Busted relationships. Whose name comes to mind? If you’re beyond high school, there’s likely more than one. In a broken world, broken relationships become permanent fixtures on the mantle of our lives.
You’re not the first. But it often feels like it.
This pain stretches back to the garden—when a couple listened to a serpent, ate the fruit, and suffered the shattering of intimacy. Broken relationships became part of the curse: “Your desire shall be contrary to your husband, but he shall rule over you” (Gen. 3:16). The first fracture wasn’t just between man and God—but between one another.
So what is a broken relationship?
It’s a close connection where two things happen. First, there’s rejection. Someone you loved, trusted, or led—no longer wants the part you played in their life. Maybe it’s a close friend who now won’t speak to you. A child rewriting the past to justify their distance. A church member who says you’re no longer “safe.”
Then comes the second: dismissal. You’re cut off. Canceled. Rendered irrelevant. Like the silent beat of a butterfly’s wings, you no longer matter. You were teammates—now you’re benched.
It’s a bit like a gunshot wound. First, the blast—rejection. Then the bullet—penetrating, tearing, wounding. Maybe you pulled the trigger. Or maybe it was pointed at you. Either way, the wound remains.
Is there a balm in Gilead for something so disorienting?
The Wounded Apostle
Before answering that, consider an episode in Paul’s life. He knew this pain too.
Paul planted the church in Corinth during his second missionary journey, staying for 18 months. But in his absence, false teachers infiltrated and turned hearts against him. Though he had been their spiritual father, they were rejecting his leadership.
So Paul wrote them a strong letter (not 1 Corinthians but another, now lost). Then he sent Titus to follow up. And Paul waited.
Maybe you’ve been there. A relationship breaks. You send a long email, explaining everything with as much grace as you can muster. Then you wait. Each ping from your phone stirs hope… then disappointment. You wonder: Can this be healed? Or is it over?
Paul knew that kind of waiting. In 2 Corinthians 7:5, he describes his condition: “Our bodies had no rest, but we were afflicted at every turn—fighting without and fear within.” That phrase—“fear within”—is emotional turmoil. It’s what we’d call depression. Paul was so distraught that he turned down a ministry opportunity in Troas so he could go find Titus (2 Cor. 2:12–13).
Imagine that: the mighty apostle Paul, skipping an open door for ministry because of relational anxiety. That’s how deep the wound cut.
When the Closest Wound Us
Paul’s enemies—governors, mobs, pagans—never broke his heart. He stood boldly before kings and sang in chains (Acts 16:25). But close friends? Fellow believers? That’s different.
It’s the same with us. Wounds from acquaintances may sting. But wounds from those we love disorient us. We question our calling. Our theology. Our worth.
Paul knew this ache. And he shows us what to do with it.
Marble-in-the-Door Retaliation
When rejection hits, our flesh wants retaliation.
“You hurt me? Fine. You’re dead to me.”
We rehearse courtroom scenes in our minds, mentally destroying our opponent. Our thoughts grow toxic, our language sharp. Even if we’re too dignified for revenge, we still punish—in our silence, in our sarcasm, in our cold withdrawal.
I once heard about a woman whose husband left her. In revenge, she took apart the passenger door of his prized sports car, placed a marble inside, and reassembled it. For months, he was tormented by the mysterious rattle. When he finally found the source, it was accompanied by a note: “You finally found it, you &$%$ idiot.”*
That’s what our pain wants—to confuse, frustrate, punish.
As leaders, we’re more subtle. But the instincts are the same.
Not Paul. He doesn’t weaponize silence. He doesn’t ghost them. He pursues the Corinthians. He writes. Sends Titus. Subordinates opportunity to reconciliation.
His gospel-centered heart guided his response.
Reconciliation at the Core
Why does Paul respond this way?
Because he knows the gospel is, at its core, about reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18–19). He was once a persecutor, an enemy of Christ. But Jesus didn’t retaliate. He pursued Paul—on the road to Damascus, with mercy and mission.
That’s our story too. We were alienated from God. We rejected him. And yet: “You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of God” (1 Cor. 6:11).
We were pursued. And now, as reconciled people, we are called to pursue reconciliation with others.
That doesn’t mean it will be fast or clean. It’s often messy, emotional, and slow. But if the gospel is true, then Christians don’t just preach reconciliation. We live it.
Practical Gospel Courage
Paul’s experience teaches us:
- Don’t weaponize rejection.
- Don’t let pride harden your heart.
- Take initiative. Write. Pray. Move toward the person if possible.
“If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Rom. 12:18). And Peter echoes: “Do not repay evil for evil… but bless” (1 Pet. 3:9).
Forgiveness doesn’t mean ignoring wounds. It means refusing to be defined by them. It means believing the gospel applies to the offender as well as to us.
Don’t Let the Marble Rattle
In the end, busted relationships break our hearts because they touch something deep. They unsettle our sense of identity, purpose, and belonging. But they don’t have the final word.
Christ does.
The one who reconciled us to the Father calls us to walk in that same path of peacemaking. It’s not easy. But it’s sacred.
So if a relationship is broken in your life today—pray. Ask God to stir your courage. Step toward peace. Take initiative.
You were once pursued. Now pursue. Let the gospel do its healing work.
Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash
