Jesus Was a Listener

By Elizabeth Daigle from Jesus Was, edited by Susy Flory and Scott Johanningsmeier.

Therefore consider carefully how you listen.—LUKE 8:18

My friend is a jazz musician. I love to watch him up on stage because he plays his guitar with his whole body, not just his hands. His eyes are closed, his brow is furrowed, and his head is cocked ever so slightly to enhance his concentration. He sways with the swells of the melody. His legs keep step. Even his breathing matches the cadence. He chooses a thread from the melody and weaves each musical element together so seamlessly that it feels as if what is being played has always been a part of the composition. But unlike weavers, who use their eyes to create a tapestry with a collection of colored strands, my friend uses his ears. Improvisation is amazing, almost deceiving. Because the ability to take a few notes and morph them into the start of a whole new movement doesn’t come easily. It begins with musical gifting and years of study but to truly master improvisation requires a practiced discipline of listening.

I’d like to think if Jesus were a musician, he’d play jazz. There’s something about the spontaneity of jazz music that seems to fit him well. I imagine Jesus would be the master of retooling a melody. He would make the simplest one soar. He’d send it singing with a twist so winsome and surprising that anyone within earshot would be awestruck. That is, if they were listening. Real listening is hard. We hear lots of things, but we listen selectively. And while it is a wise and self-protective strategy on some levels, in our attempts to block out all the noise, we also sometimes block out the voices we need to hear in the process.

Noise is my constant companion here in the city. When I open my front door, I’m greeted by the hum of a city that never settles. A bus accelerating up the hill, a helicopter descending upon the hospital-roof landing pad, the whirl of sirens and horns. And while Jesus didn’t deal with the din of machinery and all manner of electronics, he did endure the constant pursuit of people. Like many of us, Jesus was surrounded by noise.

Escaping the Noise and Learning to Listen

As word about Jesus spread, so did the intensity of the crowds pressing in on him. To combat the clamor, the Gospels tell us, Jesus walked away, not from the people but from the noise. He applied himself to the discipline of solitude because he understood that ministering well begins with listening well.

Jesus withdrew to lonely, secluded places to pray. He retreated to the mountains by himself (Mark 1:35; 6:46; Luke 6:12). He left for the wilderness not to abandon the desperate but to abandon himself to the singular voice of the Father. He didn’t leave the crowds because of their demands or the enormity of their needs but because he understood that the only way to minister to them was to begin with listening. He needed to hear from the Father so he could hear the cries of the people.

I imagine Jesus’s discipline of listening, forged in the secret place of communion with the Father, was woven together with his ability to discern. He respectfully refused to multitask and instead was fully present with whoever stood before him. As a keen observer, Jesus offered his full attention and listened not just with his ears but also with his eyes, touch, and every sensitivity of his soul. And as a result, he heard more than the words and requests of those who approached him. He heard the hidden cries of their hearts.

Answering a question with a question was a common teaching technique of Jesus (e.g., Matthew 15:1–3; Mark 2:1–11; 4:38–40). His intent wasn’t to be evasive or coy but to allow the questioner the privilege of self-discovery. Jesus used this technique to tease out motives and probe at agendas but also to introduce deeper truths to his audiences, providing all who heard with an opportunity to learn.

Jesus respectfully refused to multitask and instead was fully present with whoever stood before him.

Jesus used this approach to tee up teachable moments that often served as preambles to his parables. Luke recorded such an exchange between Jesus and an expert in the religious law (Luke 10:25–29). The man begins by asking Jesus how he might inherit eternal life. “What is written in the Law?” Jesus asks him in reply. “How do you read it?” The man answers by reciting the Old Testament law: “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus affirms his correct recitation, declaring, “Do this and you will live!” But in verse 29, Jesus’s answer really wasn’t what the man was after, so he then asks Jesus his real question, “And who is my neighbor?” Hearing and understanding what the man was truly asking, Jesus does more than simply answer his question. He challenges the man’s attempt to justify himself and put people into the neat and tidy categories of those who are worthy of being called neighbors and those who are not. Jesus listens with discernment and stuns the man by upending his preexisting view of righteousness through the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30–37).

This kind of exchange between Jesus and the religious authorities of his day is repeated over and over. On one occasion Jesus was accused of associating—even eating!—with sinful people like tax collectors. The religious elite were particularly offended because those who collected taxes from the Jews to hand over to Rome were considered traitors. How could Jesus suffer through a meal with the likes of them? But once again, Jesus rejects their labels and hears their hearts. He goes on to share a trio of parables about lost things (Luke 15). And I wonder, as these elites listened to Jesus describe the shepherd’s pursuit of the lost sheep, the woman searching for the lost coin, and the father awaiting the return of his lost son, if they had ears to hear the truth about who really was lost after all.

Listening to Those Without a Voice

The children certainly seemed to have ears to hear Jesus. Maybe it’s because he opened his arms and listened to them. The gospel of Luke describes a scene in which parents bring their little children to Jesus for a blessing (Luke 18:15–17). The disciples are aghast, scolding the parents for bothering the master. But Jesus, always unhurried, takes the time to gather these little ones up in his arms. He honors them with his time and offers them his complete attention. You can almost picture the tenderness of the scene as Jesus gazes into their eyes with kindness and interest, asking them questions about themselves and waiting patiently for their answers. The disciples saw the kids as irritating intrusions. Jesus saw them as precious gifts and announced that the kingdom of God belonged to them.

There were many more like the children who were invisible to the broader Roman society but were nevertheless visible to Jesus. Luke’s gospel records what happened when a blind beggar realizes Jesus was part of a crowd about to pass by him on the road to Jericho (Luke 18:35–42). The blind man shouts, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” The crowd yells at him to stop, but he only shouts louder. When Jesus finally hears him call, he goes over to the blind man. But rather than immediately restore his sight, Jesus asks him what he wants and then listens for his reply. When the man says, “I want to see,” Jesus responds with mercy and healing. Jesus heard his cry for help, listened to his plea, and then moved in compassion to heal. Jesus hasn’t changed. He still hears our cries, and he still moves in compassion.

When Jesus’s mission on earth was complete, he ascended to the Father and now sits in a place of honor in heaven. In the book of Romans we’re told Jesus pleads for us from his place at the Father’s right hand (Romans 8:34). You see, Jesus has never stopped listening. He listened during his years on earth, and he continues to listen from heaven. But like the beggar by the side of the road, we must do our part and call. And we must call out to him in faith, even faith as small as a mustard seed.

I want to learn how to listen with everything I’ve got, like my friend the jazz musician. I want to be so connected and feel the nuance of the melody so powerfully that I sway, losing myself in the music. To do that, I need to take my cues not from the others in the band, but from the one who conducts heaven and earth. I need to strive to listen for Jesus in the same way he listened for his Father. Then I must use what I hear to tune my ear to the people around me and practice listening, just like Jesus.

1. Is there a physical place you find calming? What aspects of that location feels restorative to you?

2. Is there someone in your life who is good at being fully present when they are with you? What do they do to show they are not distracted when they’re with you? How does their bodily presence affect you?

3. What barriers in your community keep some members from feeling seen or heard? Are there ways for you to intentionally see and hear people on the periphery in a personal way?

Explore: Listen to a favorite song. Write out why you like it and how it affects your body and emotions.