Long ago and far away, before I got into apologetics, before I had the faintest idea I’d ever be a writer or a public speaker or the host of a daily national radio show, I worked in retail. My duties? The glamorous world of stocking shelves, vacuuming floors, ringing up purchases, and the occasional “Cleanup on aisle five!”
Eventually, thanks to hard work and what my grandmother called sticktoitiveness, I was promoted to assistant manager and not long after to store manager. Not bad for a 21-year-old. Honestly, I think the company must’ve been desperate to promote someone that young. But hey, I was loving it.
I had been working long retail hours, missing time with my wife and our young child, trying to prove myself. But in truth, what helped me stand out were the capable and dedicated people working for me as clerks and cashiers, a couple of whom were several years older than me. Their diligence helped make me look more successful. Corporate liked what they saw and tagged me as a young man on the move up the company ladder. Someone to keep an eye on. Yes, I was going places!
About a year later, the VP of operations called.
“Patrick, we’d like to explore some options with you,” he said. “No promises, but we’re pleased with your performance thus far, and we’re thinking about moving you into a higher position.”
I was stunned and thrilled. A district supervisor role? At 22? My dream job.
“The executive VP will be in Denver in two days,” he continued. “We’d like to fly you up to meet him. That is, if you’re interested. The interview’s mostly a formality.”
So off I went, wearing a suit I’d charged at JCPenney because I couldn’t really afford it. Dinner was great. Mr. Corporate Exec was as I had imagined, polished yet avuncular, three-piece suit and steel gray hair, and full of questions about my goals and store strategies.
Over steak and a cold beer, we talked shop for over an hour. He shook my hand afterward, said they’d be in touch, and I flew home elated and planning my strategy for clawing my way higher up the company ladder that had just been made available to me. I was convinced the job was mine.
Except it wasn’t.
A few days later, my boss called. “The promotion’s on hold.”
What? I groaned inwardly in shock and disbelief. “I thought I was a shoo-in. What happened?”
He hesitated. “Well . . . truth is, the SVP felt you talked too much and didn’t listen enough.”
Gut punch.
I had spent the whole dinner yammering on about me, my plans, my accomplishments, my experience, and never paused long enough to really listen to what the job actually required or what the executive wanted to tell me. I thought impressing him meant talking a good game. What he was looking for was someone who could listen and learn.
That painful lesson brings to mind a sharp observation from Thomas à Kempis’s The Imitation of Christ:
“Whoever does not accustom himself first to listen and to be silent will rarely be numbered among the learned and the wise.”
That’s true in business and it’s true in apologetics.
An effective apologist knows when to stop talking. It’s not enough to rattle off Bible verses, Church Fathers, and theological arguments. If you don’t listen first, carefully, you’ll miss the logic behind the other person’s objections, or be oblivious to how they’re processing and very possibly misunderstanding your words. And that’s where real communication begins.
The same applies to our relationship with God. Of course, He wants to hear everything that’s on your heart. But much more importantly, He wants to speak to you. So, as I learned the hard way, stop yammering. Be attentive. Listen, and learn.