What We Remember Most

It had been a week of shifting gears, literally and figuratively.

The week began, as it usually does, with me leading and preaching at our Sunday church service.

By Monday morning, I had transitioned from the pulpit to the vineyard, overseeing the start of our grape harvest. The picking team were in full swing by early morning, but my day took a detour as I led a funeral service, standing with a grieving family in their moment of loss.

Tuesday and Wednesday saw me overseeing picking and driving truckloads of grapes to Leocata’s Transport in Tatura, ensuring our deliveries made it to Brisbane and Sydney.

Then came Thursday, another day of picking, until I had to pause mid-morning to attend our Parish AGM. At these meetings, I usually offer a brief reflection to set the tone, but as I sat there, I realised, not only had I nothing prepared. Worse still, my mind was completely blank. In a week packed with different roles and responsibilities, my thoughts were scrambled. I tried to recall what I had preached about on Sunday, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember a single word of my own sermon.

What I did remember, however, was a conversation I had after the service. We had visitors that day, a young family juggling small children, and they had made a point of telling me how much they appreciated the sermon. They found it relevant, they said, and the highly visual way I presented it made it easy to follow, even in the midst of wrangling little ones.

It struck me that while I couldn’t recall my own words, I remembered how people’s response to the sermon felt good.

The Power of Feeling Over Words

This reminded me of something I’ve long believed about funerals. When preparing a funeral service, Celebrants take great care in choosing the right words, crafting prayers, readings, and eulogies that honour a person’s life, but in reality, most people in the depths of grief will struggle to recall exactly what was said. What they will remember is how they felt, whether they experienced comfort, dignity, and love in that sacred moment of farewell.

We see this dynamic in the Gospels as well, for example, the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. Preceding this event is an entire day of Jesus’ teaching, including a whole sermon, possibly, many sermons, but not a single word of that teaching is recorded by the disciples. Instead, what they remember, and what they pass down to us, is one simple instruction from Jesus: “You give them something to eat.”

What stayed with the disciples wasn’t the content of the lesson, but the feeling of responsibility and challenge that Jesus placed upon them. And the miraculous way in which the crowd was fed.

So, as I sat in that AGM, still struggling for something to say, I decided to tell this story. I shared how I had completely forgotten my own sermon, but that our visitors had remembered that it made them feel welcome and included

To my surprise and delight, several members of our congregations jumped in to remind me of key points from my sermon. They had remembered! But their memories weren’t just about the words I had spoken; they were about how those words had connected with their lives.

Showing Up, Even When We Have No Words

This brings me to something we all experience at some point: the fear of not knowing what to say.

How often do we hesitate about visiting someone who is grieving because we’re afraid we won’t have the right words? How many times have we avoided difficult conversations with a friend going through a hard time because we don’t know how to respond? But what if words are not the most important thing? What if, instead, our presence and our willingness to simply be with someone, is what truly matters?

Some of the most meaningful encounters I’ve had with people in times of grief or difficulty have involved very few words. A hand on a shoulder, a listening ear, a shared silence, these can speak more powerfully than any well-crafted sentence. In those moments, what people will remember isn’t what we said, but how we made them feel.

Being People of Grace

So, what does this mean for how we live?

I believe it calls us to be people of grace, people who make others feel loved, accepted, and welcome, whether or not we have the right words.

It means showing up for those who are hurting, not with answers or solutions, but with kindness and presence. It means being intentional about how we make others feel, knowing that long after words fade, emotions remain.

Most of us won’t be remembered for our speeches, sermons, or clever conversations but we will be remembered for the warmth we brought into a room, the encouragement we offered in a tough time, the way we made others feel valued and cared for.

As we go about our busy weeks, juggling responsibilities, shifting from one role to another, perhaps we can let go of the pressure we put on ourselves to always say perfect words. Instead, we can focus on being fully present, offering what we have, and trusting that it is enough.

Because in the end, people may forget what we say, but they will never forget how we made them feel.

This is the gospel and it’s good news.

Brian Spencer, Minister, Grapegower and Truck Triver.