Thoughts for the Day

Tag: Christian Communication

  • After You Hit Send

    After You Hit Send

    Romans 12:18 NKJV

    This morning, I sent an email that was supposed to say I could find no indication that an item had been received.

    But I left out one small word.

    No.

    Without it, my sentence said the exact opposite of what I intended.

    The person receiving my email understandably read it as confirmation that the item had arrived and responded accordingly. When I saw the reply, I had to go back and reread what I’d written.

    There it was.

    The mistake wasn’t in how they had interpreted my message.

    The mistake was in the message I had sent.

    So I did the only responsible thing I could do. I apologized, corrected the sentence, and explained what I had actually intended to communicate.

    One missing word had changed everything.

    And once I hit send, the meaning inside my mind no longer mattered as much as the words that appeared on their screen.

    Before we hit reply, we have the opportunity to slow down, examine our motives, reconsider our tone, and ask whether our words will reveal Christ or merely release our anger.

    But what happens after we hit send?

    The message is gone.

    The comment is public.

    The text has been delivered.

    Our words have entered someone else’s thoughts, emotions, and understanding. We can’t reach through the screen and take them back. We can’t insist that the other person read what we meant instead of what we actually wrote.

    But hitting send doesn’t end our responsibility.

    Sometimes it reveals it.

    There are times when we realize we were factually wrong.

    There are times when our words were accurate, but our tone was unnecessarily sharp.

    There are times when what seemed clear in our mind became confusing on the page.

    There are times when anger caused us to say something we would’ve never said if the person had been sitting across from us.

    And there are times when one missing word changes the entire meaning of a sentence.

    When that happens, grace doesn’t defend the mistake.

    Grace owns it.

    We don’t need to offer an elaborate explanation for why we said what we said. We don’t need to construct an apology that quietly places responsibility back onto the person we hurt.

    I’m sorry you took it that way isn’t the same as I’m sorry I said it that way.

    One makes their reaction the problem.

    The other accepts responsibility for our words.

    If we were wrong, we can admit it.

    If we were unclear, we can clarify it.

    If we were careless, we can correct it.

    If our words caused unnecessary harm, we can try to repair it.

    That’s what still depends upon us.

    Paul wrote:

    “If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.”
    — Romans 12:18 NKJV

    That verse recognizes something we sometimes struggle to accept:

    Peace doesn’t depend entirely upon us.

    Paul begins with, “If it is possible.”

    There are times when it isn’t.

    Some people won’t accept an apology. Some will continue believing the worst about us after we’ve explained ourselves honestly. Some will interpret gentleness as weakness, disagreement as hatred, and conviction as condemnation.

    We can’t control every conclusion another person reaches.

    We can’t force someone to understand our heart.

    We can’t make another person receive truth well.

    But Paul also says, “as much as depends on you.”

    Something still depends upon us.

    We’re responsible for whether what we say is true.

    We’re responsible for the spirit in which we say it.

    We’re responsible for whether love or ego is motivating us.

    We’re responsible for correcting ourselves when we’re wrong.

    We’re responsible for repairing what our carelessness has damaged, whenever repair is possible.

    But we’re not responsible for forcing another person to agree with us, approve of us, or respond to truth the way we hoped they would.

    That distinction matters.

    Otherwise, we’ll fall into one of two errors.

    We’ll either refuse accountability by saying, I told the truth, so their feelings aren’t my problem.

    Or we’ll carry responsibility that was never ours by believing, If they reacted badly, I must have done something wrong.

    Neither is necessarily true.

    Truth doesn’t excuse cruelty.

    But a negative reaction doesn’t automatically prove cruelty occurred.

    That’s why humility has to ask an honest question:

    Was their reaction to the truth—or to the way I carried it?

    That question shouldn’t be answered too quickly.

    If their reaction exposes pride, impatience, unnecessary sharpness, or carelessness in us, then something still depends upon us. We need to own it.

    But if we’ve examined our words honestly—if they were truthful, gracious, and grounded in the love of Christ—then another person’s rejection doesn’t automatically become our guilt.

    Jesus spoke perfect truth with perfect motives, and people still resisted Him.

    Some misunderstood His words.

    Some misrepresented them.

    Some became angry because the truth confronted something they didn’t want to surrender.

    Their reaction didn’t make His words less true, and it didn’t make His love less genuine.

