I finished How to Hear God recently. And like any great book, it’s given me a lot to think about.
It’s not what the title might suggest. It’s not a technique manual. Greig’s first move is to shift the question entirely: not “can I hear God clearly?” but “is God the kind of God who speaks?”
Once you’ve answered yes to that… things feel different.
You’re not trying to listen well enough to deserve an answer. You’re in a relationship with someone who is already trying to communicate.
As Greig puts it, “The question is not whether God is speaking, but whether we are listening.”
I like that reframing. It puts the focus where it should be… and makes me want to listen better.
The Emmaus Road
The thread running through the book is the story of the Road to Emmaus (in Gospel of Luke 24:13–35).
After the crucifixion, two followers are walking away from Jerusalem… confused, disappointed, trying to make sense of it all. Jesus comes alongside them, but they don’t recognise him. He listens. He speaks. He walks with them. It’s only later, when he breaks bread, that they finally see who he is… and by then he’s gone.
That’s the lens Greig uses for the whole question of hearing God. Not that God isn’t speaking… but that we often don’t recognise the voice, or the moment, or the way it’s happening.
It’s a slower story than I expected. Conversation. Confusion. Gradual recognition.
And then that line: “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road?”
Not certainty in the moment. Recognition… looking back.
I’ve felt that recently with house moves… first moving us to Pembrokeshire, and then where we are now. At the time, things just seemed to happen when they needed to. Looking back, it’s easier to see a pattern in it… something that feels like His timing.
That feels closer to reality than the idea of instant clarity.
The multi-channel idea
One of the best parts was the multi-channel framework.
Greig lays out the different ways God speaks… through Scripture, through inner promptings, through prayer, through dreams and imagination, through other people, through circumstances.
And then the key move:
Discernment doesn’t sit in any one of those. It happens where they converge.
Not “did God say this?” More “what is God saying across everything I’m seeing, sensing, and hearing?”
I’ve noticed that at times… waking up with a worship song in my head, then the daily reading landing on the same theme, and then something in a conversation later that day connecting to it. That kind of synchronicity.
Or as he puts it, “God’s guidance is more like a symphony than a solo.”
That feels more realistic. And slower. And a bit less controllable.
God in the culture
Later in the book Greig extends this further. God doesn’t only speak through the expected channels. He speaks through culture too… through art, architecture, poetry, the shared life of the world around us.
He points to Paul the Apostle in Athens, quoting Greek poets in a public speech: “In him we live and move and have our being.” Paul isn’t withdrawing from the culture… he’s engaging it. Reading it carefully, noticing glimpses of truth, and then pointing beyond them to God.
The movement Greig describes is triangular. Turn toward the culture. Discern where God might be within it. Turn back to God.
That’s different from either wholesale embrace or wholesale retreat. It’s more like… attention. A kind of active noticing.
I found that helpful. Not as a licence to find God anywhere regardless of content… but as a way of staying engaged without becoming anxious.
The Word and the pause
There’s a consistent return to Scripture running through it all.
Not as a separate channel… but as the grounding one. The place everything else gets tested against.
That connects into the ABC framework, which is probably the most practical part of the book:
- A — Aligned with Scripture
- B — Builds up, Christ-like in character
- C — Confirmed by others and circumstances
It’s simple enough to hold… but it forces a pause.
Feeling something strongly doesn’t make it final.
Or as Greig says, “Guidance that contradicts Scripture is never from God.”
Which isn’t always comfortable… but probably where the safety is.
Learning to listen
There’s also a thread about deliberate listening.
Creating space. Choosing quiet. Paying attention.
Not just waiting for something to happen… but actually making room for it.
That’s harder than it sounds.
Greig puts it simply: “We need to slow down in order to hear God.”
Anam cara
The section on anam cara, spiritual friendship, sat harder with me.
The idea that discernment isn’t meant to be done alone. That someone else is invited into that process. Not just to advise… but to help you see more clearly.
It’s compelling. And uncomfortable.
Part of it is not wanting to put that on someone else. But it’s also trust. There’s a real level of vulnerability in that kind of friendship.
Consistently opening that space to someone else is not something I naturally do.
But Greig doesn’t frame it as optional… and I think he’s right about that.
Silence
The closing section is about silence.
He makes a distinction I’ve been thinking about since: silence is not the same as absence.
Waiting isn’t just delay… it can be formative.
I’ve felt that recently stepping into a leadership role at the Bridge. I prayed and waited… and waited… and waited.
And then eventually, a dream… someone being impatient with me.
What else do you need?
Or as he puts it, “Silence is not God’s absence, but his invitation.”
The book doesn’t promise clarity. It invites trust.
Which sits in tension with everything before it… and is probably more honest for that.
George Washington Carver
Greig tells the story of George Washington Carver as an illustration of what all of this looks like in practice.
Carver was born into slavery. Escaped, caught, returned during the Civil War. He was bright enough to apply to a university, was accepted, and then turned away the moment they realised he was Black. He persevered regardless. Eventually became a professor. Went on to advise three US presidents.
Throughout his career he spoke to God about what he was studying. The scientific community ridiculed him for it. His response: “My intellect isn’t big enough for anything better than a peanut.” He turned to God over a peanut, studied it persistently, and produced over 300 distinct uses for it.
He turned down prestigious professorships. He stayed at his small institution, teaching poor Black communities how to farm sustainably.
That’s the whole argument in a life. You listen. You believe. You do what God says.
And for me there’s something in it that connects to a theme I’ve been sitting with lately: the idea that hard work and perseverance are not the same thing as striving in isolation. Carver worked as hard as anyone. But it was rooted in conversation with God, not just in self-discipline. That distinction matters.
What shifted
Reading it didn’t give me a method.
It shifted the direction a bit:
- From expecting certainty… to practising discernment
- From waiting for something dramatic… to learning to be attentive
- From treating this as a solo exercise… to understanding it as something shared
- From wanting immediate answers… to being in an ongoing relationship
I’m not sure I’ve fully moved on all of those.
But I know that’s the direction.
And maybe that’s the whole book, really. Three things.
Listen to God. Believe in him. Do what he says.