Building Bridges in a World of Fire

A Christian response to the age of polarization

I can't shake this image from my head: There's a distant kingdom, beautiful, just, and good. It's ruled by a loving king who lifts up the poor, fixes what’s broken, and offers true freedom. A place of pure and honest joy that once experienced, you can't help but want others to experience too. And in this world, I've spent years building a bridge to help people find their way to this kingdom. A kingdom that is meant for everyone.

But here's the part I haven't been able to let go of: In that same vision, the bridge is on fire.

And I'm the one holding the match.

This isn't just metaphor. I see it playing out every day. We all say we want to change the world. Christian and post-Christian. Activist and apologist. Democrats and republicans. We talk about justice, truth, revival, and healing. We point to that better world across the bridge, a kingdom where people thrive. But instead of walking people there, we're setting fire to the only path they can take.

It's like we forgot how change actually works.

Real change, lasting change, doesn't happen through dominance or disengagement. It happens through connection. Through trust. Through staying in the tension long enough for love to do its work. But we're so eager to win, we're no longer willing to wait. We cut people off. We dunk on them. We drop truth like a bomb and walk away, proud of ourselves for speaking out, even if no one's left listening. And we're losing the very people we're called to love.

Something I have had to come to grips with recently is this:

You can't influence someone you've erased.

You can't help someone rethink something if you've already written them off. You can't change the world while standing alone on your moral high ground, refusing to sit at the table with anyone who sees things differently. That just isn't going to work. And as I said, I'm guilty as charged.

What I'm learning is that influence requires proximity.

Real influence doesn't happen in the comments section (as much as I wish it did). It doesn't come from a mic-drop moment or a viral reel. (Again, guilty.) It happens slowly. Over time. In relationship. That's how change happened for me. In fact, many of you would be appalled at some of the things I preached 5 years ago. But thank goodness the people in my life were patient with me.

But here's the other thing: You can't just stand at the edge of the bridge, shouting about how great it is on the other side. You have to be willing to walk people across.

And that's slow, frustrating, sometimes thankless work. It means answering the same questions again and again. It means listening to people say things that make your blood pressure rise. It means staying in conversations that cost you something.

I hear people say all the time, "I shouldn't have to educate people," or "I shouldn't have to explain this," or "It's not my job to walk someone through this stuff." And I get it. It's exhausting. It's not fair. But you know what?

That's leadership.

Leadership means going first. It means not just talking about the better world, you show the way. You go slow when others can't keep up. You stay steady when they start to doubt. You keep pointing forward, not because it's easy, but because you believe in where you're going.

If we want people to see the Kingdom, we can't just describe it. We have to walk them there.

Arthur Brooks, in Love Your Enemies, says that,

"…persuasion is impossible without warmth."

I love that idea. People don't change because they're humiliated. They change because they feel safe, because someone stayed long enough to earn the right to speak into their life. (I had that person.) But many of us have lost our staying power. We'd rather be seen as right than be known as present. We'd rather get applause from our own team than risk empathy with someone outside it. We have become so polarized that when we attempt to compromise, we are labeled a sellout. It’s sad.

And that's the problem with cancel culture.

Now, don't get me wrong, there are times when boundaries need to be drawn. There are voices that should not be given platforms. There are people that need to be removed from positions of power and influence immediately. I understand that, and that line matters. But sometimes, we're so eager to protect our space that we miss what God might be doing through the discomfort of being stretched.

Let me give you a real example.

A few months ago, someone on our church staff invited a guest speaker to preach at one of our conferences. Full transparency: our church leans progressive. We're openly inclusive. We affirm LGBTQ+ people. We preach a wide, spacious view of grace. This speaker, though, was more conservative. Their church's website clearly stated a traditional view of marriage. They lead a congregation in the Atlanta area, and definitely not the kind of speaker we'd typically invite.

And sure enough, within days, the pushback started. People questioned the invitation. They raised concerns about the speaker's values. But our team stood their ground. They were convinced this was the right person for the job.

And here's what was beautiful: They did an incredible job. They preached with conviction, humility, and love. (They even tweaked some theological details in their sermon at our request. How humble and gracious is that?) And so many people at our church were genuinely blessed by their message.

But even more than that, that speaker/pastor got to see us. They experienced a church where LGBTQ+ people are fully embraced. Where women lead at every level. Where scripture isn't weaponized. Where grace doesn't come with conditions. And they didn't just hear about it. They witnessed it. They got to stand in it. And what is crazy is we have no idea what seeds that might plant in their life. My prayer is that one day they think back to that and realize it's possible for them too. But here is the thing….

They never would've seen it if we had burned the bridge.

Jesus modeled this posture so well. He never demanded agreement as the price of proximity. He never said, "Get your theology in line, and then I'll eat with you." He called out injustice. Absolutely. He flipped tables when necessary. Sure. But he also kept showing up at the tables of those everyone else had written off. He broke bread with both zealots and sellouts. He taught Pharisees and healed “outsiders.” He washed the feet of the very one who would betray him. Jesus didn't confuse being loving with being passive, but he never used truth as a weapon to justify cutting people off from grace.

N.T. Wright once said,

"The church is called to be a place where love builds bridges and truth walks across them."

I think that's the kind of people we're meant to be. Bridge-builders. Not because it's easy. Not because we're doormats. But because we've seen the Kingdom, and we want others to see it too.

So, what do we do? How do we influence and actually change the world we live in? Well, it sounds simple, but we stay.

We stay.

We stay in the conversation. Stay at the table. Stay connected, even when it's uncomfortable. Especially when it's uncomfortable. You don't have to agree with everyone. You don't have to approve of everything. But if you want to change the world, don't burn down the bridge.

You might be the only one left still building it.

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