When I was a young, newly ordained priest, I remember spending hours upon hours preparing homilies, weighing every thought and word. While I still am committed to sound homily-preparation practices, I have found over the years that this process goes more smoothly when I intentionally and patiently focus not on my words but on the words that God desires me to utter. The focal point is more on the act of listening, which eventually leads to the spoken word. And this mystery unfolds not according to my schedule but on God’s schedule.

Good and effective pastoring hinges on attentive listening. At a recent staff meeting, we were discussing how many of us approach our daily ministry with to-do lists, only to find our plans preempted by interruptions. Many of these interruptions come in the form of having to listen to a person, concern or issue. The superintendent of schools made a comment that captured our attention. He said, “Sometimes we forget that listening is part of the doing.” Indeed, listening is fundamental to life and ministry. I used to tell couples on the day of their wedding: “Isn’t it amazing God gave us two ears but only one mouth? Perhaps that was his way of saying that listening is always more important than talking.”

During this Easter season, we as a Church listen to the first apparitions of the risen Lord from the Gospels, using not just our ears, but also our imaginations. As men charged with sharing the Good News of these accounts, it is incumbent upon us to dig below the surface by listening prayerfully to these stories as part of our homiletic preparation. Is there one of these accounts that just pulls you in and grips your heart?

For me, I find Luke’s account of the road to Emmaus riveting. Every time I sit with this text, I find myself focusing not so much on the road but on the humble abode which the disciples invited the stranger to enter. Luke tells us that in the breaking of the bread they shared, “their eyes were opened and they recognized him” (Lk 24:31). This stranger is none other than the risen Lord. I always am reminded by this story just how eye-opening the holy Eucharist can be.

‘The art of listening’

Recently, I sat with this text, and as I prayerfully listened, I found myself fixated on the initial encounter of the two disciples with the stranger. As the story begins, the disciples are having a conversation about their loss and disillusionment in the wake of Jesus’ crucifixion. What is striking — and I never saw this before — is that the stranger’s first posture is one of accompaniment rooted in listening. He asks, “What are you discussing as you walk along?” (Lk 24:17). And then he listens intently. As he listens, he builds trust, which ultimately leads to an invitation: “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening” (24:29). The stranger enters, and in the breaking of the bread the disciples recognize him. But their discovery began with the open, attentive ear of the stranger who happened to be Jesus himself.

Our life and ministry as priests take us on a road in which we encounter people who are often hurt, damaged or broken. They seek help and hope. Jesus provides a model for us to join them and listen to their plight with the promise that their eyes will be opened. Listening is one clear way that we priests can be true pilgrims of hope.

In Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), Pope Francis accents the importance of listening. He writes: “We need to practice the art of listening, which is more than simply hearing. Listening, in communication, is an openness of heart which makes possible that closeness without which genuine spiritual encounter cannot occur” (No. 171). In short, listening is part of our being and doing as priests. And this compassionate act is not just for interruptions, but for all times and seasons. 

BISHOP DAVID J. BONNAR, editor of The Priest, is bishop of the Diocese of Youngstown