Let me start with something familiar.
Have you ever been in a conversation where you were doing everything right on the outside—nodding at the right moments, making eye contact, even saying “yeah” or “uh-huh”—and then suddenly you realized you had absolutely no idea what the other person had just said?
You were there.
Your ears were working.
But somewhere along the way, your mind quietly slipped out the side door.
If that’s ever happened to you, you’re not broken. You’re human.
It happens to all of us.
It happens in class.
It happens at home.
It happens in meetings.
And let’s be honest—it happens in church.
I know it happens because it happens to me.
I’ve been halfway through a conversation when I suddenly realized I wasn’t listening anymore—I was waiting.
Waiting for my turn to talk. Waiting for the point.
Waiting for it to be over.
Waiting to move on to whatever was next.
And when that realization hits, you don’t interrupt and say, “Sorry, I checked out.”
You nod harder.
We all do.
Which tells us something important right away: hearing and listening are not the same thing.
You can hear words without letting them in.
You can hear sound without absorbing meaning.
You can hear instructions and still miss intention.
You can hear truth and still keep it at a safe distance.
And here’s what surprised me when I started paying attention to this in Scripture.
Jesus noticed this constantly.
In fact, there’s a sentence He repeats again and again throughout His teaching. It’s short. It’s simple. And because it sounds obvious, we usually skim right past it.
He says,
“He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”
That’s a strange thing to say—because everyone there had ears.
Jesus isn’t talking about volume.
He’s not saying, “Pay closer attention.”
He’s not scolding distracted people.
He’s saying something deeper.
He’s saying, “Just because you can hear Me doesn’t mean you’re actually hearing Me.”
What’s important is who He says this to.
He says it to crowds.
He says it to religious leaders.
He says it to His own followers.
Which tells us something critical right at the start.
Jesus never assumed people were listening just because He was speaking.
That alone should stop us.
We tend to assume the opposite. If someone is talking and the room is quiet, we assume listening is happening. If people are seated, facing forward, and not interrupting, we assume the message is landing.
Jesus doesn’t make that assumption.
He knows something about people.
He knows that listening requires permission.
You don’t listen to everyone equally. You decide—often in seconds—who gets access to your attention.
You decide:
Is this safe?
Is this real?
Are they talking with me or at me?
Is this worth staying present for?
If the answer is no, you don’t rebel.
You don’t argue.
You just drift.
And drifting is quiet.
You’re still in the room.
Still nodding.
Still outwardly cooperative.
But inwardly, you’ve checked out.
Jesus understands that drift.
So instead of forcing attention, He teaches differently. He tells stories. He asks questions. He leaves space. He allows people to engage at the level they’re willing.
Every once in a while, He pauses and says,
“If anyone has ears…”
Meaning: This only works if you want it to. That matters.
A lot of people think faith works by pressure. Or fear. Or obligation. Or guilt.
Jesus never uses those.
He doesn’t shout louder when people don’t listen.
He doesn’t trap people into agreement.
He doesn’t force understanding.
He invites listening.
That’s why His words land differently on different people.
Same words.
Same moment.
Different ears.
That difference isn’t about intelligence.
It’s not about education.
It’s not about being religious.
It’s about openness.
Listening always carries risk.
If I really listen, something might change.
If I really hear, I might not be able to stay exactly as I am.
If I really listen, I might have to respond.
So we learn how to hear without hearing.
We nod.
We agree.
We stay comfortable.
We process information without offering presence.
Jesus sees it. That’s why He doesn’t begin with commands.
He begins with attention.
Not, “Do this.”
But, “Are you open?”
That’s what “He who has an ear” really means.
It’s not about effort.
It’s about availability.
Which brings us to something most of us already know intuitively.
Listening is not just about words.
You can tell when someone is listening to you even before they speak. You know it by how they’re positioned. Whether they’re leaning in or away. Whether they’re present or distracted. Whether they’re staying with you or waiting for you to finish.
Listening is a gesture.
And when someone truly listens, the message they give isn’t, “I agree with you,” or “I have all the answers.”
The message they give is much simpler:
I see you.
I acknowledge you.
You matter enough for me to stay.
That’s why listening feels like care.
And that’s why not being listened to hurts more than being corrected.
Jesus understands this too.
Scripture doesn’t say that God merely heard information. It says,
“He inclined to me, and heard my cry.”
God leaned in.
Before He spoke.
Before He acted.
Before He fixed anything.
He listened.
