A Spirituality of Listening E-Book

Keith R. Anderson

• Herausgeber: IVP Formatio
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 279

Beschreibung

- 2016 IVP Readers' Choice Award"Biblical spirituality . . . asserts that God is not done with the business of revelation and creation but instead continues to have something to say and something yet to be accomplished in the very culture that isn't sure if God is done speaking." So begins Keith Anderson as he invites us on a journey to relearn how to listen. "My claim is simple: spirituality is grounded in ordinary life experiences. We need to learn to listen to rhythms of life, narratives and creation."Rather than settling for a one-sided relationship with God in which we speak but never hear back, we can learn to hear God as we go through our lives. The key is paying attention to the moments that make up our days. As we participate in the world around us, God speaks to us through creation, through the stories we tell, through our pain and as we follow God down unexpected pathways. Learning to listen doesn't happen in ten easy steps. Instead it is a process of approaching the world with wonder and curiosity as we seek to make sense of what we hear. Hearing God speak takes time and practice, and Anderson offers reflective exercises at the end of each chapter to help us along the way.Listen—and step into a world alive with God's presence.

Leseprobe

A SPIRITUALITY OF LISTENING

LIVING WHAT WE HEAR

KEITH R. ANDERSON

FOREWORD BY DAN B. ALLENDER

To Wendy:

Because you alone know the meaning of the words: “Now instead of two stories fumbling to meet, we belong to one story that the two, joining, made.”

Wendell Berry

Contents

Foreword by Dan B. Allender

1 Resonance: Another Way of Listening

2 First Words: Listening to Creation

3 Household: The Stage of the Everyday World

4 Surrounded by Sound: Hebrew Spirituality

5 Story: Shaped by Biblical Narrative

6 Trajectories: Oriented by the Psalms

7 Heartbreak: Listening to Lament

8 What We Don’t Want to Hear: The Prophetic Voice

9 Rabbi: Listening to the Life of Jesus

10 Accent: Diverse Languages of the Soul

Conclusion: Resurrection—Listening to Hope

Acknowledgments

Notes

Scripture Index

Praise for A Spirituality of Listening

About the Author

More from InterVarsity Press

Copyright

Foreword

Dan B. Allender

It was early September 2009 and it was the first time I sat in the office of the new president of The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology. Keith Anderson had been president for less than three months. I asked him, “What is the first order of business for you in your first one hundred days?” He didn’t smile. He answered: “You.”

I thought he was joking. Keith’s skin is mostly hidden behind a salty, no nonsense, almost curmudgeonly beard, but I could see the reddishness of his intensity. He was not joking. A quixotic playfulness passed over his face, but his gaze was resolute. “You are my major focus for the first one hundred and perhaps several hundred days.” I simply asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know how you will play. You have gone from being the president to being faculty. I don’t know how you will handle being led—you have never been my employee.” Then he added, “If you are going to remain in this school and know joy, then you need to let me help you shepherd your legacy.”

I was looking forward to catching up with a friend and within minutes I was asked to consider the viability and trajectory of my future at The Seattle School. It was a brief conversation that would change the direction of my life. And it all came about because Keith Anderson has a deep, passionate, holy heart to explore terrain that most fear to tread.

If you were to hear Keith speak about himself you would hear the self-deprecation of a good Baptist grandson of Swedish immigrants. There are few that can out-work him and he is loyal to a fault. In many ways, I sense he comes from another world—one where your word is troth and your truth is an oath to love. His pursuit of knowledge and wisdom is equally a desire to be faithful to the many living and dead who have shaped his heart and mind. He is a man that I would follow to storm the gates of hell if he asked.

And he asked if I could play well and be led by him. It was premature to say I can and will, but I knew in my heart that few get the privilege in this life to work for a person whose words are fundamentally true to his heart. I have said to Keith more times than I can count: “You must write more.”

When I see an email from Keith to the board or student body, I hungrily read each word because Keith cherishes words and the form in which they come. What is said is both beautiful and compelling. I recall the day when Keith told me that a new labor of love was finished. I implored for the opportunity to read.

This book is about listening. Few listen well. It is not a hip category or skill that permeates the cultural or academic conversation. It is given at best a polite head nod, the way we might meet an aged man or woman as we offer them our seat on public transportation. We give listening a seat but we don’t deign to ask it a single question.

Listening requires a heart that is humble enough to move slowly through the cadence of another’s speech. It requires the courage to risk asking and then the even greater risk of waiting for patterns to occur that illumine what is being said. Listening is the holy work of attuning one’s soul to the accumulation of meaning that comes only to those who tend to speech like a midwife. It is art and skill, knowledge and wisdom.

Listening requires fierce quietness. Keith Anderson is a fiercely humble, kind and generous man who will help you receive the blessing of attunement. Keith writes in a manner that is accessible but also invites you to join him on a theologically rich trek up his beloved Mount Rainer. The journey is demanding and at times stunning and dangerous. The benefit is the certainty that your heart will become larger and your capacity for meaningful connection with God and others enriched.

I have worked for Keith now for six years. I hope to do so for many more. His ability to listen to my heart has enabled me to discover the greater calling of the kingdom of God for my last few decades on this earth. I am his debtor for a lifetime of listening and now I am thankful that you get to listen to the beauty of his words and life. You too will never be the same.

one

Resonance

Another Way of Listening

Telling a story is like reaching into a granary full of wheat and drawing out only a handful. There is always more to tell than can be told.

Wendell Berry

Ihave spent my life in the Gospels listening to Jesus. I have watched him and tried to listen and learn. I have tripped over his words as often as I have found the way, but I am drawn again and again to listen. Sometimes I wonder if I make things more difficult than they need to be. What I can’t shake is the feeling that I have lived my life in a kind of presence because of the words. Like Wendell Berry’s words above, I am drawn to listening because I have a hunch that “there is always more to tell than can be told.”1

And so I decided to write about listening. I have looked for simplicity in the midst of the complexity of the words. My mistake has been to forget that the Scriptures are a narrative of people who lived in time and space. It is their story of how they listened to the one they called God. My mistake has been to silence the thunder that wanted to be heard while I did all the talking about what I thought the voice had said. I don’t think I’m alone in this. Raised to believe certain things about God, Scripture and faith. Convinced of the rightness of that way of thinking. Able even to raise my hands in worship to show I can feel the music. But not so sure what happened along the way. Did I lose my way? Did something change? There are times I wonder how much of my spirituality was living a culture of faith in a certain way. I wonder if I became an expert at the forms of faith but not the heart. Prayer, worship, Scripture, meditation and Bible studies—all of these I know well. Why, then, do I sometimes feel something was lost, muted or silenced along the way? I know I am not alone.

Learning to Listen

I have spent my life in the church or nearby. I have held the microphone of religion and faith in my hands, preaching, teaching, writing and using many words. I wonder now if I practiced listening as well as I practiced my own use of words. I wonder if I took for granted that listening should come first. So I set out to wander in the texts, practices and forms that shaped the life of Jesus and the community that formed him. There are centuries-deep practices that are more common and familiar than I once thought. Not surprisingly, there is an insistent theme of listening. More than a call to certain practices or disciplines, there is an invitation to an orientation of one’s life to a universe that is alive with presence and voice, always with “more that can be told.”

Most of us take the science of sound and hearing for granted. Something emits energy in the form of a vibration. Pressure creates a wave, which finds its way to the ear where it is filtered to the ear drum and sent to the brain. The volume and pitch of sound waves vary based on many factors—the source of the sound, the amount and type of energy that generated it, and the environment in which the waves are received. Words like amplitude, frequency, pitch, acoustics, ossicles, cochlea and audiology are all the lexicon of hearing. Science tells us we walk through a universe alive with sound waves and electrical impulses, all of which have something to do with compressed air. Some theorize that sound is heard in the very cells of our body. We know that infants respond to sound in the womb. We also know that sound resonates with our bodies in certain ways that actually lower the heart rate, decrease respiration and contribute to healing. If we could see the waves, we would see zig-zagging intersections of waves in every possible direction. We would see that the universe is alive in ways we do not recognize without an imagination for listening.

