After the burial, the man refused to leave the gravesite. People tried to take his arm and lead him back to his car, but he shrugged off every attempt. Finally the rabbi himself made the effort. He said, “It’s time to go now, Fred. You can take your memories with you.”
Only then did the sorrow break out with explanation. Fred shook his head again and sobbed: “You don’t understand! I loved her so much, but I never let her know it! I never told her how much she meant to me!”
It was a sorry sight, said the rabbi. The worst part was that this man had stood in his congregation every Shabbat for years, intoning the praises of God. Yet this tongue so skilled in religious testimony had missed a thousand opportunities to declare what was desperately needed in the most important relationship of his earthly life.
We all know the poison that tongues can produce when wagging incessantly. But there is also a poison of silence. We can waste our words on tedious talk that babbles of weather and horsepower and clothes and customs, and forget to make the sounds of love. A university study found that a typical North American father converses with each of his children an average of 37 seconds per day. There’s not a lot that can be said in that time. Very likely for many of us, even many of those seconds are spent collecting communication miscues that bite rather than words that heal and offer hope.
Most of us know when the barbs of our tongues dig blood from the souls of others. But few of us are wise enough to hear the pain caused by silence when we poison some of our best relationships by saying too little of words that encourage and engage and build and heal. Each of today’s lectionary readings has to do with using words well.
Proverbs 1:20-33
Proverbs is built upon a love story. In fact, the book starts out as an allegory on a love triangle, with a voice of parental reason whispering from offstage. While it may seem at first glance to be a tedious collection of rather dry one-liners, Proverbs is much more than that. It is our doorway into the educational system of the Israelite community. Our word “proverb” is derived from a Latin term which means “for a verb.” So these are “words” which take the place of “more words,” or concise distillations of wisdom compacted into a few carefully conceived phrases. The wisdom presumed by the proverbs is the worldview of the Sinai covenant, as the prologue (Proverbs 1:1-7) indicates. The message of the book derives its direction from Solomon, who was enormously wise because of the special gift of God (1 Kings 3). Solomon is the father of Proverbs in several ways. First, he created Yahweh’s Temple in Jerusalem, which gave a permanent home to Israel’s covenant marriage partner. Second, the wisdom of Yahweh spoke powerfully through Solomon, so the whole world came to hear his proverbs and pithy sayings (1 Kings 3-4). Third, the greatest bulk of this book called “Proverbs” is attributed directly to Solomon (1:1, 10:1, 25:1). Fourth, Solomon was also known for his wide-ranging and ultimately catastrophic flirtations, courtships, and marriages, which may well be reflected in the pointed moral sermons of the first nine chapters of Proverbs. In truth, both Solomon’s early expressions of pithy wisdom (which drew the attention and the attraction of the world: 1 Kings 4:29-34, 10:1-13) and his disastrous sexual alliances (which caused his downfall: 1 Kings 11:1-13) served to shape the collection of Proverbs in its final form.
This is seen in the “Lectures on Wisdom and Folly” that stand at the head of the book. In the Hebrew language both “wisdom” and “folly” are feminine nouns. Thus the use of the repeated literary device “my son” in Proverbs 1:8--9:18 is intentional. All readers or hearers of these lectures become the “son” who is courted by two women, “Wisdom” and “Folly.” By the end of these carefully crafted lectures, in which each woman is given ample opportunity to present her case, all of us must choose which woman to wed. The choice is real and personal and life-changing. Wisdom brings stability and well-being; Folly offers quick experiences and tragic ends.
Dating often seems to be a trivial pastime and sexuality sometimes merely the arena for power plays and sporting events. But in Proverbs, the high calling of courtship is held out as the definer of human identity. None of us remains single. All of us are swept up into the drama. It is forever a triangle: whether female or male, in this affair we are the young man pursuing and being pursued by two women, Folly and Wisdom. Each parades her virtues. Each calls for a choice and a commitment. But there the similarities end. For Folly brings us into an endless addiction to one-night stands in which we lose ourselves in the delirium of mere titillation, and ultimately lose all substance and self-respect. Wisdom, however, wants to take things slowly, and seeks as much to get to know us as we her. Wisdom desires a relationship where respect deepens and both parties are enriched.
If at the close of these lectures one should choose Folly, the rest of the Proverbs has no meaning. That person should slam shut the book and get on with other destructive behaviors, for she or he cannot understand the language that is used in the house of Wisdom.
If, however, one hears and understands these lectures, and responds with an appropriate desire to court and marry Wisdom, the rest of the book of Proverbs becomes the stuff of which her house is made. When one is bound to Wisdom, the proverbs are the furnishings of her home, and the decorations on her walls, and the conversation pieces in her rooms, and the lifestyle that organizes her economy. The many, many proverbs are not to be read together as an unbroken narrative, but are supposed to be savored and tasted like the multitude of meals taken in the marriage house of Wisdom, and breathed as if they were the life-sustaining rhythms of respiration itself.
