This is Part 1 of a series that I’m writing this week to help you be a better speaker.
The Two Worst Words A Public Speaker Can Say
I had only been a minister at the church for two years, when it happened, and it hasn’t happened since.
The most devastating thing that can happen to a public speaker.
When someone was supposed to speak, and they don’t make it, and you’re forced to take their place.
That’s. The. Worst.
I have about twelve years more of speaking under my belt now than I did then, but giving an impromptu speech (or sermon) is similar to being thrown in the middle of a swimming pool during a swimming competition. You keep thinking if you’re kicking a certain way you might fall in line, but at the end of the day you’re afraid of looking completely ridiculous and drowning (and peeing yourself and not knowing).
Here’s the scene: We had a world-famous missionary who wrote books, was interviewed on the 700 Club, and even had a documentary coming to speak. It was such a big deal that people were bringing friends just to hear him.
But his plane was delayed. And I got the call from the airport letting me know about it. My wife and I had just ordered late lunch at Pizza Hut, and holy moly it was the worst pizza I ever tasted.
I had three hours to prepare a message.
I didn’t have any good sermons baking in the oven. All I had was hope, and a stomach full of pepperoni. I mean, come on, you didn’t want me to be rude to the people at Pizza Hut and not offer my patronage, did you? That would be savage.
When I got to the pulpit, I used two words. Two words that under most circumstances (I mean about 95% of all circumstances) you should never use when you are giving a speech.
Never.
I mean it.
I got up to a confused church and I made the best joke I ever made. “I’m sorry, I know you expected filet mignon, but tonight you’re getting Cheerios.”
The joke was freaking amazing. No one laughed because they were genuinely disappointed. It was a 9.5 on my clever church joke rating scale.
But the two words were unforgivable.
“I’m sorry.”
Yep. Don’t ever apologize for any reason during you’re talk. Ever.
I replayed that sermon over and over in my head and I thought of why I used those two words to open the talk. Here is the reason why I said, “I’m sorry” and the same reason why you do, too.
I was desperate to overcompensate for my lack of confidence and prepartation, so I pleaded for the sympathy of the audience.
There might be a smoother way to phrase that, but that’s the best I can do. I wanted sympathy because I hoped I’d get some “awww’s” or “it’s okay’s” instead of just allowing my talk to speak for itself. Quite frankly, I think it was one of the best sermons I ever preached. The reasons for that belong in another discussion, but the one thing I would change would be to start off by apologizing.
I’m going to share with you why starting off your talk apologetically is a total disaster.
1) You’re communicating in the first moments of your talk that it’s going to suck. Yeah, that’s what you’re doing. We say I’m sorry after bad things happen. You, my friend, have just prophesied suckiness with the first two words. And what are you apologizing for? Because you’re speaking? That’s garbage.
2) You are telling the audience that you’re only thinking of yourself. This is a cardinal sin of communicating. You’re not talking about what they’re going to experience, you’re letting them know what you’re thinking about speaking to them. And you’re letting them know how bad it is.
A whole other subject of another post that I’m working on has to do with this very fact, but just accept this as gospel: your audience doesn’t care one iota how you feel about being up there.
3) You are degrading the content you’re about to share. Similar to saying you’re talk is going to suck, you are basically offering up your content on the altar of pity. You’re not letting the truth of what you have to say stand, you’re kicking the legs out from under it and hoping your audience sympathizes with its broken back and coddles you as it crashes. (Too much metaphor?)
I know, this sounds harsh, but hear me out, it’s better I be frank with you about this than you get up and say, “I’m sorry.”
From a content standpoint, you’ve given the audience reason not to care about what you’re saying. That’s hogwash. There’s something good in there, but you are already telling them it’s not worth giving their full attention to it.
That’s enough. I’m sorry there’s not more, but – well, no, no I’m not sorry. This should be enough for you to never apologize about giving a talk again.