I am no expert in listening. I am no expert in spirituality. I am, however, a lover of words, stories and listening: words because they are the wings of relationship; stories because the very heart of Christian faith is the story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection; and listening because it is one way I know God (not the only way, but one way). Every once in a while it happens: I have the feeling I am part of a conversation that was and is and is still to come. I have the feeling that the universe is more alive than I usually notice. I have the feeling there is a voice to be heard if I can relearn to listen.

So, I write because I want to learn how to listen all over again. I write because I believe there is another way of listening. I have a feeling that something I lost along the way was the simple, everyday experience of conversation with God. I write because I think you might want to do that too. My hope is to stir in us all a longing to listen for the voice of God in everything. I know a statement like that might send some readers packing because they can’t believe in a claim that simple. I am a student of spirituality and a teacher as well. I have read hundreds of books and pondered dozens of images of spirituality, but this one, this capacity or practice of listening is deeply grounded in all writings on all forms of spirituality. However, its simplicity doesn’t mean it’s automatic or easy.

What lives in this book from front to back are questions I cannot escape. I’ve tried to get away from them, but I find they won’t let me go. There is one particularly persistent question: Does God continue to have something to say in the twenty-first century?

On a recent trip I pulled into the parking lot behind Bread and Chocolate, my favorite coffee shop in St. Paul, Minnesota. The large parking lot is shared with a church that displayed a large sign declaring their answer: God is still speaking. It was remarkable because it read as though it was an announcement or a secret that was being revealed. But I understand. Many of us believe God spoke in the first century and perhaps even in the twentieth century, when the church was the platform for God’s voice to be heard. But what about now? The answer is no longer clear in a century when the church is losing its voice in much of the Western world and in a culture when generations of people have lost confidence in the church. We live in a nation where old certitudes are fading or gone and a time when spirituality is often just a way to sell exercise equipment, music and even relationships. It is a time of great skepticism about spirituality that insists the question be raised: Is it possible to claim that we are people who can learn to listen to God? The accepted view of popular culture is that it’s one thing to pray, to talk to God, but to make the claim that you hear God speak implies you are crazy.

Biblical spirituality says there is still a source that reveals the voice of the living God. It asserts that God is not done with the business of revelation and creation but instead continues to have something to say and something yet to be accomplished in the very culture that isn’t sure if God is done speaking. We have muted, muffled and, in some cases, silenced the voice of God because we have forgotten to listen in the ways and places where God’s voice has always been heard. I hope to recover a way of practicing spirituality that has been silenced for some because we have lost our listening; we need to re-create another way of listening. And I confess, I am not only a product of a culture that silenced the thunder of God’s voice; I have myself done it for others. I don’t sit in any seat outside looking in from a comfortable perch; I have helped to foster practices and a culture of silence.

In an earlier time of my life, there was a question that blared its answer on radio, TV, magazines, pulpits and talk shows across North America. Started as a question in academia, it soon was asked on street corners and in libraries, coffee shops and offices: “Is God dead?” Philosophers, theologians and curious onlookers concluded yes. I listened in on the conversations too, and I wonder: Did God pass away in the night, or over the centuries as humankind outgrew our need for an all-powerful deity? Did God die because we found new technologies, medications and innovations to replace God as creator, healer and redeemer? It never seemed to me to be a question about God as much as about people. Some answer that we simply outgrew the need for God. Others answer that we now find enough in our own voices to replace the word of God. And some answer that God exists, but only in us—God is ultimately only found in individual human-human interactions—between an I and a Thou. And for many, we simply ran out of energy for the machinery that had always supported God—the infrastructure of modernism, the hegemony of the church, and the voice of an educated, ordained and authoritative clergy.

I wonder.

Even in Seattle, a city nourished by what I call REI spirituality, a coalition of environmentalism, social consciousness and tolerance for all differences, I still find a hunger for something that isn’t filled by our care of Mother Earth or the poor or certain other marginalized peoples. Perhaps the question in our day is no longer “Is God dead?” but “Where can God’s voice be heard?” Most people aren’t really fooled by the notion that humanity is all that exists, that humanity is the final answer to the questions asked across the centuries. I find that most people are hungry for something more, something deeper, something beyond. In my experience most people believe that God is alive, but they wonder if God has lost his voice. Sermons speak of almost everything except a continuing conversation with a living God. Books, articles, blogs and social media are full of the continuing search for the Spirit that has been our human quest from the beginning; we readily speak about God or for God when it seems our longing is to speak with God.