James 3:1-12
The bit in a horse’s mouth is meant to link the mind of the rider with that of the beast. When it works well there is a beautiful display of equestrian grace and elegance. But when communication breaks down, two passions vie for dominance -- and horse is usually stronger than human.
Control can be an ugly word, particularly where it demeans and diminishes or where it clubs and coerces. But a good rider’s control over his mount is the key to having both experience the best of horsemanship. So also in communication. Our passions, wild and delightful as they are when they carry us away in strength or ecstasy, are fierce mounts to ride. Sometimes we want them to go out of control and we dance with abandon or shout with fear or cheer with mob madness.
But there are passions within that should not escape the heart’s stable without a sound bridle and a rigid bit. It is the angry passions that fight control to our hurt and others’ harm. Angry people throw stupid words and heavy fists. Angry drivers yell nasty slogans, waving all the while with a single finger. Angry spouses scream feelings better left unspoken, and find the jousting tournament has left one or the other maimed or dead inside.
A friend of mine who was quite pleased with his flapping tongue often told people proudly that he had “diarrhea of the mouth.” As long as he could connect his tongue with meaningful insights, the stream was tolerable. But by his own confession, his brain logged off at 10 p.m. each night while his tongue kept rattling. An unbridled tongue was not a good thing for him to boast about.
It shouldn’t be for anyone, says James.
Mark 8:27-38
Mistaken identities may be commonplace, but on some occasions they are more serious than others. Certainly that is true in today’s gospel reading. Just before these verses Jesus had asked his disciples what people were saying about him. Did they get it right? Did they know who he was?
They gave back a variety of answers, and Jesus didn’t seem too surprised. But to his disciples’ chagrin, neither did he drop the matter there. Instead he pressed the query home in a very personal challenge. “Who do you say I am?” he demanded.
There was no room for fudging on this exam. Jesus had made it intense and immediate. No time to go back to the books for a night of cramming.
Fortunately for the others, Peter blurted out an answer: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Fortunately for Peter, he got it right. Jesus praised him on the spot.
And that only made this next scene so weird. First, Jesus changed the mood of the conversation too quickly. One moment they were grinning and enjoying that moment when friends reach a new level of insight, commitment, and trust; the next Jesus was rambling on about death and dying. It didn’t fit. Peter certainly wanted to bask in his celebrity status for a while. After all, he had managed to give the right answer to the toughest, most embarrassing challenge Jesus could have thrown at them. It was like winning an Oscar and a Grammy all at once, and Peter wanted to spend more time at the podium receiving the accolades of both Jesus and the others.
But Jesus steps up to the microphone and starts recording his martyr’s testimony. He is going to Jerusalem, he says. He knows his enemies are waiting for him there. He is certain they will arrest him and beat him and make him suffer. And he is confident that the outcome of their actions will result in his death.
There was clearly some kind of incongruity here. Peter had just voiced the great testimony that made Jesus seem invincible. Now, in the next breath Jesus was breathing defeat and disaster. How do these match up? Where is the connection?
And if that wasn’t enough, things only took a more eerie turn. Peter knew he had deal with this. After all, Jesus had just identified him as the leader among the Twelve. Furthermore, he was still confident about knowing the right answers. So he pulled Jesus aside and started to talk him out of this morbid reflection. “Look here, man; you’re scaring us. Do you hear what you’re saying? You better get it together, Jesus. This is getting out of hand.”
At that moment Jesus roughly pushed Peter away and started shouting at him. “Get away from me, Satan!” he yelled. “You’re standing in my way! You’re blocking my path! You’re fighting against God!”
The disciples were in sudden shock, and Peter most of all. He was so taken aback that he didn’t know what to do with himself. What could have caused this sudden tirade?
Everyone stood around for a bit, looking kind of dumb. Then Jesus broke the silence, but with a different demeanor. He poured out his heart. He gave them a sense of what was ahead for him, and for them. And in those moments of conversation Jesus spoke to them about the meaning of life. It is a strange and paradoxical word, but one of the truest things they would ever come to know. And we with them.
For one thing, Jesus told them that life is a journey, not a destination. You see, when Peter made his testimony, his confession, his blubbering statement about who Jesus was, there was a sense of euphoria in the group.
You know how it is. Remember when you first said to someone that you loved her? Remember how those words changed everything? You didn’t know if you should say it. You wanted to, but then again you didn’t want to.
