Sunday, October 27, 2013

The Lost Art of Conversing



I watched the crows feet around his eyes deepen as his gaze shifted from the ground beneath his wooden bench to the approaching recognizable man walking towards him.  With a nod and friendly greeting he beckoned the man to join him. From where I sat a bench over, I listened to their introductions. Clearly they were acquaintances; Friends really, who seemed to share a history.  I continued to listen as the two men talked about the weather and then it moved to closer issues. The government shut down, politics, the economy, and religion.  The more pointed the conversations became I realized the change in tone of the voices.  No longer could the friendly amicable tones of understanding be heard but they were replaced by defensive, self-justifying, and prideful statements.

As I sat beneath the tree as the leaves began to fall softly, I could not help but think that this instant change in conversation happens with all of us.  It brought back memories of talks I’ve had with my own family or friends, even strangers that ended with less grace than my own eavesdropping uncovered. I have a pride issue. I am sure I am not the only one but I know it exists in me, in the darkest corners of my heart. I so badly enjoy being right. I think we all do, it is part of our human nature to feel accomplished when we are right on issues and sometimes its easy to get immediate gratification from proving others wrong. When you think about it, it seems crazy that we can allow a conversation with someone we know or love to shift from encouragement to personal attack.  Why do we feel we are the ones with supreme knowledge and anyone who sees things differently must be wrong and therefore, should be corrected?

I once heard a man talk about his weekly “round tables” with other religion professors.  He talked about a group of men who would gather around a table and lay it all out there. Their questions, their concerns, the things that baffled them and the things that they saw with complete clarity.  In that room, there were no personal attacks, arguments, or egos. They conversed with thought-through answers sprinkled with grace. They held each other in the utmost respect and esteem.  Each man was recognized as a human being made in the image of God, each man just as capable of imparting knowledge and wisdom as the next.  Most importantly, they valued learning from one another.  They could disagree but did so with respect and an eager desire to know the other person more fully instead of countering them. 

If you take only a few minutes and look at twitter, facebook threads, or blogs in our culture today, this round table concept is nearly nonexistent.  In fact, it seems crazy and only possible through a Utopian society.  We each battle entitlement.  We have the freedom to post, tweet, instagram, or blog about our opinions.  These are not bad things. In fact we should be grateful for this freedom so many men and women before us gave their lives for.  Yet with anything, we should use this freedom responsibly and not selfishly. Perhaps there is something about social media that allows us to almost dehumanize people.  We see only a profile and name so it is easier to rattle off insults or tear people down but we are called to be much more relational and loving than this.  I realized this week that each person I come in contact with has a story.  Each with lines rich of messy lies, sin, and pain.  Yet just like my story, each begins with the same line “created by God” and involves a Savior who desires their heart. I’ve realized the in-between doesn’t matter as much.  Apart from our beginning, we all have different contexts, settings, worldviews, and upbringings. Instead of letting these different views be a divider, we should see them as a way to engage in thought-provoking, edifying conversations. We should stop conversing focusing on the in-betweens but focus on how this person can teach us and be thankful that love is not dependent on like-mindedness. In fact, love is seen most beautifully in paradox much like the love that propelled a sinless man to die for people who did not even deserve it or care. Today I want to live out this kind of love and my hope is that we can restore this lost art of conversing, letting our words continually paint a picture of our own grace and humility. 

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