by the grace of God and
for the world God loves. We are called to be a
movement of the Spirit. Ours is a faith that demands
action.
Nowhere in scripture is this clearer than in the letter
of James, a little book often disregarded toward the
end of the New Testament, written to confront and
encourage readers to live what they have learned
and come to believe. Like the Old Testament
prophets he echoes, James is utterly uninterested
in institutional maintenance. He is animated by the
formation of a people, a Church, capable of living
the way of Jesus. Justice. Kindness. Humility. James
demands and desires soul-shaping community
and deeply transformative impact. Faith in Action.
The words of scripture demand it. The world needs
it. And so, this is what we seek this Eastertide at
Second Church. Let’s get started.
Several years ago, the journalist Tom Friedman
coined a phrase that captures the spirit of our time.
Friedman writes, “It is the malady of modernity. We
have gone from the Iron Age to the Industrial Age
to the Information Age and have finally come to the
Age of Interruption.” He quotes consultant Linda
Stone, who labels ours an era of “continuous partial
attention.” Her description makes me squirm a bit,
precisely because it offers such an accurate picture
of my life. She writes, “Continuous partial attention
is when you are checking Facebook on your phone,
watching a show on a second screen, typing an
email on your laptop, and answering a question
from your kid all at the same time. That is, you are
multitasking your way through the day, continuously
devoting only partial attention to each act or person
you encounter.”
Guilty as charged. We all experience it, whether we
are the culprit or the victim. Unlimited access to
unvetted information and endless connection means
ubiquitous interruption. Phones ring and pulsate
with urgent notifications during meetings, concerts,
movies, weddings, funerals, even church services.
I remember a couple of years ago when a phone
rang during the middle of a wedding rehearsal I
was leading. Now, I was frustrated and impatient,
bordering on furious, because before we had started
the rehearsal, I had been very clear that everyone
should silence their phones. So, members of the
wedding party began frantically reaching for theirs,
then looking up at me with relief. The phone kept
ringing. It was mine. Now, before you judge me
too harshly, how many of you just checked to be
sure your phone was silenced? Continuous partial
attention. Most of the time, it’s all we get or have to
give.
Centuries before the Age of Interruption, James
saw that a failure to listen well would jeopardize the
mission of God’s people. According to James, first
we must listen.
Now, it’s possible that you find it curious that we
begin a series on faith in action with a call to listen.
Listening can seem so passive. Some of you might
remember that here at Second we are in the midst
of a whole program year focused on the theme of
“speaking the truth in love.” Those words come from
another New Testament letter, to the Ephesians. We
are called to speak the truth in love, to do so in a
way that reflects God’s Word to us.
But the theologian Paul Tillich reminds us that, “the
first duty of love is to listen.”
James is equally clear: Followers of Jesus are
called to learn and model a new way of living in
community—a way that makes listening a priority.
So here is my confession: Listening, especially
listening with undivided attention, does not come
naturally for me. I am a native at home in the Age
of Interruption. My parents and my older sister
would be quick to confirm that I’ve been annoyingly
loquacious and prone to interjection since I could
speak in full sentences. And at my home, I am
now reaping what I sowed those decades ago.
(We’ll get to anger in a moment…) I once caused
the interruption of a televised college basketball
game with a particularly pointed and well-timed
observation for the referees. (I’d love to tell you
the story after worship.) As a trained debater, I am
practiced at forming my own points even as my
conversation partner is sharing theirs—that one
would be quickly confirmed by Sara.
And so, I need the guidance that James offers, that
listening must come first and that listening well
and speaking are mutually exclusive actions. We all
need this guidance in a time when interruption has
spiraled into cycles of rage and retribution.
Quick to listen. Slow to speak. Slow to anger.
All week long I’ve been contemplating how a
shortage of listening is tied to a surplus of anger. My
reflections on the subject have been deepened by
a distinction made by the professor Arthur Brooks
who distinguishes between the productive anger
that drives needed change and something far more
dangerous: contempt—a noxious brew of anger and
disgust. Contempt results from and leads back to a
refusal to listen well. Brooks quotes a philosopher
who defines contempt as “the unsullied conviction
of the worthlessness of another.” Contempt is
driving us apart, causing deep and damaging harm.
It is true in our personal relationships and in our
labeling of others. And when contempt is combined
with ready access to weaponry, it can make a rush
to anger deadly. To paraphrase James, our contempt
is not producing God’s justice.
Be quick to listen. Slow to interrupt. Determined to
avoid contempt for one another.
James lays out a profound challenge for people
of faith. Before we speak, can we listen in love
for a truth that might be hard to hear? Before we
speak, can we stand in a place of nonjudgment and
humility long enough to hear? Before we speak, can
we listen for the voices often silenced or drowned
out in the chaotic cacophony of our days and the
algorithms that drive our social interactions? Can
we listen?
I find that this is particularly difficult when someone
is sharing their pain, especially pain that we
have caused or allowed. The impulse is to begin
formulating our response, to justify our actions,
to defend our silence, when what is often most
needed is simply space, simply silence, simply a
commitment to generous listening.
I do wonder if practicing such awareness in our
interpersonal encounters—or within the community
of faith—has the capacity to ladder up and scale out
over time. As we consider the role of this church,
this congregation, in the broader community we
exist to serve, I want to wonder with you. Could
one of our responsibilities be to model practices
of listening across diverse perspectives? Could
we, right here, prioritize listening carefully to the
stories, the strengths, the gifts, and the challenges
of our neighbors before we formulate reasons for
their struggles or solutions that privilege our limited
perspective? Could we listen? Could we together
condemn contempt as a betrayal of the image of
God in each person we encounter? Could we listen
for the truth in love?
I’ve been looking, and I don’t see many examples of
this essential practice. I don’t see many models to
follow in the world outside the church or in our own
lives. Simple acts like walking across the street to
listen to a neighbor whose yard sign is different than
yours. Seeking out voices and stories that may be
uncomfortable for you to hear. Intentionally sharing
a table or a cup of coffee with someone whose life,
identity, or passion is unfamiliar to you. Perhaps we
are called to stand in that gap, to offer ourselves
as a witness to the power of listening in an age of
interruption and contempt.
I think James knew how difficult this would be for
us because he recommends bringing our speech
under control in an evocative metaphorical way. He
says to bridle your tongues. If he were writing today,
he might say curb your mean-spirted words, curtail
your contempt, seek out ways to be constructive, not
destructive.
James is clear with us that pure religion is faith
in action, that we are called to care for those in
distress, for neighbors in desperate need, for all on
the outside looking in.
We ask: Where do we begin?
Listen. Listen. Listen.
Amen.