Where can God’s voice be heard today? Some say God’s voice can only be heard in the Bible, where the history of what God said is recorded, as if God cut off all communication after the early second century. Others believe God can only be heard in human-to-human relationships, as if the transcendent God of the ages can no longer speak for God’s own self. For some there is a notion that God can only be heard through educated and certified voices trained in special ways that authorize their words, as if God’s voice must be filtered through certain people. And some say that God can only be heard through rituals, liturgies or gatherings where particular forms contain the voice of God, as if God’s exclusive concern is with religion, worship, sermons, praise choruses and hymns.

You can tell that I’m not buying any of this because there was one who showed us another way to listen. His name was Yeshua, or Jesus as he is known to most of us. Early followers made outrageous claims that he not only spoke for God but he knew God and even was God wrapped up in a human body, which certainly complicates things. The entire weight of the Bible tilts the story to him. It says that Jesus knew something we need:

He was in the world,

the world was there through him,

and yet the world didn’t even notice.

He came to his own people,

but they didn’t want him.

But whoever did want him,

who believed he was who he claimed

and would do what he said,

He made to be their true selves,

their child-of-God selves. (John 1:10-12 The Message)

Jesus is the pattern or archetype of spirituality as it shapes people into our “child-of-God selves.” A teacher named Paul said, “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. . . . For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” (Colossians 1:15, 19). Listening for the voice of God is not simply waiting for an audible voice; it is also spending time in the presence of the teacher, Jesus, whose teaching speaks loud enough for all of us to hear. Eugene Peterson said it as economically as anyone: “Jesus is the way God comes to us. Jesus is the way we come to God.”2

The Resonant Sound of God’s Voice

In conversation with a colleague we talked about God’s presence as a resonant sound. It was a new concept to me. In some musical forms there is a baseline of melodic sound that resounds through the entire song. The orchestra interacts with the baseline in a dynamic interplay—a resonance to the initiating primary tones called cantus primus. It is not a simple echo that returns the sound it was given, but a complex point and counterpoint. It is a melodic interaction that starts the a baseline of music, upon which other tones interact in interdependence on the starting line. Cantus primus, most simply put, says there is “a fixed line of melody to which other voices are added.”3 Like the ancient plain chant or Gregorian chants in the fourteenth century, there is a “fixed song” to which the rest of the musicians respond. The baseline of music is always present, active and living, and in a technical way I do not understand, the originating musician leaves space for new melodies to be created.

That idea is similar to what I mean by the voice of God present in all things. God comes to us in Jesus through the Spirit. God has spoken; God speaks still. Human spirituality is ongoing responsiveness and interaction with what is revealed. That’s good theology. God “intrudes” into human history and our stories as unrelenting love. There is nothing passive about any of this—we don’t make it happen—we say yes. And, like the cantus firmus, we respond to what has been given voice by Father, Son and Holy Spirit as we participate in co-creative listening. Does it come as the sound like a human voice? I can’t say it always does; I can’t even say that it often does, but there is a way of living in faith that issues a defiant conviction that God’s word is heard in surprisingly common and ordinary ways. I have come to think of it as a kind of resonance. What starts in one place as a sound or experience becomes an ongoing vibration and movement of sound. Resonance is also a strong emotional association with a place, story, person or memory. Something starts the movement and it resonates in another. It is dynamic, alive, co-creative and responsive: we must be aware, show up, pay attention, participate and engage that which is heard. Resonance is another way of listening to creation, everyday life, story and memory, prophetic thunder, lament and Jesus himself. In the exercise of faith, we hear and see differently.

