The Listener

A book we are currently reading is The Listener , by Taylor Caldwell.  Written in 1960, it has some dated language reflecting the times.  But in spite of the language, the message is timeless.  It speaks strongly to our mission and the need for all of us to be listened to.  We want to share what it’s about with you today.

The Listener is the story of how ordinary people, full of hopelessness and despair, from all walks of life, find the inner peace they desperately need.  Each chapter is a modern parable of someone who has lost faith in themselves, the people close to them, or the world in general.  In his final days on this earth, John Godfrey built a beautiful sanctuary which had inscribed above its portal: ‘The Man Who Listens’.  Because of peoples’ need for someone to truly listen, those who suffer were drawn to this place at all hours of the day and night.  The Listener, although kept behind closed curtains, would reveal himself to those who were truly in need.  True peace, hope and happiness were restored to all who poured out their soul to him.  This is a powerful novel of anguished souls on a self analytical, almost mystical, journey toward inner peace.

 Here is the foreword to the book:

This is a true story. It may be your story, but certainly it is your neighbor’s story. You may find your own face here, and it may anger you. I hope so. Anger is a cleansing agent.

The most desperate need of men today is not a new vaccine for any disease, or a new religion, or a new ‘way of life’. Man does not need to go to the moon or other solar systems. He does not require bigger and better bombs and missiles. He will not die if he does not get ‘better housing’ or more vitamins. He will not expire of frustration if he is unable to buy the brightest and newest gadgets, or if all his children cannot go to college. His basic needs are few, and it takes little to acquire them, in spite of the advertisers. He can survive on a small amount of bread and in the meanest shelter. He always did.

His real need, his most terrible need, is for someone to listen to him, not as a ‘patient’, but as a human soul. He needs to tell someone of what he thinks, of the bewilderment he encounters when he tries to discover why he was born, how he must live, and where his destiny lies. The questions he asks of psychiatrists are not the questions in his heart, and the answers he receives are not the answers he needs. He is a sealed vessel, even when under drugs or while heavily drinking. His semantics are not the semantics of anyone else, not even the semantics of a psychiatrist.

Our pastors would listen — if we gave them the time to listen to us. But we have burdened them with tasks which should be our own. We have demanded not only that they be our shepherds but that they take our trivialities, our social aspirations, the ‘fun’ of our children, on their weary backs. We have demanded that they be expert businessmen, politicians, accountants, playmates, community directors, ‘good fellows’, judges, lawyers, and settlers of local quarrels. We have given them little time for listening, and we do not listen to them, either. We must offer them concrete help and assume our own responsibilities. We forget that they are men also, frequently very tired, always unappreciated, sometimes disheartened, quite often appalled, worried, anxious, lonely, grieved. They are not supermen, without human agony and human longing. Heedlessly, we neglect them — unless we wish them to serve us in material ways, when their ways should be exclusively God’s. We demand of them what we would not dare to demand of anyone else, even ourselves. We give them no time to listen, when to have someone listen, without hurry, without the click of a clock, is the direst need of our spirits.

Until we free our shepherds from our insistence that they be our servants, let us remember that there is someone who listens. He is available to all of us, all of the time, all of our lives. The Listener.

We have only to talk to him. Now. Today. Tonight. He understands our language, our semantics, our terrors, our secrets, our sins, our crimes, our sorrow. He will not consider you sentimental if you speak fondly of the past, if you are old. He will not turn you away if you are a liar, a thief, a murderer, a hypocrite, a betrayer. He will listen to you. He will not be impatient if you become maudlin, or cry in self-pity, or if you are a coward or a fool. He has listened to people like this all his life. He will continue to listen.

While he listens, you will find your own problems solved. Will he speak to you, also? Who knows? Perhaps. Surely, if you ask him. If you listen, too.

Image from Europeana on Unsplash