Eventually, somebody is going to tell you about somebody.
A marriage that’s struggling.
A friendship that’s falling apart.
A family member who said something they shouldn’t have said.
A coworker who crossed a line.
A church member who hurt them.
And when they tell you, they’re going to hand you something fragile—their side of the story.
What you do with it matters.
Because in that moment, you can become a bridge builder.
Or you can hand them another brick—and make what they’re already carrying even heavier.
Bricks are easy.
“She’s toxic.”
“You had every right to respond that way.”
“I wouldn’t put up with that.”
“Let me tell you what I know about them.”
Brick.
Brick.
Brick.
They came to you carrying one hurt.
You’ve now sent them home carrying five more.
That’s what makes Paul’s little letter to Philemon so remarkable.
Two men have become separated.
Onesimus and Philemon have wronged each other. Whatever happened between them, the relationship is broken.
Onesimus leaves.
And somewhere along the way, Onesimus runs into Paul.
And everything changes.
Not just his circumstances.
His life changes.
Now Paul finds himself in the middle.
He loves Onesimus.
He loves Philemon.
And Paul refuses to turn against one man just so he can stand with the other.
So, he becomes a bridge.
He doesn’t choose a side.
He chooses reconciliation.
Because reconciliation is what bridges are built from. Bridge builders understand this.
That said. – Here are a few things bridge builders do:
Bridge builders listen to understand, not to add to the ammunition pile.
They don’t listen to someone’s story thinking, “Wait until I tell you what I know.”
They don’t giving you another bullet.
They listen because they care.
Bridge builders address behavior without labeling the person.
There’s a difference between saying, “What they did was selfish” and “They’re a selfish person.”
There’s a difference between confronting someone’s angry response and deciding anger is who they are.
Don’t turn someone’s worst moment into their permanent identity.
Bridge builders don’t confuse support with agreement.
You can love someone deeply and still tell them they’re wrong.
In fact, sometimes that’s what love requires.
The person who agrees with everything you say isn’t necessarily your best friend.
Sometimes your best friend is the person courageous enough to turn you around.
Bridge builders protect the person who isn’t in the room.
That’s difficult.
It’s easy to protect the relationship sitting across the table from you.
But what about the person they’re talking about?
Paul loved Onesimus without trashing Philemon.
He didn’t strengthen one relationship by destroying another.
Bridge builders don’t inherit offenses that aren’t theirs.
Someone else’s conflict doesn’t automatically have to become your conflict.
You can care.
You can listen.
You can hurt with them.
You can even confront what was wrong.
But you don’t have to become another soldier in their war.
Because the moment you become a soldier,
you can no longer be the bridge.
Bridge builders lower the temperature instead of raising it.
Pay attention to what happens after people talk to you.
Are they more angry?
More anxious?
More convinced the other person is horrible?
More determined to retaliate?
Or are they calmer?
Clearer?
More willing to examine themselves?
More prepared to do what’s right?
That’s worth asking:
When people leave a conversation with me, are they carrying another brick—or are they a little closer to the bridge?
Bridge builders don’t help you build your case. They help you examine your heart.
It’s easy to spend an hour talking about everything the other person needs to change.
Paul doesn’t do that with Onesimus.
He works on Onesimus.
Then he sends him back.
Sometimes the most loving thing someone can say to us is not, “You’re right.”
It’s:
“What do you need to change?”
Because in conflict, there is almost always something we can learn.
Something we can own.
Something we can repent of.
Something we can change.
You may not be responsible for what they did.
But you are responsible for what this conflict is doing in you.
And finally…
That’s what bridges do.
Bridges carry weight so other people can cross and reconcile.
And sometimes, being a bridge means carrying weight that isn’t yours.
Paul tells Philemon, “If Onesimus owes you anything, put it on my account.”
Think about that.
Paul didn’t create the conflict.
Paul didn’t cause the hurt.
Paul didn’t owe the debt.
But Paul was willing to carry some of the weight if it helped bring two people back together.
That’s what bridge builders do.
They don’t just stand between two people and tell them to get across.
They’re willing to carry some weight so they can.
Sometimes being a bridge will cost you time.
Sometimes the cost is an uncomfortable conversation.
Sometimes your reputation.
Sometimes your resources.
Sometimes you’ll find yourself helping clean up a mess you didn’t make.
That’s the cost of becoming part of the structure.
And maybe that’s why bridge builders are so rare.
Bricks are easier.
Anybody can hand somebody another reason to stay angry.
Anybody can take a side.
Anybody can repeat the story.
Anybody can add another offense to the pile.
But followers of Jesus have been called to something better.
Don’t hand people reasons to stay away.
Give them courage to go back.
Don’t destroy one relationship to protect another.
Protect both.
Don’t stand safely on the shore pointing toward reconciliation.
When necessary, step into the gap.
Because this is what Jesus did for us.
He didn’t simply point toward reconciliation.
He stepped into the distance between us and God.
He carried a debt that wasn’t His.
He carried the weight.
He became the bridge.
So the next time somebody sits across from you and tells you what somebody did…
listen carefully.
Love them.
Tell them the truth.
Help them see what they need to do.
And before they walk away, ask yourself this question:
**Did I hand them another brick…
or did I help them find the bridge?**
phillipbrande.com 