Another metaphor to describe this might be the ballast of a ship. Ballast is not an anchor that keeps you in port or secured to a single location in a harbor. Rather, it is substance below the surface, weighty enough to keep the ship afloat. Ballast is that which can balance the ship so that navigation is possible, but ballast doesn’t tell you where you must go like the voice in my GPS, which directs every turn on my way to a pre-determined location. Ballast keeps the ship afloat as we navigate, poorly or well, on journeys both planned and spontaneous. Without ballast, a ship will spin wildly in place or twist and turn in every wind and eventually sink because that which is on the surface overwhelms the physics of the ship in motion. Listening is ballast for all spirituality. Simply put, God’s words are the ballast, the reference point. But it comes to us as something intensely and intimately relational, what I prefer to call conversational. It isn’t something we control and make happen; it is something we receive as we wait in trust and readiness to what God will reveal to open ears and hearts.

I think I got waylaid early on in my theological education by the word revelation; I thought it meant I would be given answers, information and truth. Once I had those things I could set up shop as an independent contractor who gave others answers, information and truth. Instead, revelation has come to mean a resonant conversation with God as I have lived my life in an ongoing relationship with Jesus. Along the way I have encountered answers, information and even truth, but more often I have been invited to continue to listen in ways that are common and more familiar than I expected. My claim is simple: spirituality is grounded in ordinary life experiences. We need to learn to listen to rhythms of life, narratives and creation. I also make a more complex claim: Jesus learned to know God through biblical forms still available to us. John Calvin said God “clothes himself, so to speak, with the image of the world, in which he would present himself to our contemplation. . . . Therefore, as soon as the name of God sounds in our ears, or the thought of him occurs to our minds, let the world become our school if we desire rightly to know God.”4

These forms of spirituality are not ethereal, otherworldly and abstract; they are earthy, grounded and clothed in our lives embodied in time and space. So I set out to consider Jesus’ own incarnated journey toward faith. I wanted to see what I could find about his culture, the story of his people and the unfolding of practices that are centuries deep. I looked to the forms of spirituality, or what might better be called the practices that formed faith in ancient Israel and in Jesus. There are rhythms to life and practices of listening that earlier generations called obedience, discipleship, worship and spirituality. Today there is a new spirituality that struggles with these kind of words but still longs for an experience of presence and voice.

I am captivated more by something humanity has practiced deeply over time than I am by the latest innovation in spirituality. Learning to listen is one way to understand Jesus’ own formation and teaching. How did Jesus come to learn God? He did, you know. He wasn’t born fully formed but grew in faith, even as he was formed intellectually, emotionally and physically. How did Jesus come to know God? There are many answers, but one seems loudest to me: Jesus learned to listen for God, to pay attention in his life as he lived it in his neighborhood. For some, the work of listening to God’s voice feels like unknowable terrain requiring a map, and some reach for the simplest map they can find. I prefer instead to see this work in the spirit of attentive, contemplative curiosity.

The wisdom poetry of the book of Proverbs asks and answers its own questions:

Does not wisdom call,

and does not understanding raise her voice?

On the heights, beside the way,

at the crossroads she takes her stand;

beside the gates in front of the town,

at the entrance of the portals she cries out:

“To you, O people, I call,

and my cry is to all that live.

O simple ones, learn prudence;

acquire intelligence, you who lack it.

Hear, for I will speak noble things,

and from my lips will come what is right.” (Proverbs 8:1-6)

I long for us to “eavesdrop” on those whose passion for God compelled them to listen to God speaking in the most ordinary and sometimes extraordinary moments. The poet wrote, “The hearing ear and the seeing eye—the LORD has made them both” (Proverbs 20:12). I’ve rediscovered in Scripture another way of listening that erupts into boisterous wonder. Listening in wonder sounds romantic I suppose, but it isn’t always a kind of ethereal delight. It often starts with another form of wonder: confusion. “I wonder what’s going on?” is an honest way of listening in wonder. It might start with uncertainty that leads to curiosity. It may be playful or vexing, but there is an instinct to make sense out of what we hear. That’s the invitation of the pages that lie ahead. I’m not taken much by formulas for listening—“ten steps on how to hear the voice of God” or “seven principles for successful spiritual practices in the twenty-first century.” What I have found instead is that life is found in the details. And life is sometimes lost because of the details. My conviction is that wisdom still cries out if we can learn how and where to listen—on the heights, along the way, beside the gates and at the entrance of the portals. Some of my own story inhabits these pages, but this is not a spiritual memoir or running commentary on the details of my own spiritual practices or experiences. It is instead, I would like to think, a way to enter a conversation that began long before my story was told and will continue long after I am gone.

