Listening is underrated and undervalued. Most of the time, when we’re “listening,” were just waiting to talk. Compassionate listening requires an ear that is nonjudgmental. A heart that can humbly receive what words are trying to communicate necessitates patience, and an openness to suffering that vocabulary tends to either minimize or exaggerate. My work as a street minister is rooted and grounded in public listening. When I listen in and through the Holy Spirit, my opinions are restrained and held in check. “My dear friends, you should be quick to listen and slow to speak or to get angry (James 1:19 CEV).”

Last night on outreach, it was unusually quiet. The streets felt well rested. The rain had stopped, and it was unseasonably warm. My fellow chaplain is from Ireland. Her warm Irish brogue naturally forms all conversation into prayerful poems, practical and sturdy, pregnant with the inevitability of hope. We are downtown and talk with two men living in tents in front of the mission. Larry is happy to talk with us and thankful for a pair of gloves and handwarmers. His neighbor, Richard, is sixty-five and has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. The infection in his lungs is painful and makes it hard for him to breathe. He tells us that he plans to go to Urgent Care in the morning. I ask if he wants to go the Emergency Room tonight and he answers with an emphatic, “Hell no.” I affirm his choice to seek medical care in the morning and we pray.

A few blocks away we are at the park with a gentleman who begins to cry sharing the fragmented bits and pieces he can remember of his life. His neighbor is beyond grateful to have a fresh pair of socks. His feet have been wet all day. He takes his shoes and wet socks off and lets his feet dry. He tells me that he was a Marine in Afghanistan. I thank him for his service, he pauses, and very gently says, “You’re welcome.” It gets incredibly quiet, and we both are aware that I have no idea what it’s like to be a combat soldier. We sit in the most unawkward awkward silence, allowing the healing breath of the Spirit to pour over us. “Only God’s Spirt gives new life. The Spirit is like the wind that blows wherever it wants to. You can hear the wind, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going (John 3:8).” I give him another pair of socks.

We make our way to another park where my homeless friends sleep. It is well lit, with an awning that makes it dry and feel reasonable safe. Matthew tells us that all his stuff was stolen. Matthew always greets me with a story of injustice and the moral failings of his neighbors. He asks me if I know why it’s so quiet on the street tonight. I confess my ignorance and agree that there is a palpable holy silence in the air. He nods and says, “the devil knows you’re out here and he’s scared.” He begins to talk about church, bursts into tears, and walks away thanking us for the beanie and fruit snacks.

We end our night by the bus stop and meet William. William asks if I am a priest and tells me that he has been haunted all day by images of burning skulls. We talk about the battle between good and evil, the power and authority of Christ, and how drug use is an invitation to the spirit of oppression. William vulnerably shares his feelings of isolation, despair, and anxiety about God’s love for him. We hold hands and begin to pray. We invite his friend to join us who looks me in the eye and tells me he hates prayer. William tells him to put his beer down and be respectful. I tell him that he doesn’t have to pray. I begin praying and William’s buddy tries to disrupt our time with angry mumbling, eventually threatening to punch me in the face. I pray thanksgiving for William and how God silences the voice of our enemies. With that, the angry friend stops talking and goes running down the street. William and I talk more about the bondage of addiction and the freedom of Christ. We pray a second time. When were finished, William smiles and says, “It’s been a while since I’ve prayed like that!” “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans (Romans 8:26 NIV).”

Michael Cox