Conversations that shape a disciple | Duncan Williams

What is your discipleship strategy? Do you actively look to discipling your members or congregation? Duncan shares insight into how to hold conversations that help shape Christian disciples.

Human interaction is something we carry out so constantly and instinctively that we rarely stop to examine it. We speak, listen, respond, nod, avoid, embrace, withdraw, or welcome almost without conscious thought. Yet beneath every exchange - whether we are talking to a close friend or someone we will never meet again - is an interior landscape shaping our reactions. Our thoughts, hopes, insecurities, and beliefs walk with us into every moment of contact. They colour the tone of our words, influence our openness or defensiveness, and affect whether a conversation becomes a meaningful meeting or a missed opportunity. 

This inner world is not a bland background. It is active, complex, and often surprising. One day we may find ourselves calm, patient, and able to listen deeply; the next, we are hurried or irritable without being entirely sure why. Sometimes we enter a conversation feeling grounded enough to show warmth or interest; other times, we are preoccupied and simply do not have the emotional energy to pay attention. Yet most people - ourselves included - don’t notice these shifts while they’re happening. We simply react, sometimes confused by the results. 

For the Christian, however, this inner world is not merely a psychological curiosity. It is the place where God meets us. It is the realm in which the Holy Spirit shapes us day by day, quietly forming habits of heart that become the foundation of our relationships. There is a reason Jesus said, “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of” (Matthew 12:34). Everything visible in our relationships flows from something interior. And so, if our inner world is disordered - crowded with fear, resentment, insecurity, or pride - this will inevitably emerge in how we treat others. But if our inner world is being renewed by grace, softened through confession, steadied through prayer, and filled with the peace of Christ, then our outer connections begin to show that too, often without us realising it. 

This link between inner formation and outer relationship is important because much of our daily discipleship is lived not in dramatic decisions but in ordinary interactions. A brief conversation on the school run, a momentary chat over a till, a quiet greeting to someone in church who sits alone - these are not insignificant. They are places where grace may enter, sometimes gently and without fanfare. When we observe the life of Jesus, we see that most of His ministry took place in small interpersonal encounters: noticing someone others ignored, asking a question that mattered, speaking a word of comfort or challenge, offering presence to the overlooked. These everyday moments became sites of transformation. 

If we look carefully, two simple movements appear again and again in the ministry of Jesus, and indeed throughout Scripture. The first is the outward step of contact - the willingness to pause and recognise another person’s presence. The second is the inner shift of connection - offering not just attention but understanding, empathy, and a kind of spiritual hospitality. 

The first movement, making contact, is more challenging today than it might initially seem. We live in a culture of hurriedness. Schedules are packed, minds are scattered, and attention is fragmented. Many of us move through public spaces with a subtle but habitual withdrawal - wearing headphones, checking phones, avoiding prolonged eye contact, mentally rushing on to the next task. None of this is malicious, but it often means we glide past opportunities to communicate care. 

When Jesus was surrounded by a pressing, jostling crowd, a woman reached out in desperation and touched His cloak. Many would have kept walking. But Jesus stopped. “Jesus, knowing in himself that power had gone out of him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, ‘Who touched my garments?’” (Mark 5:30, ESV). That moment of contact - His willingness to pause, look around, and seek out the person others overlooked - opened the way for her healing to be recognised, affirmed, and received publicly. Before any teaching or transformation took place, Jesus offered presence. The same pattern repeats through His ministry: others saw interruptions; He saw people. 

This outward movement is the starting point for all meaningful connection. Without it, our lives shrink into a private world, and our faith begins to lose one of its essential outward expressions. Contact does not require eloquence or extroversion. It simply requires a moment of attentiveness - a willingness to acknowledge the person in front of us as someone made in the image of God. 

But contact alone is not enough. It opens the door, but it cannot take us through it. The second movement - building connection - is deeper and more demanding. It asks something of us. To connect with another person is to step beyond our instinctive interpretations and momentarily set aside our own concerns. It is to listen in a way that is rare today: not waiting to respond, not forming counterarguments, not scanning for exits, but really hearing what is being said. 

