When someone learns I’m a pastor, three questions flash through their minds. I see the questions on their brow, the slightly skeptical furrow of apprehension. The questions are asked, whether I know it or not. And the answers are crucial to whether they will trust me.
These are the questions: Will you judge me? Will you try to change me? And will you listen to my story?
More than anything else, people are afraid of being judged. It might be a person with a large tattoo who’s chain smoking in front of me. Someone who quit Christianity because they wanted to pursue a dance career (true story). Or a wealthy lady who is obviously high, strutting to the counter of the coffee shop where I study. “Are you OK with me?” they silently ask, as I regard them. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”
When I was in treatment, there was a young woman – I’ll call her Pam – who was there for marijuana addiction. Pam had long, curly red hair, and was tan from long hikes in the woods. She knew I was a pastor and always regarded me warily – and never spoke to me.
On the last day of treatment, we went around the room and Pam told each of us how we had impacted her recovery. When my turn came, Pam looked at me and said, “You surprised me. Until I met you I thought all pastors just wanted to convert me. But you didn’t. You listened.” With Pam, I got it right. I didn’t judge her or change her.
People don’t like to be changed (even when they need to, and know it). People want to be accepted. And to feel accepted, they need someone – anyone – to listen to their story.
One night, a pastor I know was working on his sermon at Caribou Coffee. A young man sat next to him, working on a laptop. The pastor felt a connection between them, so he struck up a conversation. He had been a member of his youth group years ago. The pastor didn’t remember the young man being upset. He didn’t hear him say anything worrisome. But years later he learned that their conversation had ended his suicidal thoughts that night.
Impacting someone’s life is more about listening than having answers. The pastor didn’t even know there was a problem, but his presence may have saved this young man’s life.
I’ve learned: I can’t do very much sometimes. I don’t know everything. But I can try to answer the three questions that every person asks. I try to answer them right, because I know that people will be listening. Hopefully, through my words and presence, I will say this:
No, I will not judge you. No, I won’t try to change you. And yes, I’m going to listen to your story.
— Nelsonia
Wisdom is gained by those who have the patience to listen and observe and the lack of ego to do this.