Surprisingly, this phrase dates back to the 16th century and was originally used in reference to the theater. Actors were expected to pay attention to the mood of the audience as they delivered their lines.

Thieves also used the concept in the 1800s and early 1900s. They had to scan a room to identify their next victim or determine whom to avoid. By the 1970s, public speakers used the phrase to describe gauging an audience’s willingness to listen. By the 1990s, it had become a core leadership skill for business professionals who needed to read nonverbal cues during presentations.

It is this last use that I often share with people who want to tell others about Jesus. One of the keys to sharing your faith effectively is learning to “read the room.” You need to recognize when someone has opened the door for a spiritual conversation and when their body language says they are finished listening.

Sadly, I learned this lesson by making plenty of mistakes. There were times I stayed silent when I should have spoken, and other times I kept talking long after the other person had stopped listening. I have made just about every mistake a person can make when sharing their faith, and I try to use those experiences to help others. My biggest piece of advice is simple: read the room.

When you understand your audience and how they are receiving what you are saying, you will know when to continue and when to stop. Speaking for Jesus is not about saying everything I want to say; it is about helping someone hear what they need to hear. Once they stop listening, continuing to talk can undo much of the goodwill you have built.

This fall, our Church is asking people to share their story with at least three people in their lives. I am praying that many will take that step. But they will need to be “as wise as serpents” as they speak, or their words may fall on deaf ears.

I was offering some wise counsel to someone in our church. After listening to them describe a struggle in one of their relationships, I began explaining what they could do to improve the situation. I shared principles, practical steps, and what I believed would help.

Then, as the words were leaving my mouth, a quiet thought interrupted me.

I honestly believe it was the Holy Spirit speaking to my conscience.

“You should take your own advice.”

I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts about them, then continued talking. I offered a few more thoughts, a little more wisdom, and another suggestion or two.

Again, the quiet voice whispered,

“Those are great ideas. You should try them.”

By the time our conversation ended and they left, I wasn’t thinking nearly as much about their situation as I was about my own.

I sat there alone and prayed, “Lord, help me become the person I encourage others to be.”

It’s amazing how easy it is to recognize what someone else should do while overlooking the same need in our own lives. Sometimes the best sermon we preach, the best advice we give, or the wisest counsel we offer is actually meant for us first.

Every Monday morning, I feel incredibly grateful for the events of the previous day. On Sunday, hundreds of little things happen before, during, and after our worship service that most people will never notice.

Someone unlocked the doors. Someone made the coffee. Someone prepared the communion. Someone greeted guests. Someone ran the sound booth and the slides. Someone held babies, taught children, prayed with hurting people, cleaned up spills, picked up trash, and stayed late after everyone else had gone home.

Most of these acts will never receive applause. They don’t happen on a stage. They happen behind the scenes.

More than that, some people made decisions quietly in their soul that will impact their future, their family, and possibly everyone they know. Some people gave a financial gift for the first time. Someone else prayed like they never have before. There were dozens of spiritual breakthroughs that it might take years to see.

And that’s exactly how the Kingdom of God works.

Every week I am thankful. Thankful for the people who served and the way God used them. Ministry is rarely glorious, yet God uses our efforts to change the world quietly, unnoticed by most.

I love starting my week with the people of God being the kingdom of God on earth.

How do you define a successful ministry?

It is a question I wrestle with constantly.

Does attendance measure success? Is a successful ministry one that attracts a lot of people? If so, what qualifies as “a lot of people”? More than the Church across town? More than last year? More than others in the denomination?

Or is success measured by biblical knowledge? Is it enough for people to attend faithfully, or must they also grow in their understanding of Scripture? How much knowledge is enough? The New Testament? The whole Bible? More than they knew a year ago? More than the Church down the road?

Maybe the real metric is involvement. How many people are in small groups? How many have gone through a membership class? But what if they attend every program without actually becoming more like Jesus?

Leading a church forces me to wrestle with these questions because every ministry is aiming at something. Every Church has a definition of success, whether it is stated or assumed.

The truth is that you do too.

You have a metric that shapes how you evaluate a Church. It influences which Churches you admire, which ministries you celebrate, and which ones you overlook. It affects where you worship, where you serve, and where you give your money.

The metric you use matters more than you realize. It quietly shapes your expectations, your priorities, and ultimately your understanding of what God is trying to accomplish through His Church.

The older I get, the more I find myself saying, “If I understand it correctly…”

That isn’t because I’ve become less convinced of the truth. It’s because I’ve become more aware of my own limitations.

There was a time when I thought confidence was measured by how quickly I could answer a question. Now I think wisdom is often measured by how carefully I speak. None of us sees the whole picture. We are finite people trying to understand an infinite God.

That doesn’t mean truth is unknowable. It means humility should accompany our convictions.

I’ve noticed that Jesus asked far more questions than he answered. He invited people to think, wrestle, and discover. He certainly spoke with authority, but he also displayed remarkable patience with people who were still figuring things out.

