Sunday, September 13, 2015

Speech has Power

What is your greatest regret? Is it, “I wish I hadn’t said that?” And your second greatest regret? Is it, “I wish I had said that?” Speech has power! As hearers of Scripture, we know that. The very first sentences of Genesis portray a God who literally speaks creation into being. God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky …, and let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures …, and let the earth bring forth living creatures ….” Like the ancient Hebrews, ancient Hindus also knew that creation came forth from speech. In the oldest Hindu scriptures, the Vedas, the goddess of speech, Vac, speaks creation into being.

Speech has power. Sound, speech, and language, are inherent in all creation. In the psalm for today, we hear that, “The heavens declare the glory of God,” and “one day tells its tale to another.” For all we know, plants and insects may have language. Unquestionably animals have speech. Any birdwatcher knows all the distinctive tweets, burrs, whistles, and knocks of the many varieties of birds. Acoustic biologist Katy Payne has decoded the language of elephants and the songs of whales. Lions, bears, hyenas, all animals, except possibly giraffes, which are said to be voiceless, have distinctive vocalizations in different circumstances. If you live with cats or dogs, you know that there’s a difference between the meow of hunger and that of “Pet me,” or between the bark of “Who are you?” and that of “I’m ready for a walk.”

Even in this age of electronic communication, speech is still the primary form of human communication. Writing is a relatively recent invention, only within the last 5,000 years. Scripture, whether Hindu, Jewish, Christian, or Muslim, was written to be heard, not read silently. Try it yourself: the next time you read Scripture at home, read it aloud. You will experience its power in a fresh way. It wasn’t until the middle of the nineteenth century that a majority of the people in the first world could read and write. Even today, there are many places in the world that are still predominantly oral cultures. And if we’re being honest, though we may appreciate the advantages of electronic communication, most of us still prefer oral communication. We still would prefer to hear the voices of those we love rather than receive an e-mail or Facebook post from them. Speech has power.

Speech has destructive power. Today’s reading from the Letter of James acutely reminds us of the destructive power of speech. This reminder is especially poignant for those in positions of authority, as we confess our tendency to say the wrong thing. What frightening metaphors James uses: that the tongue can set ablaze an entire forest, that it can produce brackish water! Of course, none of this news to us: James could have been writing yesterday! Don’t we tell our children “Watch your mouth. Hold your tongue. Pipe down.” Don’t we know that the old comeback, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me,” is patently false? Don’t we wince when our child comes home from school crying because some thoughtless tyke has told him or her, “Boys don’t …, girls don’t ….” We know that words can hurt. Isn’t that why we so deeply regret the unkind words we’ve said in ignorance, pride, haste, or anger? Isn’t that why we instinctively know that hate speech and racist, sexist, ageist, homophobic, and other similar slogans are wrong? Isn’t that why we fear someone who can, through the sheer power of their rhetoric, incite a mob to violence? Speech has power, and words can hurt.

Speech has power, and words can also heal and bless. In the second half of last week’s gospel reading, we saw Jesus restore a man to speech. In today’s reading from Proverbs we hear that God’s wisdom comes to us in the interactions of our daily lives. The psalmist reminds us that God speaks to us through both natural phenomena and the written words of the Torah. And can’t you just picture Peter in today’s Gospel reading? Jesus has put the disciples on the spot. He wants them to not just parrot back to him what others have said about him. He wants to hear them declare for themselves how they understand who he is. “But who do you say that I am? Don’t just have some vague thoughts, put it in words! Who am I for you?” And there’s Peter looking into Jesus’ face, making eye contact with him. He doesn’t hang back, he doesn’t waffle, he doesn’t say, “Uh, let me think about that. Let me consult my theological dictionary.” In his sudden realization of who Jesus is, Peter blurts out, “You are the Messiah.”

