“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak…” —James 1:19
Prior to this message series beginning, I was speaking with someone who had just received difficult news. My mind immediately raced to all the things I could say to make it better.
You know those moments – when you want so desperately to fix someone’s pain that your brain starts spinning through its endless list of comfort phrases. Yet, because I knew we were going to do this series, I knew enough to be quiet.
That silence, to me, felt deafening.
Carl Rogers, the founder of person-centered therapy, once observed that “When someone really hears you without passing judgment on you, without trying to take responsibility for you, without trying to mold you, it feels damn good!” This profound insight from psychology mirrors what spiritual traditions have long understood about the transformative power of being truly heard.
It reminds me of the story of Hagar in the wilderness. What’s fascinating isn’t just that God showed up – it’s how God showed up. No lecture. No quick fix. Just pure presence. She was so moved by being truly seen and heard that she gave God a new name: “El Roi” – the God who sees me. Sometimes being witnessed in our pain is the most profound gift we can receive.
Megan Devine talks about this when she describes the difference between helping and being helpful. “If someone truly wants to help,” she writes, “they have to be willing to feel the discomfort of not knowing what to say or how to say it.” Sometimes that discomfort looks like silence. Sometimes it looks like simply saying, “I hear you.”
Here’s what I’m learning: Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is shut up. (Yes, I said that!) But don’t shut up and disappear, acting as if nothing happened.
Shut up and show up.
Sit with them.
Give the gift of presence.
When we truly listen – without planning our response, without trying to make it better, without offering advice – we’re participating in something sacred. We’re creating space for God to work in ways our words never could.
And isn’t this what we all deeply want? Not someone to fix us or change us or make it all better. Just someone to sit with us in our messiness and say, through their presence alone, “I hear you. Your pain matters. You’re not alone.”
Maybe this is what James meant about being quick to listen and slow to speak. Maybe he understood that healing often happens not in the words we say, but in the silence we’re willing to hold together. In a world that’s always rushing to speak, maybe the most countercultural thing we can do is choose to listen first.
Prayer: God, help us shut up more. (Sometimes, the most honest prayers are the simplest ones.) Teach us to listen like You listen – with patience, with presence, with love that doesn’t need to fix everything. And when we’re tempted to fill the silence with our words, remind us that You’re already there, in the spaces between the words, doing Your healing work. Amen.
Sometimes, the holiest ground is the space between the words, where hearts speak what tongues cannot say.