A friend and I were having lunch. We enjoyed jumping from one topic to another, sharing, interrupting, countering. I did a double-take when my friend slipped in a surprise. “My marriage is in trouble.” The conversation changed at once. Another new topic had occurred to me, but I dropped it. The time had come for listening. Our conversation had changed from a freewheeling exchange to an intimate opening and sharing. I asked leading questions and made observations. I was trying hard to listen, actively using a mixture of silence and questions. I didn’t want to simply hear him; I wanted to understand what he meant. When we parted he said, sincerely, “Thanks for listening to me.”

I didn’t think too much about his remark until later while visiting with another friend. The conversation began with the same informal give and take. Then I mentioned a problem facing me. Without being overtly aware, I realized that the nature of our conversation had changed. He was skillfully leading me along, question by question, interspersed with attentive listening, to discover the how and why of my needs. I became sensitive to the fact that he was really listening to me. When we parted, I was careful to say, “Thanks for listening to me.”

Active listening is rare. When listening does happen, we part company with a quiet singing in our souls; “You did that for me?” becomes “You did that for me!” Disbelief in the form of a question turns to a thankful affirmation.

In normal conversations, people jump in as if they have heard nothing. “I’ll tell you how I handled that.” “You are lucky; I had eight days of pain.” “It’s easy for you because you have a nice wife.” Ministers know especially about “listening of this sort.” Perhaps it is because people find it inconceivable that ministers hurt. Preachers are supposed to have endless spiritual resources. Maybe that’s why people make little effort to listen, quickly turning pleas for help aside. The wife of a minister friend was terminally ill with cancer. During this period they received many letters. Though intended to help, they added to the grief, for they were subtle judgments. “I tried prayer.” “I trusted and experienced a miracle.” “If you submit to my procedure, you, too….” Having gone through years of prayer and faithful discipleship, they were well aware of the resources and miracles with which God had blessed them. Buried in these “supporting letters” were clear or implied condemnations. “Look at me.” “Do as I did.” What the couple needed, as the husband later confessed, was someone to listen without evaluation, to trust without judgment, and to identify with the despair that enveloped them.

“Thanks for listening!” “Just think, you did that for me!” The whole business of being understood by another is filled with mystery, fraught with potential for good. To touch and be touched is therapeutic. Touching can also be redemptive. To be touched by another is to know we are no longer alone in this world. Our needs have been met with understanding and acceptance. Of course we cannot define the experience verbally, for it occurs at a level too deep for words. Paul knew the seriousness of this need. In 1 Corinthians 13:12, at that time when he comes face-to-face with God, he knows he is able to understand fully, “even as I have been fully understood.” Of the three marvels that abide, love is the greatest. I wonder -- no, I don’t wonder, I’m convinced -- that being understood is a work of love. Coming face-to-face and touching result from a primary gift of love, to be unconditionally accepting of another.

There are times in life for each of us when we know we cannot make it on our own. We do not have enough money, nor can we gain access to it; we haven’t the will to tackle a task; we don’t have enough grasp of our desperation to find a direction to go in; and, we can uncover no resources to help us move off dead center. Financial, religious, social or psychic resources are exhausted, and we are bankrupt. Then, someone comes along. “Yes,” they say, “I’ll co-sign your note.” Or, they listen, caringly, helping us to see viable solutions to our dilemma. They assure us that our reactions are perfectly acceptable. By their strength we are bolstered until we move past the windless sea on which we have been idling and begin to pick up new winds of challenge blowing for us.

You did that for me! The most we can manage is to sit back in mute disbelief that somehow someone moved in and took over for us. The magnitude of the favor granted us leaves us without a ready response. It is enough to manage, “Thank you.” By little or big gifts another moved in to stop the long slide of loss. Such times in life are precious. Another waits with us while we are in trial, grief, pain, or despair. For most of life’s pleasant interchanges a routine nod, smile, hug or kiss does nicely. But in these instances we are possessed by the other. We would not have made it down the long slope, across the stressful barrier, over the windless sea alone. We feel as if they actually carried us on their shoulders. A silent sigh, “You did that for me!” overwhelms the spirit and leaves us drained, filled with awe and wordless gratitude at what was done for us. Such gifts are priceless; there is no possible repayment. We are not expected to grovel before the other, for that would insult the intent of the gift. We cannot barter for what we need by offering something in return. All we can do is accept. For such munificent gifts we run out of standard responses and think of them as undeserved favors -- acts of grace.