Now, clearly Peter didn’t understand what he was saying. He really had no clue as to what kind of a messiah Jesus might be. Peter expected that Jesus would be a super-powerful king who would toss out the Romans and re-establish David’s kingdom. When Peter tried to deflect Jesus from the path that led to Jerusalem, Jesus firmly rebuked him (“Watch your mouth, Peter. Shut up!”) Then Jesus began leading Peter and all the disciples into a fuller understanding of what lay ahead. Even though Peter’s understanding was vague, Peter at least had had the courage to say something, to put into words what he was beginning to discern about Jesus. Speech has power, and the words that Peter spoke that day began a transformation in him that eventually enabled him to lead the newly-fledged Christian community.

Speech has power. Isn’t that why we appreciate compliments, why we treasure words of gratitude, encouragement, apology, consolation, welcome, and good counsel? Isn’t that why we regret so deeply the words we didn’t say when we should have and give ourselves a tiny pat on the back when, by the grace of God, we do say the right thing? Isn’t that why we distrust politicians whose speeches are long on self-congratulation and short on solid policy proposals? Isn’t that why we admire those who can inspire us through the sheer power of their words? Who can forget the moving simplicity of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address or John Kennedy’s charge to “ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country?” Wouldn’t you too want to respond if you had heard Pope Francis call Catholic parishes and religious communities in Europe to take in refugees? And isn’t that why in the end we need to talk to God? God may “know our needs before we ask,” but we still need to say directly to God, as Peter did to Jesus, those words of praise, contrition, intercession, and gratitude that begin the transformation of our own souls.

Tom Gordon tells the story of Fraser, on old fisherman on the North Sea coast.1 Even though he’d already celebrated his seventy-second birthday, “fishing was in his blood.” When the herring of his youth gave out, he turned to shellfish, then to lobsters, for which the local restaurants paid well. He took his boat, the Mary Anne, out three times a week, always with another “retired” fisherman aboard – since his daughters had expressly forbidden him to go out alone. But when his grandson Stuart was home from college, the retirees stayed home, and Stuart was all the crew Fraser needed. They’d become best mates, those two. As they worked Fraser told Stuart stories about his mother or grandmother. Stuart, in turn, confided his problems and questions to Fraser. One day, on their return to shore, Stuart persuaded Fraser to come have a pint with him at the local pub. As they sat at a corner table, Stuart told his grandfather about his struggles in college. He was thinking about dropping out and coming back home, perhaps spending more time fishing. Fraser listened intently. At the end of his confession, Stuart said, “Haven’t you felt like that sometimes? When you’d worked really hard, or when the fishing grounds were empty, weren’t there times when you wanted to pack it in?” Smiling, Fraser said, “Well, laddie, you may be right enough, but then, fishing’s in my blood, so there’s nothing I can do about that.” Pausing for a minute or two, and then looking Stuart in the eye, the old man told the story of William Greenough Thayer Shedd, a nineteenth-century Presbyterian theologian. “Whether this man was a sailor,” he said, “or had fishing in his blood, I don’t know, but I heard that he did say this. ‘A ship is safe in harbor. But that’s not what ships are for.’ Whether it’s a great ship or the Mary Anne, we could tie her up and keep her safe, or we could take her out and go fishing with her. Eh?” Stuart understood and returned Fraser’s smile. Speech has power.

Christianity proclaims incarnation. We are called to do, not just think. Yes, hands are important. But we are made in the image of a God who spoke, who spoke creation into being, who spoke to the Israelites while delivering them from Egyptian slavery, who spoke through the prophets, through the Word made flesh, through the Desert Fathers and Mothers, through missionaries and mystics. We believe in a God who continues to speak.

We are called to speak in return. Speak to God. Tell God what is on your heart and mind, what you fear, and what you hope for. Then while you still can, speak to each other. Speak the word of loving counsel, as Fraser did to Stuart. Thank a parent, spouse, teacher, or friend for their gifts to you. Say, “I’m sorry.” Say “I love you.” Speak out in favor of a cause close to your heart. Speak out especially for peace. Partner with God and help speak a renewed creation into being.

1. With an Open Eye (Glasgow: Wild Goose Publications, 2011), 272-4