I’ve been thinking a lot about the ways we show up for the people around us—in classrooms, offices, coffee shops, living rooms, and all those quiet in-between spaces where real conversations seem to surface. Most of us don’t think of what we’re doing as anything special. We listen, we ask questions, we sit with people in whatever they’re carrying. But there’s something deeply meaningful—even holy—about that kind of presence.
And every now and then, a question bubbles up: Isn’t it enough to simply be kind? To love people well? Do we really need theology for that?
Howard Stone, in his book Thinking Theologically, offers a gentle nudge: whether we realize it or not, every one of us is already a theologian. Not in the academic, book-stacked sense, but in the everyday lived sense. We all carry what he calls “embedded theology”—the beliefs we’ve absorbed from church, family, culture, and experience. These shape the way we pray (or don’t), the hopes we cling to, the fears we carry, and the way we make sense of the world.
But there’s an invitation here—to move from the unexamined to the intentional. To pay attention to what we believe, why we believe it, and how those beliefs quietly steer our choices and relationships.
Eugene Peterson once said, “We don’t need more information about God; we need formation by God.” In other words, theology isn’t about collecting ideas—it’s about letting truth soak into the way we live. It’s about seeing how the gospel threads its way through our work, friendships, identity, calling, and even our struggles.
Think about the big questions people ask when life presses in:
Why is this so hard? What am I supposed to do with my life? Who am I? Where is God in all this?
Those questions are theological long before they ever show up in a classroom or a sermon. And every time we decide what matters most to us or how we’ll live out our values, we’re doing theology too.
This is why theology matters—not just for pastors or missionaries or students of religion, but for anyone trying to live with intention. Without it, our lives can drift into clichés and shortcuts. With it, we become steadier, more grounded, and more attentive to what’s real.
So when you’re sitting with someone who’s wrestling with doubt or disappointment, you’re not just offering comfort; you’re helping them reflect theologically—inviting them to see how their story fits inside a much larger one. Theology isn’t tucked away in seminaries; it’s happening on late-night walks, over morning coffee, and in honest conversations about what keeps us up at night.
There’s an old line from the apostle Peter: “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” You don’t have to be impressive or clever to do that. You just have to be rooted—thoughtful, present, and anchored in something deeper than the swirl of daily life.
So wherever you go this week—campus, office, home, or anywhere people gather—remember: you are already a theologian. The people around you are too. The invitation is simply to pay attention, to reflect, and to let what you believe shape not just your thoughts, but your whole way of being in the world.
