Bad human communication leaves us less room to grow.

Host: The library was quiet except for the slow turning of pages and the occasional sigh of the old wooden beams settling into night. The lamplight pooled softly over the long oak table where Jack and Jeeny sat, surrounded by towers of books — theology, psychology, poetry.

Outside, rain tapped lightly against the tall, arched windows. The world felt suspended — like time itself was listening for the next sentence.

A single candle flickered beside them, throwing shifting shadows across their faces — light and darkness trading thoughts, just as they were about to.

Jeeny: “Rowan Williams once said, ‘Bad human communication leaves us less room to grow.’”

Jack: (closing his book) “That’s an elegant way of saying we destroy each other with misunderstanding.”

Jeeny: “Or we shrink. Without real communication, we live smaller lives.”

Jack: “You make it sound poetic. I think it’s simpler — we’re just bad at talking. Words fail, tone betrays, silence fills the gaps wrong.”

Jeeny: “It’s not the talking that’s bad, Jack. It’s the listening. Everyone hears to reply, not to understand.”

Jack: “You mean like we do?”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Exactly like we do.”

Host: The candle flame wavered, a little gust from the half-open window teasing it. Their faces flickered — half warmth, half wariness.

Jack: “So, communication — the most human thing — is also the most fragile. We’re wired to connect, but cursed with imprecision.”

Jeeny: “And yet, the moments when we do connect are miraculous. Think about it — billions of minds trying to translate feeling into sound, and once in a while, two of them understand each other. That’s sacred.”

Jack: “And the rest of the time?”

Jeeny: “Hell.”

Host: The rain began to fall harder now, the rhythmic sound like a soft percussion behind their words. The smell of wet earth drifted in through the window.

Jack: “Williams was an archbishop, right? So he’s talking about moral communication — empathy, compassion, truth. The kind that builds rather than wins.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because growth isn’t just personal. It’s relational. Every good conversation stretches you — teaches you to see from another soul’s window.”

Jack: “And bad communication closes those windows. Makes you afraid of what’s outside.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You start living in echo chambers — loving only the sound of your own voice.”

Host: Jeeny leaned back, her gaze lost in the flicker of the candle. Jack followed it, his expression softer now, reflective.

Jack: “You ever notice how we mistake communication for noise? We fill space with words because silence feels like failure.”

Jeeny: “But silence can be honest, too. The space between words — that’s where understanding breathes.”

Jack: “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I’ve seen it. My mother and I used to fight all the time. One night, we stopped arguing. We just sat there — both crying, both silent — and that silence said more than all the years of shouting.”

Jack: “So silence became the first good conversation.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it was real.”

Host: The thunder rolled far away, soft and deep, like the sound of the world remembering something it once meant to say.

Jack: “We live in a time of bad communication, don’t we? Everyone’s speaking louder, shorter, faster. Conversations have become performances.”

Jeeny: “And honesty has become rare. Because honesty requires slowness — it needs trust, not an audience.”

Jack: “So the more connected we get, the less we actually communicate.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We confuse transmission with understanding.”

Jack: “Then maybe Williams meant growth in the spiritual sense — not just learning, but evolving. Bad communication makes us smaller because it stops empathy. Without empathy, we can’t evolve as a species.”

Jeeny: “You’re right. Every war starts as a failed conversation.”

Jack: “And every peace begins as a brave one.”

Host: The rain softened again, almost like applause fading at the end of an intimate concert. The candle burned lower, wax pooling at its base like the remnants of old intentions.

Jeeny: “You know what I think good communication really is?”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “Humility in motion. It’s the willingness to admit, ‘I might be wrong. Tell me more.’ That’s what creates room to grow.”

Jack: “And bad communication?”

Jeeny: “Ego in disguise. Talking not to connect, but to conquer.”

Jack: “So, most of human history, then.”

Jeeny: (laughs) “Yes. But we’re learning. Slowly.”

Host: A pause. They sat quietly, the candlelight warm between them. The rain had almost stopped now, leaving the soft sound of dripping water from the eaves — steady, gentle, like punctuation at the end of a truth.

Jack: “It’s strange. Growth doesn’t come from knowledge, really. It comes from the space we make for others inside ourselves.”

Jeeny: “Yes. That’s what communication is — architecture of empathy. When it’s bad, we build walls. When it’s good, we build bridges.”

Jack: “And when it’s perfect?”

Jeeny: “When it’s perfect, we disappear — and only understanding remains.”

Host: The candle flickered one last time, then went out. The sudden darkness wasn’t empty — it felt alive, full of presence. The faint blue light from the storm outside painted their faces with a new kind of clarity.

Jack: “You know, Rowan Williams was right. Bad human communication leaves us less room to grow — but good communication? It makes the universe larger.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because every honest conversation expands creation just a little more.”

Jack: “Then maybe that’s our work — to keep the world from shrinking with every careless word.”

Jeeny: “To speak softly. To listen deeply. To grow together.”

Host: Outside, the storm ended. The air smelled clean, reborn.

Inside, silence lingered — not as emptiness, but as understanding.

And within that silence, Rowan Williams’s words seemed to echo softly across the dim room —
a quiet sermon in the language of human frailty:

That bad communication is not merely failure of speech,
but failure of presence.
That to misunderstand another
is to forget that they, too, are the universe trying to know itself.

And that in every word honestly spoken,
and every silence humbly shared,
we grow — not apart, but toward each other.

Host: Jeeny closed her notebook.

Jeeny: “You think we’re any good at this?”

Jack: “Not yet.” (smiling) “But we’re learning.”

Host: They rose and left the library hand in hand,
their footsteps soft against the marble floor,
as the night outside widened —
quiet, infinite, and full of room to grow.