Beyond Winning Arguments: Listening for the Divine in Others

Why real communion begins where the need to be “right” ends

Lately my news feed has been flooded with stories about Charlie Kirk, the recent suspect, and all the noise surrounding them. It’s hard not to feel exhausted by the endless back-and-forth.

But buried in all that noise, I’ve been thinking about something deeper: the way many Christians, including Kirk, treat faith as a debate to be won rather than a mystery to be lived. This isn’t about one person or one headline—it’s about a mindset that runs through much of American Christianity, one that prioritizes proving people wrong over truly meeting them where they are.

When Apologetics Misses the Point

Our social media feeds are saturated with public debates and “gotcha” moments, from figures like Charlie Kirk to countless others who wield faith as a weapon. One thread that stands out to me is apologetics—the idea that Christians must defend the faith by proving others wrong. Some schools even grant degrees in it. A friend’s father-in-law majored in apologetics and embodied the belief that persuading others through argument is central to evangelism.

Image by ashish choudhary from Pixabay

But winning a battle of words rarely wins hearts. It often drives people deeper into their own silos of media and books, reinforcing their narrow worldview instead of opening it. Apologetics, in its adversarial form, can become more about isolation than communion.

Holy Boldness or Closed Doors?

I remember in my 20s when a group leader’s husband called it “holy boldness”—his insistence on asserting the “right” version of Christianity. He saw it as courage. But for me, it felt like a door slamming shut. Clearly I was a minority in this belief.

People hold their beliefs for complex, personal reasons, often formed over years of lived experience. When we force them into debates or pummel them with dogma, we risk trampling the tender ground of their souls. Someone struggling with illness, grief, or financial hardship may not need to be “corrected” at all. They may need a kind word, a gesture of compassion, or simply someone to listen.

Platitudes Aren’t Nourishment

It’s painful to watch someone suffer deeply and hear them told, “All you have to do is trust in Jesus.” In moments like these, I want to say: You don’t know what they’re going through. You’re not listening.

Jesus himself met people where they were—touching the sick, sitting with the outcasts, and offering healing rather than debate. Many who turn away from Christianity today aren’t rejecting Christ’s teachings so much as they’re rejecting being bludgeoned with platitudes. They’re looking for nourishment that truly feeds their souls, not quick-fix slogans.

Faith Beyond the Intellect

Faith is not a debate club. God cannot be known by the intellect alone, no more than you can know someone fully by reading their résumé. Scripture and study can guide us, but ultimately God is met at the level of the heart and spirit, not through arguments or data points about the age of the Earth or whether or not Moses existed.

Debating someone may “win” an argument, but it often leaves the other person feeling small. And people who feel small tend to gather in groups of others who feel the same, sometimes creating communities steeped in resentment rather than love. In this way, even a well-meaning defense of faith can unwittingly fuel division.

Planting Seeds Instead of Winning Battles

In matters of the soul, it’s not about control, conquest, or being right. It’s about planting seeds of compassion, humility, and understanding—seeds that grow quietly, without force. This approach resists the ego’s craving for power and recognizes the sacred light in others.

Rather than trying to convince someone they’re wrong, we can simply listen. We can be curious. We can see God through their eyes and allow their experience to shape our own. Who knows? We might actually learn something transformative.

Listening with the Ears of the Heart

Perhaps the deepest Christian practice isn’t preaching but presence. To smile. To take someone’s hand. To listen not with the ear of the ego but with the ears of compassion.

True communion begins when we lay down our need to be right and open ourselves to the divine spark in another. That is where the Gospel takes root—not in arguments won, but in hearts met.