c. 2000 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant, managing large-scale database implementations. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C.)

ROTA, Spain _ At the U.S. Navy base here, they call it the “Rota Crud,” but it seems the consequence, familiar to travelers everywhere, of too much stale air in a jet filled with people coughing and sneezing, and too little rest.

The upshot for me has been loss of voice. Not total loss, but enough that I wonder if any sound will accompany my next sentence. No problem, as far as the programming side of my work at the base goes. But loss of voice complicates the verbal give-and-take of consulting.

With lozenges and water, I get along OK until 11 one morning, when nothing comes out. Not a sound. Time for a break.

Then something interesting happens to my group of American and Spanish civilians. With my voice silenced, they start talking about how they do their work. In detail, they describe how work flows from one section to another, how they each do their piece of that flow. We’ve had such conversations before, but there is always more to learn.

My accidental silence turns out to be a blessing. Based on what I hear, my colleagues and I can tweak the application to enhance its fit with their actual processes.

Many times I have read Jesus’ counsel to the disciples about when to stay and when to leave. Stay where they make you welcome, he said, and when they don’t receive you, “shake off the dust” as you leave.

In parish ministry, as in many jobs, career mobility is always an issue. In my years as a pastor, I took Jesus’ instructions to mean: stay as long as your ministry is appreciated, and when they grow restless or hostile, then leave.

In other lines of work, people often put it: “I have done all that I can do here. It’s time to move on.”

I don’t question our need for mobile and refreshing careers. But I wonder if saying, “I have done all I can do here” really means: I have said all that I have to say. Or: You have stopped listening. Either way, my voice is silenced. Therefore, it’s time to “shake some dust.”

Successful work, for many, seems to mean getting to speak. Teachers have knowledge to transmit, preachers have truth to tell, professionals have expertise to share, the experienced have wisdom to impart, many have discipline to impose and orders to give. As long as you listen, I can work. Otherwise, eat my dust.

Many walk in the door talking. One physician spoke his diagnosis of my son’s illness before he even examined him. Some evangelists are trained, as if they were telemarketers, to ask leading questions in order to keep the prospect on the line. (“If you died today, where would you spend eternity?”)

New managers often get to know colleagues by asking good questions like “What are your career goals?” _ but then don’t listen to the answers. Some flirt. Some flash money. Some establish in-crowds and dangle belonging as a reward for compliance. Some feign intimacy.

Whatever technique we use, we cast ourselves in the role of talker. I talk, you listen. I have something to say, and you need to hear it.

I think we’re missing something. I think our first job as Christians _ and as parents, colleagues, managers, experts, friends _ is to listen, not to speak. Not only is it a basic transactional truth that people won’t connect until they feel heard, but the one who yearns to speak needs the discipline of listening. For in listening, we move beyond our own boundaries and open doors to the other.

True power _ power to help people, power to be an instrument of good _ comes from listening, not from talking. It comes from asking: How do you work? What do you need? What are your joys and sorrows? How is your day?

Listening isn’t a prelude to talking. Listening is the work. Listening is ministry. Listening enables God to speak. Listening is a form of the self-denial to which Jesus called us.

And unlike compulsive talking, which tends to get more and more one-sided as noise conquers interest, listening tends to become mutual, a builder of bridges.

DEA END EHRICH