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“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”
James 1:19 (NIV)

I’ve been thinking lately about how we talk about our faith, especially when we’re not entirely sure how to articulate what we’re trying to say. There’s apprehension about speaking versus staying silent in Christian conversation. I have felt the tension within myself, and I don’t think I’m alone.

On one side, we know Scripture deserves and demands accuracy. It feels unimaginable to just generalize Scripture to get ‘close enough’ for the point we want to make. Close enough only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, as the saying goes. On the flip side is a different fear entirely, staying silent out of fear of looking foolish. If we wait until we’re absolutely certain about our quotation or paraphrasing before we speak, we’ll never say anything at all. Seeing perfectly curated videos of Christian apologists can make it feel intimidating to stumble through a real conversation with someone who holds an opposing worldview. Truthfully, it can feel terrifying in either direction.

I ran into that tension recently in a small group study with several new believers and a few “more seasoned” ones. We were discussing the Virgin Mary because someone was brave enough to trust the room and admit their confusion over the Immaculate Conception. It’s a complicated topic, and I tried to help by sharing how I mentally frame things when I’m wrestling with hard doctrines or parts of the Bible I don’t fully understand.

I spoke fluently and confidently. And when you speak that way, especially around new believers, people can hear certainty even when you’re only thinking aloud. I am a very verbal thinker, so when I’m exploring an idea, it can sometimes sound like I’m sharing a finished conclusion.

Thankfully, someone in the room stopped me gently but directly. They didn’t wait until after the thought but caught me mid-sentence. They said, in effect, “Just so the group is clear, that’s not something the Bible specifically teaches. That may just be your way of understanding it.” And they were right to say it. They kept anyone else from accepting my musings as fact. We clarified the point and moved on.

While I took it as a learning moment for myself, what I didn’t do was pause long enough to make it a more intentional teaching moment. It wasn’t until later that I realized my mistake wasn’t doctrinal. It was tonal. I didn’t mark the line between what Scripture says and how I personally try to make sense of it. A simple preface like, “This is my understanding, not a direct teaching,” would have served the room well.

Another layer to consider is how we communicate with believers and non-believers. I must admit that I speak differently to people if I don’t know their faith. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 9:22 “I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.” It means changing our entry point, our tone, our assumptions, and our language. I want people to be closer to God after interacting with me, and if someone tells me they are a believer, I assume I can put my faith on full display. I assume we’re reading the same book and standing on the same ground. That’s why I often speak openly and directly in a room of believers.

There’s also something important to say to the new believer who is excited about their faith and eager to share it. You don’t need to have every passage memorized or every doctrine mapped out to speak truthfully about God. If you know the character of your Father, you already have something worth sharing. Early faith is often marked by a kind of simple courage that seasoned believers sometimes forget. God is not waiting for your mastery; He uses your sincerity. You can speak honestly about what you know and let Him fill in the rest as you grow.

While it may be easy to understand the importance of how we conduct ourselves with those of other beliefs, the presumed conversational freedom amongst believers carries a different responsibility. My boldness shouldn’t put someone else in a bad position, and my confidence shouldn’t confuse someone who is still learning fundamentals (milk versus solid food). Discernment means listening to the Spirit about how to speak and when to slow down. With unbelievers, I move more carefully. With believers, I speak transparently within my faith. Either way, the goal is the same: to represent Christ well.

What made the night even more meaningful was what happened next. Someone else in the group, a newer believer, shared something small and quiet that had happened to him, a moment he believed was God guiding him. My wife and I had already heard a version of the story privately, but this was the first time he said it aloud in front of others.

He shared it tentatively, almost apologetically. Not because he doubted God, but because he worried others might think he was misrepresenting what God does. That fear didn’t come from pride. It came from reverence and a desire not to attach God’s name to anything falsely or hastily.

But the story itself was beautiful. A pastor I once knew called the kind of moment he had experienced “a close encounter of the God kind,” everyday life brushed by something holy. And the humility with which he shared it reminded me that no one else gets to judge another believer’s moment of obedience or quiet wonder if it does not challenge the character of God. If God used something small to speak to him, then it is special. It doesn’t need external validation.

What struck me upon reflection was the contrast. In the same meeting, I, a “more seasoned” believer, spoke with too much confidence where I should have been clearer. And a newer believer spoke with reverence and honesty where many people might have stayed silent. I spoke boldly and had to be corrected. He spoke humbly and strengthened the room.

It was a good reminder that spiritual maturity isn’t a straight line. Sometimes the younger believer teaches the older simply by being honest. Sometimes God lets our words stumble so someone else’s words can rise and bless.

And that brings me back to the tension I started with. None of us speaks from a place of full knowledge. Even those who know Scripture well still stumble. We fill in gaps. We settle for imprecise language. We get things partially right or partially wrong. The danger isn’t in trying. The danger is in pretending certainty where none exists, or in staying silent out of fear when God has given us something to share.

We don’t handle Scripture well because we are flawless. We handle it well because we remain teachable, because we’re willing to be corrected, and because we keep returning to the Word. We also handle it well when we encourage others to share what God is doing in their lives, even if their words are unpolished or their confidence wavers.

What I learned that night is simple. Speak boldly about what is clear. Speak humbly about what isn’t. Mark your boundaries. Label your assumptions. And celebrate the courage of those who share what God is doing in them, even if it seems small.

God has always used imperfect speakers. He can use our missteps, and He can use the victories of others, often in the same room, often in the same hour. Our job isn’t to be perfect, but to keep growing. Our goal is to be faithful, to be honest, and to represent the Kingdom to the best of our abilities. He will handle the rest.