Just because I'm fascinating doesn't mean I should be talking

Post #5 on conversations as a spiritual practice

My book group was running out of steam.  We had eleven heartfelt weeks of sharing from “The Sacred Pulse: Holy Rhythms for Overwhelmed Souls” by @AprilFiet (now on Substack at

A Seat at the Table

, which helped us search for the sacred in everyday lives.  We shared chapters on mealtimes, gardening, creating things, and even cleaning.  These sessions lead to great sharing about our daily spiritual lives.

But chapter 12 had less group energy.  This chapter on living the liturgical seasons of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Pentecost was one of my favorites.  For over 30 years, I have preached the three-year cycle of the lectionary, which selects scriptures for each Sunday service.  For a preacher, we live by this calendar that gives rhythm to how we think about time, the cycle of life, and how we arrange our thoughts.  But the other people in the room just weren’t into it.  They said the chapter didn’t touch them beyond enjoying Christmas and Easter.  I chalked it up to one more way clergy are weird. 

I improvised to make the session more interesting and did what clergy often do.  I stopped facilitating and started talking.  I started a monologue on the fascinating intricacies of the lectionary, which turned into a 30-minute Q&A on random liturgical and biblical issues.   Ultimately, I felt like I had rescued the session but later realized I had failed my goal.  The point of this book group was to encourage people to explore their faith journey, share with each other, and enhance a more open community.  My talking, however fascinating,  hijacked the whole point. 

This experience leads me to the following principle of conversation as a spiritual practice:

 Just because you are fascinating doesn’t mean you should be talking! 

We like to think our passions are absolutely fascinating to others, but we can’t always tell when we are being a bore.  Think of the times you listened to someone’s animation about their model train collection or twenty minutes on the influence of tannins on the taste of wine.  If your audience isn’t into these things, your passion is wasted, which is why I don’t mention my fascination with Charles Taylor’s theories on the four levels of secularization at cocktail parties. 

Valuing listening skills as much as speaking skills is a significant shift when all the rewards and praise go to speaking well.  I have blue ribbons in Original Oratory and Extemporaneous Speaking from a high school speech competition, but nobody ever gave me a prize for Empathetic Listening.  College and seminary socialized me to think that if I wanted to be a leader, I needed to equip myself with lots of interesting ideas and deep insight into current events to share.  As a young pastor, I put pressure on myself to have answers to everyone’s questions.  After all, what was a three-year M.Div. degree for if not to have lots of answers?  I feared that the church would go into decline if I could not articulate a vibrant faith with more nuance than conservative Fundamentalism.

I learned a lot about listening in a mediation training, but I was still listening to ensure I understood other people to better craft my response to them.  I was not listening for its own sake, nor did I value that listening could be more transformative than speaking.

My evolution happened by accident.  I signed up for a coaching training for clergy at a conference because I wasn’t interested in other offerings at the time slot.  After two hours, I was hooked and signed up for a 60-hour Associate Certified Coach training.  The first assignment was to listen to someone, and I could only reflect on what I heard and ask questions.  I could not offer advice, suggestions, or my own experience.  Easy, right?   I was as awkward as someone trying to roller skate for the first time.  I realized that I loved giving advice and offering my experience, and it was of little value in helping someone.  I had been trying to fix people rather than accompanying them on their journey.   

To become a good coach, I had to change my entire internal reward system.  Instead of asking myself if I was a fascinating speaker, I learned to ask if someone else had an essential insight of their own because I listened effectively.  After nine years, over 200 hours of training, and hundreds of hours of coaching, I’m still learning the art of transformative listening.  Sometimes, old habits die hard when I get anxious and start talking to cover up insecurity. 

I later mentioned my reflections to our book group, and they were surprised because they enjoyed our Q and A session.  However, impressing them with my knowledge was not my goal, even if they were interested or inspired.  I wanted to create a community, not an audience. 

I have an acronym that helps me slow down the fascinating speaker train in my head.  It’s simply to WAIT.  Why Am I Talking?  If it is not Sunday at 10 AM, it's likely to be my turn to listen. 

Happy listening to all you recovering fixers out there!