I wonder what our conversations would look like if we started more sentences with, “If I understand it correctly…” We might listen a little longer. We might ask one more question before offering our opinion. We might discover that the person across from us isn’t as wrong as we first assumed.

As Christians, we should be the most confident people in the world about who Jesus is and some of the most humble people in the world about ourselves.

After all, salvation isn’t based on the perfection of my understanding. It’s based on the perfection of Christ.

So I’ll keep studying. I’ll keep growing. I’ll keep holding tightly to Jesus while holding my own conclusions with the humility of someone who knows there’s still much to learn.

If I understand it correctly… that’s exactly where a disciple should be.

I remember very specifically July 2, 2014. There was also June 16, 2009, and August 2, 2000. I even remember September 16, 2001. I can tell you exactly what I did on all those seemingly random days. Most likely you remember none of them.

The reason they stick out in my head is that those are the days I stepped out on faith and did something big for Jesus. I started leading at a new location. I launched a new Church into the world. I moved my family four thousand miles to a place I was hoping God would use me.

Most days get forgotten unless something significant happens.

As followers of Jesus, we can step up and do something meaningful for him at any point in our lives. We do not have to wait.

Somewhere down the line, you might look back and think, “I remember July 29, 2026, because that is the day I trusted and pushed my faith to its limits.”

They didn’t know I was listening. I was lurking nearby and eavesdropping on these people’s conversation. They were not talking about me or anyone I know. The interaction focused on something that had gone wrong that Sunday morning.

One of them blamed the equipment for the issues. The problem would not have happened if the Church had purchased quality tools for the work.

The other person gave their theory on what happened and why.

As I leaned in to hear their discussion, I noticed that neither one of them accepted any responsibility for what happened. It was the equipment, not the person running it. It was that the person running it was not properly trained by someone else.

Neither one was ugly or mean with their words. They were shifting the blame to areas where they had no control.

I often think that the difference between a leader and a follower is the willingness to accept blame. To say, perhaps I could have done something to prevent this from happening. And I promise you that I will do whatever it takes to make sure it does not happen again. Leaders accept responsibility for past issues and the opportunity to make a better future.

The Church desperately needs more leaders.

Ugly is easy to see.

Turn on the news. Scroll through social media. Listen to the conversations around you. There is no shortage of things that are broken, angry, cruel, and disappointing.

But beauty?

Sometimes you have to look for it.

It requires you to slow down long enough to notice the kindness. The laughter. The sunrise. The answered prayer. The person who quietly serves without recognition. The grace of God shows up in ordinary moments.

We live in a broken world, so the ugly will often find us.

But the beauty is still there.

Sometimes we must fight tooth and nail to see it.

And when we do, we are reminded that God has not abandoned this world or us.

Someone asked me, “Do you still get nervous on Sunday when you have to stand up and preach in front of everyone?”

The person who asked me was one of the men who regularly give communion meditations at our Church. He was scheduled to speak that Sunday and was feeling incredibly nervous.

The short answer is, “Yes.”

Over the years, however, I have learned to tame and channel those nervous emotions.

First, I have learned to put that energy into my preparation. It is amazing how much your nerves are reduced after spending time praying, preparing, and practicing. There is a direct correlation between the hours I spend preparing and the amount of nervous energy I feel.

Second, I have developed habits that help me manage my emotions. Prayer is the first key. Close behind that is walking while I practice my sermon on Sunday morning. The more energy I expend, the less nervous energy I have left.

Then, when I begin to speak, I try to say something that helps me relax. It might be a funny story, a humorous statement, or a personal anecdote. Once I get a reaction from the crowd, my mind can take over instead of my emotions.

All of these techniques have been developed over more than thirty years of preaching. But in the end, they are simply ways to mask and master my fear.

Yes, I still get nervous because I am about to speak for God and, hopefully, lead people toward Him. That is no small task, and I take it very seriously.

My nerves remind me every week of the importance of what I do. Even after all these years, I still get nervous, not because I need people to love what I have to say, but because I want people to love the Lord I represent.

I love the word flabbergasted.

It is a wonderfully strange word. It sounds like what happens when your brain suddenly runs into something it cannot process.

And sometimes, I am flabbergasted.

I am flabbergasted by the beauty of creation. By the kindness of a stranger. By the way, God can take a person who seems completely lost and give them direction.

I am also flabbergasted by people.

I am flabbergasted by how quickly we can judge someone we barely know. How confidently can we speak about things we have never investigated. How tightly we can hold our opinions while barely holding on to the truth.

But perhaps what flabbergasts me most is the grace of God.

That God knows everything about me and still loves me.

He knows the thoughts I have never spoken, the motives I would rather hide, the failures I wish I could erase. And yet He continues to pursue me with grace.

I am flabbergasted by that.

The older I get, the more I realize that faith is not about having everything figured out. Sometimes it is simply standing in awe of a God who is far greater, wiser, more patient, and more gracious than I could ever fully comprehend.

And every once in a while, I think it is good for us to stop trying to explain everything.

Sometimes we should stand there, look at the goodness of God, and say: “I am flabbergasted.”