wisdom like lightning...

I ran across this quote from Benjamin Franklin today, and it struck me how often I violate these simple principles:

The great secret of succeeding in conversation is to admire little, to hear much; always to distrust our own reason, and sometimes that of our friends; never to pretend to wit, but to make that of others appear as much as possibly we can; to hearken to what is said and to answer to the purpose. (1.)

I have often considered the art of conversation, and sometimes felt as though I were a hacker at it. While I am seldom at a loss for words, it is often the art of soliloquy that I embody. I have on more than one occasion found myself apologizing and recommending those objects of my verbosity with the misfortune to be standing around me to that support group for loved ones of preachers: On-and-onAnon. I was, honestly, convicted in every turn by Ben. Allow me to take him point by point:

To admire little, to hear much—which is to say I must not be enamored of my own thoughts and words nor necessarily of those around me simply because I may admire or respect them. It is easy for me to fall in love with my own ideas; but it is also easy for me to make the mistake of not thinking critically about the ideas of others in whom I invest high praise. The best prevention, as Franklin notes, is to listen before assessing, to get all the information possible.

Always to distrust our own reason, and sometimes that of our friends—it is nearly impossible to see around our own paradigm, to escape our own worldview. And those with whom we share fellowship most readily are likely to be, at least in part, within that same paradigm. It is well that we let our friends speak into our lives, but we need to apply the same critical thinking to their ideas that we apply to strangers or mere acquaintances.

Never to pretend to wit, but to make that of others appear as much as possibly we can—one of my professors at seminary was an absolute master at this. I always walked away from a conversation with him feeling like he felt I was the smartest guy in the room. It was not that he was without wit; quite the contrary. But he was never concerned with making everybody else realize that he was brilliant and clever. He drew it out of everyone with whom he spoke. We were all giants with him. And in the process, he formed our minds and our theology. May I someday attain to such wit.

To harken to what is said and to answer to the purpose—how many times do I listen with half an ear while preparing in my mind what I am going to say next? More than I care to admit. Or, if I'm not thinking about what I will say, I'm thinking about how the other party could better have said what it was she is saying. Rude! I find that when I focus on the other person's words and do my best to understand the underlying thoughts of what he is saying, then give myself some space before responding, that conversations are much more meaningful and engaging.

For me, this boils down to St. Paul's letter to the Philippians: Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves [Philippians 2.3 ESV].
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(1.) The_great_secret_of_succeeding_in_conversation_is. (n.d.). Columbia World of Quotations. Retrieved March 29, 2011, from Dictionary.com website:http://quotes.dictionary.com/The_great_secret_of_succeeding_in_conversation_is

community

Last night All Saints' Church in Belmont Heights held it's somethingth-annual Living Nativity, replete with straw, goats, sheep and, um... New World Camelidae—all this in the midst of the 10-year monsoon SoCal is experiencing. As I drove over to the church I was thinking to myself, "This is gonna be a complete bust. There'll be three kids and a drowned rat, and no one is gonna show and this is gonna be a washout."

O me of little faith.

I showed up to find Dan and Tom, soaked to the skin, throwing blue tarpaulins over the roof of the stable and putting spotlights in trees to highlight the performers. Shane was stringing microphone and speaker cable from the display to the parish hall. Cheryl, Anita and Henrietta were wrangling costumes and preparing young shepherds, angels, Marys and Josephs for their tableau. Jane was being crafty with the kids and Bette and Laura were loading the tables with sweets and savories. Spirits, contrary to the weather, were not dampened. There was coffee, cocoa and cider.

We are blessed to have Grace Harbor Church sharing our facilities on Sunday evenings, and they all showed up and partied with us in the rain. Chuck, our music director, rocked out carols on the piano accompanied by a mandolin-wielding bishop and vocalists of every shape and size. Families came and shared fellowship, our children—and a few of our adults—endured the dripping roof of a stable. The goats ate the burberry bushes. And we all went home smelling of damp hay and goat and burlap. It was glorious. It was community.

It was community that took the holy family in that time in Bethlehem. Dr. Kenneth Bailey, biblical Ancient Middle East scholar and professor, tells us that Luke's "stable" was not some out-building behind an over-crouded inn. It was, rather, the "attached garage" of someone's home. This was Joseph's hometown, and the dictates of hospitality would not let the community leave him and his pregnant wife to fend for themselves. No, the community—some family—took them in. And the world was never the same.

Community is what is left to us when we have expended all our own personal resources. Community is what carries us when we have no ability—or will—to go on. Had any one of us been left to our own resources last night, the somethingth-annual Living Nativity would've been a bust. In community, it was, as one reveler said to me, "the best one ever." Glory to God!