Which means when Jesus says, “He who has an ear, let him hear,” He’s not demanding something He hasn’t already modeled.
He’s inviting us into the same posture.
To lean in instead of away.
To stay instead of drift.
To be present instead of guarded.
That’s why this message isn’t about trying harder to listen.
It’s about noticing how we listen.
Because everything—faith, trust, growth, direction—starts there.
And that’s the place we begin.
--- How Jesus Speaks to People Who Don’t Always Listen
Here’s something Jesus almost never says.
He never looks at a crowd and says, “You’re not listening.”
Which is interesting—because if anyone ever had the right to say that, it was Him.
People misunderstood Him constantly.
They interrupted Him.
They argued with Him.
They twisted His words.
They walked away offended or confused.
Still, Jesus almost never scolds people for inattentiveness.
Instead, He does something far more revealing.
He changes how He speaks.
That alone tells us something important about listening.
If listening could be forced, Jesus would have forced it.
If listening worked through pressure, He would have applied pressure.
If listening came from fear or authority alone, He would have leaned on that.
But He doesn’t.
He tells stories.
Which, on the surface, seems inefficient. If you had something urgent to say—something that mattered for people’s lives—why not just say it plainly? Why talk about seeds, lamps, farmers, weddings, lost coins, and family arguments?
Jesus understands something about how people receive truth.
Stories don’t corner you.
Stories don’t demand immediate agreement.
Stories don’t trigger defenses the way lectures do.
When someone lectures you, your brain evaluates.
When someone argues with you, your brain resists.
When someone tells a story, your brain relaxes.
And relaxed minds listen better.
Jesus knows this.
So He talks about a farmer throwing seed everywhere. Some of it lands on hard ground. Some of it lands among weeds. Some of it lands where it can actually grow.
And people lean in—not because they feel pressured, but because the story feels familiar. It feels safe. It feels human.
Then, after the story, Jesus says something almost casually:
“If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear.”
That’s not a command.
It’s a recognition.
It’s Jesus saying, “What happens next depends on you.”
Same story.
Same words.
Different reactions.
Some people walk away thinking, That was interesting.
Some walk away thinking, That was confusing.
Some walk away feeling quietly exposed.
Jesus doesn’t chase them down and explain until they comply.
He doesn’t simplify it until no one feels uncomfortable.
He doesn’t pressure people into response.
He respects listening as a choice.
It means listening isn’t about intelligence.
It’s not about education.
It’s not about being religious.
Listening is about openness.
You already know this from real life.
You don’t listen equally to everyone. There are people whose words you naturally lean into—not because they’re always right, but because you trust them. You sense they’re safe.
They’re not trying to trap you, fix you, or talk down to you.
And there are people you half-listen to—not because they’re wrong, but because your guard is up. You’re bracing yourself. You’re filtering.
Jesus understands that dynamic completely.
That’s why He often asks questions instead of giving answers.
That’s why He pauses instead of filling silence.
That’s why He lets people wrestle instead of resolving everything immediately.
He would rather have a few people genuinely listening than a crowd pretending to.
And here’s the honest part we don’t always like to admit.
Not listening is often a form of self-protection.
We stop listening when:
we feel judged
we feel controlled
we feel talked at
we feel like someone has already decided what’s wrong with us
So Jesus removes pressure.
He doesn’t say, “Here’s what you must do.”
He says, “Are you willing to hear this?”
That’s why His teaching feels so different.
It doesn’t attack from the outside.
It invites from the inside.
When Jesus says, “If anyone has ears to hear,” He’s not shaming anyone. He’s acknowledging something deeply human: you don’t let everything in—and that’s okay.
What you do let in matters.
Some people hear enough to be entertained.
Some hear enough to stay informed.
Some hear enough to feel religious.
Some hear enough to be changed.
Jesus never forces anyone into that last category.
He just keeps inviting.
Which is why listening, in Scripture, is never treated as a small thing.
Listening is where trust forms.
Listening is where direction changes.
Listening is where obedience begins—not obedience as compliance, but obedience as alignment.
That’s why the Bible doesn’t separate hearing from following.
“Hear, O Israel.”
“He who hears My words and does them.”
“Faith comes by hearing.”
Listening isn’t passive.
It’s participatory.
That’s why Jesus never assumes people are listening just because they’re present.
Presence doesn’t equal openness.
Silence doesn’t equal engagement.
Agreement doesn’t equal availability.
Listening is something you offer, not something that happens automatically.
