Careless words spoken about a friend

September 6, 2024

James had it right when he compared the tongue to a fire, a world of unrighteousness. You always thought it was an exaggeration. But now, you understand.

You’re sitting in your favorite chair, the one molded to your body from years of use, sipping a cup of coffee that’s gone lukewarm when the phone rings. When you see the caller ID, a slight unease curls around your chest like the first gust of wind before a storm. A friend is calling, but not one who calls often. As soon as you answer, you hear it in their voice. Something is off.

It starts with small talk, the kind that usually floats by unnoticed, but today, it feels like a lifeline you’re grasping onto, hoping the conversation stays shallow. But, as it inevitably does, the conversation changes, and you hear it—a phrase, a sentence, something you said in passing weeks ago, slipping out of their mouth like a fish escaping a net. You feel the words lurch back at you, but they’ve transformed somehow. They’re much heavier now.

You try remembering when you said it, maybe during a late-night chat when your guard was down, or worse, a casual aside over dinner with mutual friends. You meant it as a joke or perhaps a bit of honest critique—nothing serious, nothing meant to wound. But here it is, dragged out into the open, glistening under the harsh light of someone else’s hurt.

You stammer out an apology, words tangled like your shoelaces after you’ve stepped on them. But you can hear the disappointment and pain seeping through the phone. And you realize, perhaps too late, that words have a way of sticking, of lodging themselves in places you can’t reach like a splinter you didn’t even know was there until it festered.

James had it right when he compared the tongue to a fire, a world of unrighteousness (Jas 3:6). You always thought it was an exaggeration, like when people say their headaches feel like their skull is splitting in two. But now, you understand. Your words—those fleeting, careless words—sparked something you can’t quickly extinguish.

You hang up, feeling like a child again, caught in a lie you didn’t realize was a lie until it was too late. You think about how many times you’ve read Ephesians 4:29: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” You wonder if you’ve ever truly understood it. It seemed simple enough in the abstract, like advice from a wise but distant uncle. But now, it looms large, like a flashing neon sign, reminding you of your failure.

There’s a temptation to minimize it, to brush it off as a misunderstanding. But deep down, you know better. The Holy Spirit, that gentle yet insistent presence, nudges you to examine your heart. You find there the ugly roots of pride, of the need to be right, clever, and admired, even at someone else’s expense.

It’s a hard thing to face yourself like this. But you remember Jesus’s words:

So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. (Matthew 5:23, 24)

You sigh, a sigh that says you know what you need to do, even if you’d rather not. There’s humility in admitting you’ve hurt someone, especially when it wasn’t your intention. But there’s also grace to be found in the apology, in the mending of what’s been torn, in the chance to build something better than what was there before.

You pick up the phone again, this time to make things right. As you dial, you remember that the same tongue that sparked a fire also has the power to heal, bless, and speak life. And maybe the words you choose now will do just that.

Careless words spoken about a friend

Recommended reading