Paul describes this posture in terms that sound simple but are difficult to practise. “In humility value others above yourselves,” he writes, “not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others” (Philippians 2:3-4). That humility is not self-neglect; it is the quiet discipline of widening our attention so that the experience of another person becomes central, even just for a few minutes. It requires patience. It involves curiosity. It often demands silence - a commodity in short supply. 

Connection is not helped by speed. It grows in small gestures that communicate safety: a pause to let someone gather their thoughts, a tone that conveys kindness, the absence of judgement in our gaze. Scripture’s guidance on this is both succinct and profound: “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (James 1:19). Within a very noisy world, this is countercultural wisdom. When we practise it, we discover that conversations which might otherwise have remained on the surface can open into something more honest, even healing. 

However, it’s important to recognise that many people simply have not had the opportunity to learn these relational patterns. Some were raised in environments where emotions were minimised or dismissed. Others carry burdens that make vulnerability feel dangerous. Some have been misunderstood or mocked so often that they retreat before words are ever exchanged. Once we realise this, we approach others differently. We begin to interpret awkwardness not as rudeness but as self-protection. We learn to perceive withdrawal not as indifference but as wariness. And gradually, we develop a more compassionate instinct - one that mirrors the gentleness of Christ. 

This awareness also softens our expectations of ourselves. We will not get this right every time. There will be moments when we react sharply, or withdraw, or allow our own inner world to overshadow the needs of another. But our hope lies not in perfect relational skill but in continual spiritual formation. As the Holy Spirit works within us, day by day, He slowly reshapes the instincts of our hearts. The fruit named in Galatians - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control - are not self-improvement goals but the natural result of a life responsive to God. 

This process is rarely dramatic. More often it is gradual, like the quiet strengthening of a root system. Paul uses the image of believers being “rooted and established in love” (Ephesians 3:17). When roots grow deep, a tree can withstand storms and still offer shade. In a similar way, when our inner world becomes more rooted in Christ, our outer interactions become calmer, more grounded, and more gracious. We become less easily threatened and more easily moved by compassion. Conversations that once would have escalated or shut down now have space to breathe. We begin to notice people who might previously have slipped past our attention. 

It is striking how often profound change in Scripture begins with such small, relational gestures. Elijah, exhausted and despairing, was met by God not with a display of power but with a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12). The disciples on the road to Emmaus did not recognise the risen Jesus until He lingered with them over a meal (Luke 24:30–31). In each case, connection - not spectacle - opened the heart to God’s presence. 

And so it is in our world. A brief moment of sincerity, a well-timed question, a small act of attentiveness can be far more significant than we know. In a culture where many feel unseen or unheard, these small acts can be a revelation. When we take the time to speak kindly to someone who expects indifference, or listen carefully to someone used to being rushed, we participate in God’s quiet work of restoration. We may not see the results, but we trust the Spirit uses these moments. 

This does not mean we must force emotional depth into every interaction. Not every conversation is destined for profound connection. But every conversation holds the possibility of grace. Sometimes the most Christlike thing we can offer is simply the assurance that someone is worth noticing, worth listening to, worth receiving with gentleness. These small acts accumulate. They shape households, churches, communities. They soften hearts hardened by fear or disappointment. They contribute to a culture in which people feel valued not for their achievements but for their inherent dignity before God. 

If we begin to see our daily interactions through this lens - as opportunities to embody the character of Christ - then the spiritual significance of ordinary moments becomes clearer. When we set aside hurriedness for a moment of contact, or resist defensiveness in order to listen, or offer a simple word of encouragement, we are participating in the ministry God entrusts to all His people: the ministry of reconciliation, of welcome, of peace. 

Perhaps this is one of the quieter ways the Kingdom grows. Not always through sweeping movements or dramatic conversions, but through lives shaped by Christ in such a way that others glimpse His gentleness in our presence.  

The world does not always need louder voices or sharper arguments. Sometimes it needs people whose inner world has been softened by grace - people who approach others with patience, humility, and hope. When we live this way, even imperfectly, our connections become small signs of the God who sees and knows and loves. 

About the author

Duncan Williams is an accredited Life Coach Minister, editor and journalist with a passion for helping people grow in faith and purpose, contributing widely to Christian media and mentoring emerging voices in the global faith community.