Which means every time Jesus says, “He who has an ear,” He’s not asking for effort.
He’s asking for consent.
Consent to stay.
Consent to be present.
Consent to let something land.
That brings us to the next uncomfortable truth.
If individuals can quietly stop listening…
They can look fine on the outside and still drift on the inside…
What happens when entire communities do the same thing?
What happens when groups keep talking—but stop hearing?
That’s where Jesus takes this next.
--- When Listening Quietly Disappears
People don’t usually decide to stop listening.
It’s almost never dramatic.
There’s no announcement.
No argument.
No conscious rebellion.
It happens quietly.
You don’t shut the door—you leave it cracked.
And over time, that crack becomes distance.
The strange part is that, from the outside, everything can still look fine.
You’re still there.
Still involved.
Still showing up.
Still saying the right things.
But something inside has gone a little numb.
That’s why listening is such a dangerous thing to lose—because you can lose it without realizing it’s gone.
And Jesus knows this.
That’s why, near the very end of the Bible, He says something that should surprise us.
He’s no longer speaking to crowds who don’t know Him.
He’s not addressing skeptics.
He’s not trying to get anyone’s attention.
He’s speaking to churches.
Groups of people who already believe.
People who already know Scripture.
People who already think they’re listening.
And He says:
“He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit is saying to the churches.”
That raises a serious question.
Why say that to churches?
Because churches can keep talking—and stop listening.
They can stay busy and lose sensitivity.
They can stay organized and grow numb.
They can keep their language and lose their openness.
Not through rebellion.
Through familiarity.
Think about how this works in everyday life.
The first time you hear a song you love, you notice everything—the lyrics, the beat, the feeling. It hits you.
But play it enough times and it becomes background noise. You still hear it, but it no longer interrupts you. It no longer demands attention.
The same thing can happen with words.
And the same thing can happen with truth.
You can hear Scripture so often that it stops surprising you.
You can hear sermons so regularly that you start predicting them.
You can hear God’s voice so frequently that you assume you already know what He’ll say next.
Without meaning to, listening fades.
Not because you stopped believing.
But because you stopped leaning in.
That’s the danger Jesus is pointing to.
Not chaos.
Not heresy.
Not open rejection.
Numbness.
And numbness feels safe.
When you’re numb, nothing really hurts—but nothing really changes either.
You don’t wrestle.
You don’t question.
You don’t lean forward.
You hear… but you don’t stay.
That’s why Jesus connects listening with something unexpected: overcoming.
In Revelation, He keeps saying, “To the one who overcomes…”
We often imagine overcoming as strength or victory or toughness.
But that’s not what Jesus is talking about.
Overcoming isn’t about being loud.
It’s not about being impressive.
It’s not about winning arguments or proving points.
Overcoming is about staying open when it would be easier to close down.
Life gives you plenty of reasons to stop listening.
Disappointment.
Boredom.
Hypocrisy.
Unanswered questions.
People who say one thing and live another.
If you’re paying attention at all, you will eventually reach moments where listening feels risky—or pointless—or exhausting.
In those moments, shutting down feels like self-protection.
Jesus doesn’t shame that instinct.
He doesn’t say, “How dare you.”
He doesn’t say, “Try harder.”
He says, “If you have an ear…”
Meaning: You still get to choose.
Listening is not something God forces on you.
It’s something He invites you back into.
That’s why Scripture describes God the way it does.
It doesn’t say God merely processed information.
It says God inclined His ear.
He leaned in.
Before He corrected.
Before He acted.
Before He fixed anything.
Listening came first.
Which means listening isn’t weakness.
It’s courage.
It takes courage to stay open when you’ve been disappointed.
It takes courage to listen when you’re tired of being talked at.
It takes courage to let truth in when you’re not sure you like where it might lead.
And that’s why listening disappears quietly—because courage is expensive.
Here’s the hopeful part.
Listening can return.
Not through guilt.
Not through pressure.
Not through pretending interest.
Listening returns when we notice we’ve gone numb—and decide to reopen the door.
Even a little.
Listening doesn’t require perfection.
It requires willingness.
And willingness is always enough for Jesus.
That’s why He never says, “If you’ve always listened well.”
He says, “If anyone has an ear.”
Which means listening is always recoverable.
You can drift.
You can notice.
You can lean back in.
That’s the rhythm.
And that rhythm leads us to the final question.
If listening is something we offer…
If listening communicates acknowledgment and care…
If listening is how relationships survive…
Then what does it look like to finish well?
