My dear brothers and sisters, understand this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger, for human anger does not accomplish God’s righteousness. —James 1:19–20
“And what big ears you have, Grandma!” said Little Red Riding Hood to the wolf who was dressed in Granny’s nightgown. “All the better to hear you with, my dear,” responded the wolf, unconscious of the biblical framework that supported his response: “Everyone should be quick to listen,” the apostle James would have said to the girl in the red cape (v. 19).
Big ears or not, listening is a big deal.
People who are hearing-impaired—folks for whom listening is something to be longed for—have taught us a lot about listening. Those who are skilled at lipreading have taught me to listen with my eyes, not with my big ears—with apologies to the wolf.
Say you go to a neighborhood party and a new neighbor introduces himself to you. You’re distracted, scanning the crowd for your friends, so you barely listen to him as he gives you his complete rapid-fire resume. As the new guy drones on, you continue to scan the crowd. Suddenly your wife walks up. She puts out her hand and says to the new guy, “Hi, I’m this guy’s wife. Aren’t you the new neighbors from Wisconsin?”
Embarrassed, all you can do is humbly confess that, even though your new neighbor just gave you all his vital statistics, you didn’t hear a word he said. You don’t even remember his name, hoping your wife will ask him and rescue you.
What’s the lesson here? If you’re going to hear, you’re going to have to watch. Listening is something you do with your eyes, not your big ears. (Sorry again, Mr. Wolf.) It’s what James said to us in these verses.
Now, here’s a scenario that isn’t as funny. Your child is desperate to talk to some- one—anyone who will listen. His struggle with the incredible pressure of temptation— cheating, drugs, sex, the internet—is about all he can stand. He’s about to explode with the conflict of what he wants to do and what he knows he ought to do. Should I talk to my dad? he wonders. Will he have time for me? Will he listen to me, or will he lay one more of his brilliant, prepackaged speeches on me? Will he pay attention to how I’m feeling, or will he be checking his cell phone for a message?
If you were your child, would you pour your heart out to you? Would you have any confidence that your words were truly heard—that there was focused attention and empathy? Or would you take all this stuff to your buddies at school, other sixteen-year-olds who may have stupid advice but who would at least listen?
Have you wondered why so many dads are angry about what’s happening to their kids? They blame the culture. They curse the school district. They lambaste their children’s friends. But I wonder if these dads are angry because they weren’t “quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger”? Perhaps their child would rather have brought their deepest questions and unreserved concerns to their father, but he was somewhere else making a name for himself. And even when he was there, he wasn’t there.
You and I have “nice big ears.” We have no choice but to use them. How do we get the most out of our ears? We use our eyes. And what do we get for all this? Less embarrassment and anger and more peace.
Quit scanning the room. Stop checking your smartphone. Someone—probably someone you love—has something to say to you. Don’t miss it.