This Easter season, I want to address a cynical

and damaging perception about the Church of

Jesus Christ. Now, you won’t hear this perception

articulated directly, but it is an unspoken

assumption in far too many congregations. It goes

like this: the primary mission of the Church is to

serve the members of the Church. This myth can

cause congregations to operate by the rules of

consumer culture or political expediency—to cater to

the base, to keep the customers happy. We see it in

preachers who aim only to reinforce the preexisting

perspectives of parishioners. We see it in worshipers

who demand this constant confirmation. We see it

in churches obsessed with mere survival, becoming

carefully curated clubs for likeminded individuals,

rarely reaching beyond the familiar and comfortable

confines of self-selected assemblies. (I’ve got some

feelings about this…)

When we allow these fears to control us, the

Church tends toward stagnation. We become overly

institutional, inwardly focused, unadventurous, and…

well…boring. We cease to be a called community

of courageous witness to the Gospel. A friend of

mine in Charlotte, a pastor there, tells the story

about an encounter after worship one Sunday

morning. A member of the church marched up to

the pastor—finger wagging—and proclaimed, “I did

not like worship today.” My friend was feeling bold

that morning and responded just as sharply. “That’s

okay. We weren’t worshiping you.” Now as far as I

know, both the pastor and the member are still a

part of that church.

But here’s the truth: The Church does not exist for

the sake of the Church. Our highest aim is not selfpreservation.

The Church exists solely by the grace of God and

for the world God loves. We are called to be a

movement of the Spirit. Ours is a faith that demands

action.

Nowhere in scripture is this clearer than in the letter

of James, a little book often disregarded toward the

end of the New Testament, written to confront and

encourage readers to live what they have learned

and come to believe. Like the Old Testament

prophets he echoes, James is utterly uninterested

in institutional maintenance. He is animated by the

formation of a people, a Church, capable of living

the way of Jesus. Justice. Kindness. Humility. James

demands and desires soul-shaping community

and deeply transformative impact. Faith in Action.

The words of scripture demand it. The world needs

it. And so, this is what we seek this Eastertide at

Second Church. Let’s get started.

Several years ago, the journalist Tom Friedman

coined a phrase that captures the spirit of our time.

Friedman writes, “It is the malady of modernity. We

have gone from the Iron Age to the Industrial Age

to the Information Age and have finally come to the

Age of Interruption.” He quotes consultant Linda

Stone, who labels ours an era of “continuous partial

attention.” Her description makes me squirm a bit,

precisely because it offers such an accurate picture

of my life. She writes, “Continuous partial attention

is when you are checking Facebook on your phone,

watching a show on a second screen, typing an

email on your laptop, and answering a question

from your kid all at the same time. That is, you are

multitasking your way through the day, continuously

devoting only partial attention to each act or person

you encounter.”

Guilty as charged. We all experience it, whether we

are the culprit or the victim. Unlimited access to

unvetted information and endless connection means

ubiquitous interruption. Phones ring and pulsate

with urgent notifications during meetings, concerts,

movies, weddings, funerals, even church services.

I remember a couple of years ago when a phone

rang during the middle of a wedding rehearsal I

was leading. Now, I was frustrated and impatient,

bordering on furious, because before we had started

the rehearsal, I had been very clear that everyone

should silence their phones. So, members of the

wedding party began frantically reaching for theirs,

then looking up at me with relief. The phone kept

ringing. It was mine. Now, before you judge me

too harshly, how many of you just checked to be

sure your phone was silenced? Continuous partial

attention. Most of the time, it’s all we get or have to

give.

Centuries before the Age of Interruption, James

saw that a failure to listen well would jeopardize the

mission of God’s people. According to James, first

we must listen.

Now, it’s possible that you find it curious that we

begin a series on faith in action with a call to listen.

Listening can seem so passive. Some of you might

remember that here at Second we are in the midst

of a whole program year focused on the theme of

“speaking the truth in love.” Those words come from

another New Testament letter, to the Ephesians. We

are called to speak the truth in love, to do so in a

way that reflects God’s Word to us.

