Cheri and I are now in a significant minority group within American culture. Among the things that make us quirky: we’re in our 56^th year of marriage. Best estimates – based on census data – say that 6% of marriages make it to the 50-year mark. Death and divorce are the interrupters for couples out to set their own records. On the occasions when we’re asked for advice in making it last, our practical answer – beyond the obvious common-faith-in-Jesus foundation – is easy: it’s mostly about communication. She has a way of hitting the reset button, frequently. She says: “We need to talk.”

            Here’s what experience has taught me: when she says, “We need to talk,” what she’s really saying is: “You (Bob) need to listen.”

            Early in our married life, I thought that communication would be my opportunity to guide our way together, and I always had a lot to say. My discovery, over decades: very often, while I was talking, our marital vitality meter was trending down.

            Two weeks ago, the Wall Street Journal published a human-interest story about a guy named Fin Colleton. During the covid shutdown (thank you, Dr. Fauci), Colleton was suffering from isolation – a pandemic that affected more people than the Wuhan virus – and decided to take a proactive position.

            He made a sign that said, “How’s your day going?” and placed himself in a Philadelphia park. Strangers stopped and answered his question. Over the next days and weeks, he’d change the question on the sign and found that the phenomenon continued.

            Then in 2023 he transferred to Columbia University. He started hauling chairs and a stack of conversation prompts to parks across New York, inviting commuters, dog walkers and tourists to sit down and talk. The crowd skewed younger and the conversation topics lighter. He found some peers who shared his curiosity. They began to set up what they called “listening tables,” and gave the project a name: American Dialogues.

            Six years and thousands of strangers later, Colleton has a theory about why the tables work: There is just enough anonymity that people feel comfortable saying what they actually think, but not so much that they say things they’d be ashamed of. Also, people sitting in small numbers facing each other, he said, is “just such a human thing, like a campfire.”

            Charlie Kirk is back in the headlines as the pre-trial interplay is underway with the man charged with his killing. His rise to notoriety was fueled in no small part by his ingenious way of drawing crowds to his meetings on college campuses. What was his vibe?

            Kirk was a masterful communicator, but his protocol was to invite his audience – including, intentionally, his opponents – to come to the microphone and express their questions or opinions. He became a thought leader through doing what most talking heads never accomplish: he listened, first.

            The Holy Spirit – writing through James, Jesus’ half-brother – said it well: “My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” (James 1:19-20)

            In our modern era, we’re surrounded with angry interaction, on all fronts. As we approach the midterm elections, the mouths are all in gear and the volume is ratcheting up. There’s never been a time when there was more being said and less being heard.

            Maybe it’s time to head to the park, carrying a sign that invites big talk: “What are you thinking?” is a great way to open the door to connecting with a world dying from spiritual silence. Jesus asked more questions than He fielded; perhaps we could follow His lead…

 — Bob Shank