What is your greatest regret? For many of us, it is, “I wish I hadn’t said that!” And what’s your second greatest regret? For many of us, it is, “I wish I had said that!” Speech has power! As Christians, as hearers of Scripture, we know that. In the very first sentences of Genesis, the first book of the Bible, God literally speaks the creation into being. God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” And God said, “Let there 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 recognized the creative power of speech. In the most ancient Hindu scriptures, the Vedas, the goddess of speech, Vac, speaks creation into being. Speech has power.
Speech has power. Sound, speech, and language, are inherent in all creation. Paul reminds the Christians in Rome – perhaps metaphorically – that in Christ, creation will be set free from bondage to decay. “We know,” he tells them, “that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now.” For all we know, plants and insects may have language. Unquestionably animals do. Any birdwatcher has memorized all the distinctive tweets, burrs, whistles, and knocks of the many varieties of birds. Elephants, lions, bears, hyenas, just about 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. In fact, try it yourself: the next time you read Scripture at home, read it aloud. See if that gives you a different experience of it. 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 truth be told, though we may appreciate the advantages of electronic communication, most of still prefer oral communication. We still would prefer to hear the voices of those we love than receive an e-mail from them. Speech has power.
Speech has destructive power. Today’s portion of the Letter of James provides us with a strong reminder of the destructive power of speech. The reminder is especially poignant for those in positions of authority, as we face yet again 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, 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. Today’s Scripture also gives us powerful examples of how words can “pour forth” fresh water. The suffering servant in today’s reading from the prophet Isaiah thanks God for having given him “the tongue of a teacher,” so that he “may know how to sustain the weary with a word.” The psalmist pours out his heart to God, knowing that God “has heard the voice of my supplication.” 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 the person to whom they have committed themselves. “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, we might think that Peter didn’t understand what he was saying. He really had no clue as to what kind of a messiah Jesus might actually be. When he tried to deflect Jesus from the path that Jesus was clearly stepping onto, Jesus firmly rebuked him (“Watch your mouth, Peter. Shut up!”) Then Jesus began leading Peter and all the disciples into a fuller understanding of where he was going. Even though Peter’s understanding was vague, Peter clearly had the courage to say something, to put into actual 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 admire those who can move others through the sheer power of their words? Who can forget the moving simplicity of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address, or the glorious vision of Martin Luther King’s “I have a Dream” speech? Isn’t that why we know that 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.” The herring of his youth gave out, and so he turned to shellfish, and then to lobsters, for which the local restaurants paid well. He took his boat, the Mary Anne, out about 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 wonderful stories about his mother or grandmother. Stuart, in turn, confided some of 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 is an incarnational religion. 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 in their deliverance from Egyptian slavery, who spoke through the prophets, who spoke through the Word made flesh, and continues to speak to us today. 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 speak to each other. Speak the word of loving counsel, as Fraser did to Stuart. Say, “I’m sorry.” Say “I love you,” while you still can. Speak out against injustice and for peace. Partner with God and help speak a renewed creation into being.
1. With an Open Eye (Glasgow: Wild Good Publications, 2011), 272-4.
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