Strange workings go on in our souls when there is no way to pay back for a favor or say thank you enough. We feel out of control, and we human beings are extremely uncomfortable when we are out of control. When we are older, past adolescence we are extremely careful of those whom we trust. Even when a gift is given for the best of reasons our dignity can be wounded. We look for subtle ways to “one-up” the giver. We sometimes want to prove that we deserve the gift. Accepting the gift innocently makes us feel as if we are beholden or subservient. Often, to save face, we say “Oh, that means nothing to her; she’s got millions.” Or we misinterpret the motive. “He’s always been jealous of my skills, so this is his way of showing me up.” We can even become defensive. “What are you trying to do to me?” Irritation can enter our hearts. Sometimes we begin mounting an attack against our benefactor. “This’ll show him. He shouldn’t have felt so superior when he helped me. Did you see the smug look on his face?” The conclusion: we are not going to be bribed or tricked into subordinating ourselves to anyone. We tend, in many instances, to try to cut the gift down to size, so as to maintain control.

To accept a gift takes a certain largeness of soul. Why? Because a gift without strings calls for a response without strings. A gift without condition prompts an unconditional response. Receiving places us in a vulnerable position. For a while there is nothing we can do, either for ourselves or for the other except depend upon their guidance and support. Such open and innocent submission makes us insecure. Remember how Jesus said that we were to become as little children if we wished to enter the Kingdom of God? When we receive gifts of care, we are like little children. This offends our pride. Could this be the heart of the matter? When our pride is tested, we feel uncertain. We feel threatened. Sometimes we are ashamed. We are left only with surrender -- to let go and submit ourselves into their care. When we receive and feel vulnerable, we are not the center of our lives. We can resent another taking over.

Once the initial shock passes and we lower our defense, we discover that grace has freed us from futile self-defenses. We are able to move out in new and promising directions. We are on the border of love. Having been loved beyond our own governance, we have been found out (Paul’s being understood) and are released by a surprising freedom to move on. To our astonishment, once we move over and accept gracious gifts, we are inheriting a new form of assurance. This is what Jesus calls the Kingdom of God.

Our Scripture today deals with our need and our defense. The Son of man, Jesus, must suffer many things and be rejected and killed. For what? For us -- for our redemption and salvation. We cannot secure our own salvation. Like a lamb led to the slaughter, he pays a price for us. We have no adequate response. God’s gift does not depend on our ability to pay. Nor does God’s gift stem from our merit. We have no justification when we need to receive his favor. Jesus, suffering silently and dying in our place, evokes in us the need to make an unconditional response. Jesus is the source of life before whom we stand with empty hands. By his grace we are justified, unconditionally, before God. The miracle of life, which heretofore we have spent on our petty egos, is now given to us as an act of grace which takes its fullness from the gift of Christ, a giving of himself for us. The question we ask many times of Jesus is “You did that for me?”

Peter, like you and me, when given an unmerited gift wanted to find a way to gain control. He rebuked Jesus. This was not the way it was to be. So Peter comes forth to straighten things out. Jesus reminds him to stand aside, because the saving work of God must move through all resistance.

“For God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.” (John 3:17) With what do I come before the presence of God? Nothing buys or merits my way into his presence. So, God provided as a gift the means by which I can enter unto him. God’s love is without condition. At last, in the mystery of grace, the overpowering realization strikes us. You did that for me!

Praise be to you, gracious God. Like a child, receiving innocently, I accept the gift of life and love and surrender my very self unto Christ Jesus, thereby entering into the Kingdom of God.