No One Remembers Their Names

On July 20, 1969, the whole world watched two men step onto the moon. Their names are etched into history — Armstrong, Aldrin. But that landing didn't happen because of two astronauts. It happened because of 400,000 engineers, mathematicians, and technicians working behind consoles in Houston, most of whom nobody could name if you asked. Margaret Hamilton wrote the guidance software that kept the lunar module from crashing during descent — a critical save in the final minutes — and most people have never heard of her. The podium gets the headline. The mission control room gets the moon landing to actually happen.

I think about that a lot in our business. We celebrate the closing — the handshake, the keys, the "we got the deal done." But nobody throws a party for the processor who caught the discrepancy in the title work at 9pm, or the underwriter who worked through a stack of files so the closing could happen on time, or the ops team member who fielded three frantic calls from a Realtor and never once let the borrower feel the chaos behind the curtain. Or the compliance, Post Closing, Accounting or HR teams that made sure the deal was done legally, the company earned revenue and people got paid. How about the people who developed the systems, trained them and created the marketing materials and air cover to attract and connect with the client? They don't get the sale. They make the sale possible, and then they make sure it holds together.

Scripture has a couple like that too, and if you've read the New Testament a hundred times, there's a real chance you've never heard a sermon about them.

Their names were Priscilla and Aquila. Quietly mentioned six times in the Bible — no book named after them, no famous sermon, no miracle attributed to them. And yet look at what actually happened around them. They were refugees, forced out of Rome by Emperor Claudius around AD 49, who could have arrived in Corinth bitter and turned inward. Instead they opened a tent-making shop, and Paul — a fellow tradesman — moved in and worked alongside them while planting the church there. Later, in Ephesus, a brilliant and passionate preacher named Apollos showed up. He had the crowd, the eloquence, the presence — but his understanding of the gospel was incomplete. Priscilla and Aquila didn't correct him from a platform. They took him aside privately and explained the way of God more accurately. No headline. No credit. Just two people doing the unglamorous work of making sure the message going out into the world was actually right.

Their home became a literal church in two different cities. Two of Paul's biggest assets, who were willing to risk their lives for the cause, not the credit.

"Give my greetings to Pricilla and Aquila, my co-workers in the ministry of Christ Jesus. In fact, they once risked their lives for me. I am thankful to them, and so are all the Gentile churches." (Romans 16: 3-4) 

We don't even know what that risk was. Paul never explains it. He just never forgot it.

That's the pattern with people like this. Their impact isn't measured in what got remembered about them — it's measured in what got built because of them. Apollos went on to become one of the most effective preachers in the early church, and some real portion of that traces back to a quiet, private conversation nobody wrote a story about.

Every organization runs on people like Priscilla and Aquila. The ones who make the platform possible instead of standing on it. If you're one of them right now — in the back office, behind the scenes, catching what would've fallen through the cracks — I want you to hear this clearly: heaven kept score even when the org chart didn't.

Think of someone in your world who consistently makes other people's success possible without asking for credit. Have you ever actually told them what their work means? If you are like me, we could be better on this point.

This week, name one "Priscilla and Aquila" on your team by name — not a general thank-you to the department, but a specific word to a specific person about a specific thing they made possible.

The podium didn't build itself, the one who built it has a name, and we wouldn't be standing on it without them.