But suddenly the words blustered out and smashed into the open space between you. They took over. They stopped the conversation. There was nothing more to be said. You just sat there and looked at one another. It was like time stood still. This is the moment! Make this moment last!
That is what Peter and the others were feeling when he blurted the words for the first time. “We think the world of you, Jesus! You’re the Son of God! We love you! We didn’t know who we were until you came along!”
When they talk that way, they want to sit around for a while and just smile at each other. The moment was intense and it begged to consume all those in it.
But Jesus says no. Jesus says that life isn’t found in the moment, not even if it is a moment of insight or love or passion. Life is a journey, not a destination. “If anyone would come after me he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”
There is something more as well. Jesus tells us that life is a pilgrimage, not a tour.
You know what a tour is, don’t you? It’s where you let someone else do all the planning. They take care of your luggage. They put you on a big, air-conditioned bus and ferry you around to all the right sights. They pay the entrance fees for your tickets so you don’t have to stand in the heat or the sun or the smell by the booth. You can stay safe and comfortable and dry, while others do the sweating for you. That’s a tour.
A true pilgrimage, however, isn’t like that. A pilgrimage is always personal, always firsthand, always something you have to do yourself. That is what Jesus says to his disciples. With Peter they want him to watch God’s plans work themselves out from a safe distance. They wish for him to rest with them on the sidelines, to take the tour on the big love boat instead of swimming with sharks.
But Jesus says no. Life is a personal journey. He cannot avoid it. He cannot have someone else stand in for him. He has to make the pilgrimage himself.
Religion is no spectator sport, as Jesus tells us here. The one who wants to protect himself, the one who wants to hide herself, the one who wishes to guard himself carefully, will never find the meaning of life. “Whoever wants to save his life will lose it. But whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”
Application
Someone once asked Malcolm Muggeridge what epitaph he might like on his gravestone. Muggeridge paused for just a moment, and then with a twinkle in his eye replied: “He used words well!”
In the Hebrew language, the term dabar means both “word” and “deed.” Words are never static records, ciphers on a page. They are alive with energy. A word must act or do something in order to be a word. That power of communication flows throughout scripture.
Maybe that’s why the last and greatest Word of God, the great Wordsmith, became flesh and walked for a time with us. In him the “word” and the “deed” were one and the same thing. Truly, you could say of him: “He used words well.” Hopefully the same is noticed about those who have taken up their own crosses and followed him through the communities of this world.
Alternative Application
James 3:1-12. There are only five basic responses we can make to others when they direct conversation, good or ill, toward us. These five “punches” are evaluate, instruct, support, probe, and understand. When we evaluate the other person’s speech or actions, we set ourselves up as judge over her. When we instruct, we lift our position to that of teacher. When we express support, we approach the other person as friend. When we probe, we seek further engagement and bring the person into our hearts. And when we summarize and repeat what he’s said, we show him that we understand.
On the surface this may seem like a conversational word game, and for some people it turns out to be merely that. For most of us, unfortunately, it is a game we need to begin playing with earnestness if we would hope to improve our communication and get that tongue off the hurtful trigger.
You see, evaluative and instructional responses in conversation tend to shut down communication and throw barbs into the other person’s soul. While none of us believes we ever use those rejoinders unless truly called for, the fact of research is that typical North American conversation includes around 80% of evaluative and instructional statements! In other words, we are almost constantly blowing pricks right through the sumo wrestlers’ padding of other people. More tragically, most of the time we don’t even know it.
Yet that seems to be what society encourages and normal and proper behavior. It certainly seems to play best in political campaigns, and is why Jews and Arabs need guns in the Middle East, or why racial tensions breed unchecked in a dozen other hot spots around the globe.
Often in our homes it is the same thing. A husband shakes an angry fist of paper at his wife and shouts “Look at these bills! Where do you think the money’s going to come from?” But he’s not asking a question. He’s really saying, “Oh you stupid woman!” A moody teen yells at her parents “Why are you always riding my case?” and the air is supercharged for a fight. Church members quibble about practices and raise their doctrinal swords to kill those who look most like themselves.
Maybe someday the raging fires of hell will be quenched by the refreshing fluids of heaven. James hopes that it will begin in the church. And, indeed, sometimes it does. Palmer Ofuoku, a Nigerian pastor, remembers when the first missionaries came to his village. Some few became Christians, but not many, because these pale ones spoke many words of judgment (evaluation) and demand (instruction). It wasn’t until another missionary came that Ofuoku began to listen and respond with faith and care. Why? Because, said pastor Ofuoku, this man stayed next to me when I was sick (support). He asked me about my family (probing), and let me know that he genuinely cared about me (understanding). Said Palmer Ofuoku, “He built a bridge of friendship to me, and Jesus walked across.”
I wonder how many bridges like that I’ve built lately.
