3. Be Open to Being Wrong.
This one sounds simple, but it’s often the hardest. If we expect others to reconsider their perspective, we must be willing to reconsider ours. It would be absurd, and deeply arrogant, to hope that someone else’s mind might change while ours remains immovable. That said, this does not mean abandoning conviction. It means holding conviction with humility. It means acknowledging that your understanding of God, Scripture, morality or truth is real but it is also in progress. To borrow the sentiment of G.K. Chesterton, I’m not saying to be so open-minded that your mind never closes on anything solid. Rather, be open to new information and where that information may lead. Remember: We are not stewards of certainty. We are pilgrims of mystery.
When someone you love offers a perspective that challenges you, instead of tightening your grip, ask yourself: Could there be something here that I haven’t seen before? And here’s the quiet miracle: When we allow ourselves to be shaped by others, they become more open to being shaped by us. We actually become companions to one another. Detour guides, if you will. In the scientific world, they call this the cognitive mirroring effect. Changing our minds isn’t based on who has the better argument, but rather, who stayed open enough to build trust through listening.
Permission to Wrestle
I was recently sitting around a fire with a family I hadn’t known for very long. Slowly, the kids drifted inside as the excitement of sports faded into the usual adult chatter: Investments, mortgages and the occasional wistful recollection of the “good old days.”
When the youngest was finally in, my friend Ethan leaned back and said, “God can just go to hell.”
He was once a pastor, and I wanted to make the theological joke that some might say Jesus has already been there, but his wife jumped in before I could. She was thinking something else.
“What am I supposed to do when he talks like this?” she asked. “He goes on these rants about how mad he is with God, and then …”
“And then what?” I prompted.
“And then Ethan goes right back to reading the Bible, praying with the kids, helping the poor downtown. Some days, I just don’t know what he believes.”
He leaned forward. “Most days, I don’t know what I believe either. What I’m reading and what I’m experiencing just don’t line up. And I’m done pretending like they do.”
“Well, you don’t have to be so blunt about it,” she said.
I finally spoke up. “That’s what we call wrestling with God. It’s what disciples do. Ethan is living like one of the Twelve we read about. Not neat, not polished by the pulpit, often messy, but I think Jesus is drawn to it.”
“So you’ve done this, too?” she asked.
I laughed. “Done this? Honestly, I don’t know another way to be a Christian. If we’re honest, aren’t we all doubters a little bit?”
A quiet moment passed. Then I leaned in. “Ethan, when you said God can go to hell, I almost made a joke about …”
He cut me off with a knowing laugh as his wife rolled her eyes. Finally, a good theological chuckle. A little spark in the dark.
Dialogue with people who think differently than us isn’t scary. It’s sacred. By staying, listening and stepping into someone’s doubts, we bear witness that even when life is confusing, our hearts can still burn within us (Luke 24:32).
In those moments Christ is close. No one can wrestle with God from far away.