But the theologian Paul Tillich reminds us that, “the

first duty of love is to listen.”

James is equally clear: Followers of Jesus are

called to learn and model a new way of living in

community—a way that makes listening a priority.

So here is my confession: Listening, especially

listening with undivided attention, does not come

naturally for me. I am a native at home in the Age

of Interruption. My parents and my older sister

would be quick to confirm that I’ve been annoyingly

loquacious and prone to interjection since I could

speak in full sentences. And at my home, I am

now reaping what I sowed those decades ago.

(We’ll get to anger in a moment…) I once caused

the interruption of a televised college basketball

game with a particularly pointed and well-timed

observation for the referees. (I’d love to tell you

the story after worship.) As a trained debater, I am

practiced at forming my own points even as my

conversation partner is sharing theirs—that one

would be quickly confirmed by Sara.

And so, I need the guidance that James offers, that

listening must come first and that listening well

and speaking are mutually exclusive actions. We all

need this guidance in a time when interruption has

spiraled into cycles of rage and retribution.

Quick to listen. Slow to speak. Slow to anger.

All week long I’ve been contemplating how a

shortage of listening is tied to a surplus of anger. My

reflections on the subject have been deepened by

a distinction made by the professor Arthur Brooks

who distinguishes between the productive anger

that drives needed change and something far more

dangerous: contempt—a noxious brew of anger and

disgust. Contempt results from and leads back to a

refusal to listen well. Brooks quotes a philosopher

who defines contempt as “the unsullied conviction

of the worthlessness of another.” Contempt is

driving us apart, causing deep and damaging harm.

It is true in our personal relationships and in our

labeling of others. And when contempt is combined

with ready access to weaponry, it can make a rush

to anger deadly. To paraphrase James, our contempt

is not producing God’s justice.

Be quick to listen. Slow to interrupt. Determined to

avoid contempt for one another.

James lays out a profound challenge for people

of faith. Before we speak, can we listen in love

for a truth that might be hard to hear? Before we

speak, can we stand in a place of nonjudgment and

humility long enough to hear? Before we speak, can

we listen for the voices often silenced or drowned

out in the chaotic cacophony of our days and the

algorithms that drive our social interactions? Can

we listen?

I find that this is particularly difficult when someone

is sharing their pain, especially pain that we

have caused or allowed. The impulse is to begin

formulating our response, to justify our actions,

to defend our silence, when what is often most

needed is simply space, simply silence, simply a

commitment to generous listening.

I do wonder if practicing such awareness in our

interpersonal encounters—or within the community

of faith—has the capacity to ladder up and scale out

over time. As we consider the role of this church,

this congregation, in the broader community we

exist to serve, I want to wonder with you. Could

one of our responsibilities be to model practices

of listening across diverse perspectives? Could

we, right here, prioritize listening carefully to the

stories, the strengths, the gifts, and the challenges

of our neighbors before we formulate reasons for

their struggles or solutions that privilege our limited

perspective? Could we listen? Could we together

condemn contempt as a betrayal of the image of

God in each person we encounter? Could we listen

for the truth in love?

I’ve been looking, and I don’t see many examples of

this essential practice. I don’t see many models to

follow in the world outside the church or in our own

lives. Simple acts like walking across the street to

listen to a neighbor whose yard sign is different than

yours. Seeking out voices and stories that may be

uncomfortable for you to hear. Intentionally sharing

a table or a cup of coffee with someone whose life,

identity, or passion is unfamiliar to you. Perhaps we

are called to stand in that gap, to offer ourselves

as a witness to the power of listening in an age of

interruption and contempt.

I think James knew how difficult this would be for

us because he recommends bringing our speech

under control in an evocative metaphorical way. He

says to bridle your tongues. If he were writing today,

he might say curb your mean-spirted words, curtail

your contempt, seek out ways to be constructive, not

destructive.

James is clear with us that pure religion is faith

in action, that we are called to care for those in

distress, for neighbors in desperate need, for all on

the outside looking in.

We ask: Where do we begin?

Listen. Listen. Listen.

Amen.