Jayber Crow, the title character of Wendell Berry’s novel of the same name, returned to the childhood community of Port William. He found a perch where he could listen and remember. “What would come, came.”5 Memories of family and those who had raised him after the death of his parents. Barns, stores, henhouses, steamboats and the river. He more felt than heard their memory, but he knew himself in the presence of those who had loved him. “I remembered so plainly that I could hear the sound of hammer shaping metal on an anvil.”6 He knew himself to be in the presence. No audible voices. No mystical visions. No unexpected epiphanies (appearances). But presence. And then this: “I saw that, for me, this country would always be populated with presences and absences, presences of absences, the living and the dead. The world as it is would always be a reminder of the world as it was, and of the world that is to come.”7 My hope is that the pages you hold in your hand will offer a similar perch to listen and remember.

Practice Listening: the Reflective Pause

One form listening might take is the practice of the reflective pause. In the midst of the day, prompt yourself to take sixty seconds to breathe slowly and reflect. It’s not a complicated technology but a daily practice. Ask your own set of questions that will help you reflect on what is going on around you. “What am I feeling about the day so far?” “I wonder if God has something for me to hear or see today.” “Where do I sense there is something for me to see, hear or do that seems to come from God?” My own practice is to start the day at my desk with a moment for reflective pause. Before I jump into morning emails, my to-do list and every other list, I take a moment to listen. You might call it prayer, but I ask God to help me listen for his voice in the work that is on my desk and that will come. I ask God to help me pay attention to people, scheduled events and interruptions.

The practice of the reflective pause is possible in the daily rhythms of our lives—just a moment for reflection. What have I heard in the last hours of my busy day? That’s it. Listening is response to the already active presence of God. If that’s true at all, then God has been active in the day already. The posture of listening is not about a physical posture as much as a posture of intent. People have always found that listening prayer is helped by sitting up straight in a chair with hands open on one’s lap facing upward in a posture of receptivity while breathing deeply and slowly and waiting. But Mary’s response to the angel (messenger) reflects a posture of intent. “Let it be to me as you have said.” If there is a perfect prayer, that has to be it. “Let it be.” I go along, I am ready to listen, receive and accept. I say yes, God, yes.

two

First Words

Listening to Creation

Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement, . . . get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.

Abraham Heschel

Every day at nine, noon and three, I am forced to do something against my will. I work in a 110-year-old building on the Seattle waterfront, converted from a fish-processing plant to a luggage manufacturing plant and now to a theological graduate school where three hundred students walk the same floors that fishermen once traversed. Three times each day there are chimes that ring, and I am forced to listen to the sound.

When we moved into the building we started this practice of chimes as a kind of monastic impulse. We call it “Nine, noon and three: rhythms of prayer.” The chimes disrupt meetings and classes. They intrude into board meetings and important conversations. They interrupt our work because you cannot ignore them. We sound the chimes because we know it is hard to stop and even harder to listen. We ring the bells to embody our belief that God is free to intrude into our work at any given moment. We make the sound because we believe our work is done in the presence of the living God, even when we aren’t sure we want to listen.

Hearing is a universal human experience. Even the deaf can feel vibrations or sense presence. Listening is a universal human capacity, but listening isn’t easy. Listening isn’t always something we want to do. I’ve become fascinated by our capacity for hearing in recent years. Now in my sixties, I am losing capacity to hear in one ear. It comes in handy when I’m being told something I really don’t want to hear. It’s convenient when I need a good excuse to miss a deadline or just prefer not to have definite instructions for something I might not want to do. It doesn’t mean I can’t hear at all in the “bad ear,” I just sometimes can’t tell you what the words are. I might hear sounds, muffled words and intonations. To hear the words, I must turn my face and my good ear to the speaking voice. That makes it, for me, a metaphor for spirituality—we turn our face so we can hear again. We turn our face in a new direction so the words have meaning and are not merely sounds.