ListenTalk

Chapter 1: The Preacher, Farmer and Everybody Else

When I was in school, pretty girls made my mind go blank. Teachers and principals made me tongue-tied. Later, corporate vice presidents had the same effect, but so did directors and even managers. So too largish groups. Any of these could make me ultra-self-conscious with the predictable physiologic result: stammering, the rushing void in my mind where thoughts and witty responses had just exited. Too often my response was to toss off clichés and canned responses as I retreated from contact.
I’d like to say I’ve grown out of that response to life situations, but it still happens occasionally, which is a shame because the words that flow from full engagement with others—unadorned conversation—can shine a brilliant light on the particulars each conversation partner brings. And those simple words traded on the fly can change the course of a life fifty years down the road.
Conversation is much more than a mundane exchange of words, despite the fact that every day’s conversations seem so unremarkable that few of us remember much of anything we say or hear. And yet conversation, verbal or otherwise, is the primary vehicle for sharing who we are. Conversation is the singular channel for coming to understand the world we live in. Through these simple exchanges, we test theories about how the world works, identify what we know and hide what we don’t, make the first tentative steps toward relationship, fall in love, make a life of meaning and finally whisper our last response to the span of years we were given. All of life is lived through these exchanges. And yet the working parts of a conversation scarcely concern us.

Street Preaching: Business Interruptus
As a kid the street preacher was my hero. His grit and determination, plus the devotion that found voice in public, made him irresistible. Despite the odds against him, the street preacher persisted. People thought him crazy and fanatical. Success was nearly impossible—if success meant convincing someone to convert. Social inertia kept any but the bravest passers-by from stopping to listen (let alone engage in conversation). And yet the preacher persisted.
I grew up in a home fiercely aware of God’s control over all of life. My family spent time with others who felt the same, so together we formed a tightly-knit community with sharp distinctions about who was in and who was out. Inviting souls into relationship with God (and so into our community) was a pinnacle, meaning-making activity: the best thing a God-fearer could experience. And our street preachers were equipped with our definition of success: the sowing of seed. Maybe something the street preacher said would fall on a listening ear. And though that passer-by walked on today, maybe the preacher’s words would bring a response tomorrow—or later. Perhaps the preacher’s words would pop to mind again and move the person toward a “Yes!” to God. But we could not be certain that goal was met until the person was pulled into our right-minded community.
The street preacher’s shouted interruption is certainly one popular approach to conversation today. Business leaders, politicians, pundits and entertainers—entire television networks—have adopted the street-preacher’s approach to bully listeners into the vortex of their monologue.
But none of that is conversation.

Plantings: Promise and Patience
In contrast to the street preacher’s shouted interruption, there was the farmer. I grew up in Des Moines, Iowa, a city surrounded by rich farmland. Iowa was and is a state dominated by growing, so agriculture was part of the daily news, part of the school system, part of everything. Every year we watched and worried over the Des Moines River flooding its banks and washing away farm fields.
My grandparents cultivated large plantings on their city property in Des Moines. In their oversized backyard, they planted rows of corn, beans, peas, onions and carrots. Grapes and strawberries and gooseberries. What little I learned about growing crops was from watching this garden operation in action. And what I knew was that seeds inserted in the dark Iowa loam predictably turned into vegetables that would then be made into a succulent meal by my grandmother. I also noticed the tending of this fertile patch caused general wonder, amazement and pride in the people working and watching (my parents and grandparents). The wonder was the fertile growth. The amazement was the absolute fresh tastiness produced by the combinations of soil, rain, sun. And it didn’t hurt that my grandmother heaped butter into much of her cookery.
Planting and waiting and wondering until you finally stand in amazement seems much more like conversation than preaching ever did.
But there is even more to conversation.

Parallel Lines. Perpendicular Outcomes.
The street preacher and farmer are in parallel lines of work: planting. But their outcomes could not be more different, based on how they interact with what the soil. One plants seeds of faith (along with seeds of doubt and judgment, depending on the preacher and the listener). One plants biological seeds. Both the street preacher and farmer can be active or passive in their work, aggressive or retiring. It is a personality thing and a methodological thing. Both the farmer and the street preacher plant by interruption (passers-by for one, soil for the other). The street preacher invites conversation while passers-by avoid eye contact and the inevitable sales pitch. The farmer interrupts too, but the soil does not reject or avoid. It receives. And in the soil the seed flourishes.
What do these two have to say about life-changing conversation? The street preacher and farmer represent two basic approaches: monologue versus dialogue. One approach gathers tools, attitudes and expectations to combine with ingredients already existing to grow a brand new thing. The other seems a relic from the not-so-good old days of proclaiming one right way and my-way-or-the-highway approaches. Certainly, there is one right way about some few things, but the work of steering another toward a cherished fact has less to do with shouting and more to do with planting. Proclaiming truth always has a place, and today we’re noticing truth works better planted in dialogue.

Five Provocateurs Talk about Talk
Our expectations for daily conversation reflect deeply on what we expect from each other. What can happen when you connect with another person? Smart people have thought deeply about this. In particular, five men will be our conversation partners throughout ListenTalk. My hope is that the conversation with these five will help us see the much wider conversation awaiting each of us.