    We are responsible for what we say.

    We’re responsible for speaking truth with grace and allowing the love of Christ to be its foundation.

    We’re responsible for the words, the motive, and the manner.

    We’re not responsible for controlling the reaction those words may receive.

    There comes a point when continued explanation no longer produces understanding. It only extends the argument.

    There comes a point when another reply won’t bring peace. It’ll simply give frustration another opportunity to speak.

    There comes a point when we’ve done what depends upon us.

    Then we have to release what doesn’t.

    After you hit send, read the response without immediately preparing your defense.

    Listen for anything you may need to hear.

    Review what you actually said—not merely what you intended to say.

    If you were wrong, own it.

    If you were unclear, clarify it.

    If you were careless, correct it.

    If you caused harm, try to repair it.

    But if you spoke truthfully, carried that truth with grace, and grounded it in the love of Christ, you don’t have to keep arguing until the other person agrees.

    You’ve done what depends upon you.

    Speak the truth.

    Carry it with grace.

    Ground it in love.

    Then leave the response in hands other than your own.

  • Before You Hit Reply

    Before You Hit Reply

    James 1:19–20; Colossians 4:6 NKJV

    Sometimes the most difficult Christian discipline begins with a blinking cursor.

    Someone posts something we believe is wrong.

    Perhaps it misrepresents Scripture. Perhaps it attacks our faith, mocks something we hold sacred, or promotes an idea we believe will cause genuine harm.

    We feel the response forming before we have finished reading.

    Our fingers move toward the keyboard.

    We know exactly what needs to be said.

    And we want to say it now.

    A few days ago, I saw a post from a Christian content creator about an atheist who regularly challenged what he shared. The Christian could have blocked him. He could have returned insult for insult, embarrassed him publicly, or treated every comment as another battle to win.

    Instead, he continued responding with patience and kindness.

    That caught my attention—not because Christians should remain silent when truth is challenged, and not because every disagreement can be resolved through pleasant conversation.

    It caught my attention because I remember when patience and kindness did not always describe the way I responded.

    There was a time when I argued harshly online.

    I could justify it because I believed my position was right. I could point to the errors in what someone else had said. I could defend my tone by insisting that truth matters and that Christians should not be afraid to speak plainly.

    Sometimes I was correct about the issue.

    But being correct about the issue did not mean I was correct in the way I treated the person.

    There were times when I cared more about winning than reaching.

    I wanted to produce the argument they could not answer.

    I wanted to expose the weakness in their reasoning, demonstrate the strength of my position, and leave no question about who had won the exchange.

    And sometimes I did.

    But I have learned that we can win an argument and lose the person.

    We can defend a Christian position while behaving in a manner that does not resemble Christ.

    James wrote:

    “So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”
    — James 1:19–20 NKJV

    James does not tell us never to speak.

    He tells us not to be in such a hurry.

    Be swift to hear.

    Slow to speak.

    Slow to wrath.

    That order matters.

    We are often slow to hear because we are already preparing our response. We read enough to identify the position, place the person into a category, and begin constructing our rebuttal.

    We may answer the words they used without understanding the wound beneath them.

    We may respond to the argument while overlooking the experience that shaped it.

    We may see a critic, a liberal, a conservative, an atheist, a backslider, a denominational opponent, or someone on the other side of a social controversy.

    God sees a person.

    Listening does not require agreement.

    Understanding someone’s position does not obligate us to accept it.

    Grace does not demand that truth become vague, conviction become weak, or sin be renamed so no one feels uncomfortable.

    But if we are unwilling to hear a person, we may never understand how to reach them.

    James also tells us why our delay matters:

    “For the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”

    Human anger can produce many things.

    It can produce a sharp response.

    It can produce applause from people who already agree with us.

    It can produce embarrassment, silence, retaliation, and an even deeper division between two people.

    But it cannot produce the righteousness of God.

    We sometimes act as though enough anger will make our argument more powerful. We increase the volume, sharpen the insult, and make the language more humiliating—as though cruelty adds authority to truth.

    It does not.

    Truth does not need our wrath to make it true.

    There is a difference between conviction and aggression.

    Conviction says, This matters, and I cannot pretend otherwise.

    Aggression says, Because this matters, I am justified in treating you as though you do not.

    Conviction is willing to stand.