What does it look like to stay open—not just for a moment, but for a lifetime?
That’s where this all comes together.
Listening?
Let me bring this home the same way we’ve been walking through it—gently, honestly, without pressure.
Most people don’t lose their way because they stop believing anything.
They lose their way because they stop listening.
Not loudly.
Not defiantly.
Not all at once.
They drift.
A little less curiosity.
A little more distance.
A little more noise.
A little less openness.
And the hardest part is that drifting doesn’t feel like failure while it’s happening.
It feels like relief.
Listening takes energy.
Listening takes presence.
Listening takes courage.
It’s easier to nod than to lean in.
It’s easier to hear words than to stay with meaning.
It’s easier to protect yourself than to remain open.
So we learn how to be present without being available.
And Jesus sees it.
That’s why He never shouts His way into our lives.
He never forces attention.
He never overwhelms us with volume.
He keeps offering the same invitation.
“He who has an ear, let him hear.”
That sentence isn’t a warning.
It’s an opening.
Jesus isn’t saying, “Try harder.”
He’s saying, “Are you willing?”
Willing to stay.
Willing to lean in.
Willing to listen not just for instructions, but for intention.
Because listening is not just about information.
Listening is a gesture.
When you listen, what you’re really offering is presence.
And presence communicates something words alone never can.
It says, I see you.
It says, I acknowledge you.
It says, You matter enough for me to stay.
That’s why listening feels like love.
Think about the people who have meant the most to you.
They’re probably not the ones who always had the best answers.
They’re the ones who listened when you didn’t even know how to explain yourself yet.
The ones who didn’t rush you.
The ones who didn’t interrupt.
The ones who didn’t immediately fix you.
They stayed.
And because they stayed, you opened.
That’s not accidental.
That’s how God designed us.
Which is why Scripture describes God the way it does.
It doesn’t say God merely registered our prayers.
It says, “He inclined to me, and heard my cry.”
God leaned in.
Before He spoke.
Before He corrected.
Before He acted.
He listened.
That tells us something important about God.
God doesn’t love us from a distance.
He doesn’t shout instructions down from heaven.
He turns toward us.
That posture—leaning in—is exactly what Jesus invites us into when He says, “He who has an ear.”
He’s not asking for perfect listening.
He’s asking for availability.
Which brings us back to the story that gave this message its name.
Grandma said, “Go buy some milk. And if the avocados are on sale, get four.”
Grandpa came back with four cartons of milk.
Why?
Because he heard the words…
but he didn’t stay with the intention.
He followed the sentence, but he missed the relationship.
That story is funny because it’s familiar.
We’ve all done it.
We’ve heard instructions without listening for meaning.
We’ve processed information without offering presence.
Sometimes—we do the same thing with God.
We hear the verse.
We quote the Scripture.
We know the language.
But we miss the direction God is pointing us toward.
Not because we’re rebellious.
Not because we don’t care.
Listening always asks something of us.
If I really listen, I might have to adjust.
If I really listen, I might have to change course.
If I really listen, I might not be able to stay as comfortable as I am.
So we hear—but we don’t lean in.
Jesus keeps inviting us back.
Not with pressure.
Not with guilt.
But with respect.
If anyone has an ear…
Meaning: This is always your choice.
That’s the hope in this message.
Listening isn’t something you either succeed at forever or fail at completely.
It’s something you return to.
You drift.
You notice.
You lean back in.
That’s it.
You don’t need to promise anything today.
You don’t need to feel inspired.
You don’t need to suddenly become disciplined or focused or spiritual.
You just need to notice where you’ve been half-listening.
Where you’ve gone numb.
Where you’ve protected yourself by tuning out.
Where your ears were present but your heart was guarded.
And instead of judging that—just acknowledge it.
Awareness is the beginning of listening.
And listening is where everything else starts.
Faith doesn’t begin with answers.
It begins with openness.
Growth doesn’t begin with effort.
It begins with availability.
Love doesn’t begin with correction.
It begins with presence.
So let me leave you with this—not as a command, not as pressure, just as an invitation.
If you have an ear—
if you’re still willing—
if there’s even a small part of you that’s open—
listen.
Not perfectly.
Not constantly.
Just honestly.
Listening is the gesture that says, “I’m here.”
And that gesture—more than words, more than arguments, more than volume—is what keeps people alive on the inside.
Jesus knew that.
That’s why He never forced listening.
He offered it.
Again and again.
And He’s still offering it now.