    Aggression needs to strike.

    Conviction is governed by truth.

    Aggression is often governed by the desire to punish the person who challenged us.

    Not every firm response is unkind. Jesus spoke plainly. The prophets spoke plainly. Paul corrected error, confronted hypocrisy, and defended the gospel.

    But biblical boldness was never permission for personal cruelty.

    The question is not merely whether the words are true.

    The question is also what spirit is carrying them.

    For years, I have used a principle about communication:

    It is not so much what we say as how well we articulate what we are saying.

    That principle has served me well in writing, teaching, and business. The right words, carefully chosen, can communicate a difficult truth without creating unnecessary confusion or hostility.

    Sometimes, as I have jokingly said, you have to dress up a skunk and call it a kitten.

    But biblical communication must go further than presentation.

    A skunk dressed like a kitten is still a skunk.

    An insult written eloquently is still an insult.

    Contempt wrapped in polished language is still contempt.

    We can make cruelty sound intelligent. We can place sarcasm inside a perfectly structured sentence. We can humiliate someone so skillfully that the people who agree with us applaud the craftsmanship.

    But God is not impressed because we made wrath articulate.

    Paul wrote:

    “Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one.”
    — Colossians 4:6 NKJV

    Paul joins grace with an answer.

    That means grace is not silence.

    It is not the absence of conviction.

    It is not a refusal to address what is false, harmful, or spiritually dangerous.

    Grace affects how we answer.

    Salt gives flavor, but it also preserves. Our words should not merely make a point. They should preserve the possibility that the person before us may still hear the truth we are trying to communicate.

    And Paul says we should know how to answer each one.

    Not every person needs the same response.

    Some need correction.

    Some need explanation.

    Some need a question that helps them examine what they believe.

    Some are speaking from pain and need to know they have been heard before they can hear anything we say.

    Some are looking for a fight, and wisdom may tell us not to provide one.

    A practiced response aimed at a category may miss the person standing before us.

    This becomes especially important online because the screen creates distance.

    We do not see the person’s face change when our words wound them.

    We do not hear the silence that follows.

    We do not know whether the individual reading our response has been mistreated by a church, disappointed by someone who claimed to represent God, or quietly searching for a reason to believe Christians possess something different from the hostility found everywhere else.

    And the person receiving our reply may not be the only one reading it.

    Someone silent is watching.

    Someone who never leaves a comment is deciding what our faith looks like when challenged.

    Someone is observing whether Christianity produces humility, patience, and self-control—or simply another group of angry people convinced that their anger is righteous.

    For years, I taught my Sunday School students that we can look the part and say all the expected things, but people are watching to see whether our actions agree with our words.

    Some of those people we will never meet.

    They may never speak to us, leave a comment, or tell us what they observed. But they are studying our lives and deciding whether the faith we profess produces anything different in the way we treat others.

    Our conduct may be the first explanation of Christianity they ever believe.

    Before we hit reply, we should pause long enough to ask what we are trying to accomplish.

    Am I trying to help this person see truth, or am I trying to make them regret challenging me?

    Am I trying to represent Christ, or am I trying to release my anger?

    Would I say these words in the same way if this person were sitting across the table from me?

    Have I listened closely enough to answer what was actually said?

    Is my response seasoned with grace—or merely sharpened with sarcasm?

    Will these words leave a door open for another conversation, or am I slamming it because ending the argument feels like winning?

    There will be times when we must speak.

    There will be moments when silence would be easier but faithfulness requires an answer.

    There will be truths that remain difficult no matter how gently they are expressed.

    Our goal is not to make truth harmless.

    Our goal is to ensure that any offense comes from the truth itself—not from our pride, impatience, cruelty, or desire to humiliate.

    Jesus did not call us to defeat people.

    He called us to reach them.

    That requires more than a correct argument.

    It requires a heart that remembers there is a person behind the position.

    So before you hit reply, pause.

    Read the words again.

    Pray before answering.

    Ask whether the response forming in your mind will reveal Christ or merely release anger.

    You may still need to disagree.

    You may still need to correct what is false.

    You may still need to speak with clarity and conviction.

    But let your speech always be with grace.

    Because being right does not excuse being cruel.

    And the purpose of speaking truth is not merely to leave an opponent without an answer.

    It is to leave a heart with an opportunity to hear.