“Mouth almighty, that is what I’ve got,
Mouth almighty, telling you
what’s what.
Mouth almighty.
I wish I’d never opened my mouth
almighty …”
Mouth almighty, telling you
what’s what.
Mouth almighty.
I wish I’d never opened my mouth
almighty …”
— Elvis Costello (1983)
Some years ago, I was working at a Christian summer camp.
By all evidence, it had been an excellent year — many
children’s lives touched, many young people growing in knowing God, good
friendships formed, spiritual growth on every side, and a safe and successful
physical program.
Most of this was due to the staff. We had some really
stellar young men and women working with us, some as counselors, some as
assistants, a few as grounds staff, and all, at one time or another, in
important leadership roles that had made the camp possible. When tough times
came, these fine young people had ground it out, staying cheerful, positive and
kind throughout. When challenges arose, they stepped up. They had, in all, been
exemplary in unselfishness, nurturance, enthusiasm and diligence; and as it
would turn out, years later a good many of them would still be my very
close friends.
But at the time, it was the last official day of camp. I was
asked by the director to serve as the emcee for the ceremony to honor the
staff and volunteers. It was nice of him to ask; and I was glad to say yes. I’ve
always been a words guy, you see; words come easy to me. And not exactly a
shrinking violet in front of any audience either.
Uh-Oh
So I was walking across the camp field, on my way to my
cabin. Naturally, I was mentally processing a few things I could say during the
program. I started going down the list of the honorees: “I should mention the
time Tom fell off the dock … what a dorky thing to do. How about Sally’s big, floppy sun hat: I could make a joke about how goofy she looked. Or
Marcus — he runs really funny, like his knees are tied together …”
and so on.
Suddenly a realization pulled me up short. I could think of
a thousand teasing or vaguely offensive things to say about everyone … but
I hadn’t been thinking of one positive thing. And how could that be? These
people were, by all accounts, wonderful human beings. How come the first thing that came to me as I was thinking of what to say was a litany of snipes,
gripes, jibes and sideswipes? Everything was negative.
Was that it? Was my entire stock of “golden” words merely
dedicated to making people feel less than they were? I was horrified at myself.
Did God give me a tongue to use it like that? What small-minded, miserable
petty impulse in me made me more quickly inclined to taking shots than to
building people up?
Worse still, I suddenly realized I was chilled by the very
prospect of standing up in front of people and offering compliments instead of
irony. Why did it so gall and frighten me to think of saying one sincere, kind,
and obviously honest compliment about such wonderful young people, while at the
same time I felt no fear at all in standing up and acting like a crass clown,
mocking those whose shoelaces I would, in truth, have been honored to bend
down and tie? What did this say about me? How could I be so small of soul?
Gobsmacked
I was completely ashamed. Thunderstruck. And standing right
there, I made a decision. Whenever I saw someone doing something extraordinary,
it would be my duty to tell them, and to tell them sincerely, as eloquently as
I could, and without irony.
Proverbs says, “The power of life and death is in the tongue.” I think that’s really true. On the positive side, I remember reading a story
about a man named Malcolm Dalkoff, whose life and career aspirations were
transformed when his English teacher wrote four simple words on the bottom of
one of his papers: “This is good writing.” Dalkoff went on to a long career in
professional writing, and years later looked back on this simple compliment as
the force that launched him in the right direction. That’s the power of life in
the tongue.
But the power of death is there too, isn’t it? Think of how
a single mean word can crush the spirit. Someone points out to you some flaw in
your body, and years later you see nothing but that every time you look in the
mirror. Or someone runs down your contribution to a situation, and you quit and
never try again. Or a casual negative speculation becomes a running rumor, and
then becomes a hard slander that destroys a relationship forever. It’s easy, so
easy, to be negative and wound a soul.
Crushing a Soul
Further confessions: I will never forget an incident early
in my career as a teacher. I was having an argument with a very weak and
unruly student over her staunch refusal even to try an assignment. (I was new
in the teaching game at the time, but that was really no excuse.)
I had been warning her that she was in danger of failing the
course because of a mere lack of effort; and she spun around and yelled at me,
“I don’t care!”
“Well, I responded calmly, “if you don’t care, then I don’t
care either.”
I didn’t really mean it. I was intending to keep working
with her. It was just a quick comeback to her defiance, an attempt to throw the
responsibility back to where it actually belonged. But I’ll never forget the
stunned and rejected look in her eyes. I immediately regretted saying that, but
it was too late.
I don’t care either.
She knew it was my job to care; more
than that, it was my responsibility,
as her teacher and as an adult, to persist in caring and seeking her welfare
even when she was having a kid fit. Moreover, she knew and had seen that I cared
for my students. And that made it all the more hurtful. What she was hearing
was that I might care about the others, but I wouldn’t care about her.
I’m pretty sure that that girl had been rejected by adults
before. And when I had time to reflect on it, I came to see that what she was
really doing was daring me to care,
and being tough until she found an adult who loved her enough to stick with her
despite her anger.
But I had told her that that adult would not be me.
Ouch.
I wish I didn’t have to tell you that story. But if it helps
you not do likewise, then so be it. We can kill with the tongue — so easily!
Jamesing
“Where words are many, sin is not absent,” says Proverbs. Proverbs has a ton of good advice on the subject of keeping your tongue in check. It’s almost like it’s important or something. Meanwhile, everything we
find in Proverbs on that is expanded in the New Testament, and particularly in
the Book of James. (Side note: I believe that James is the NT companion to
Proverbs. Every major subject repeatedly handled in the latter is developed in
the former: interesting, no?)
James has a lot to say about the tongue: it’s a rudder that
steers us, a small flame that sets on fire the whole world, restless, unrestrained,
evil, a whole world of iniquity, a thing set on fire by hell, and a cause of
judgment to us. With it we praise God and curse men who are made in God’s image …
the picture is shocking and the warnings are dire. Those who live by Mouth
Almighty will eat their words.
But under the guidance of the Spirit of God, the tongue also
has in it the power of life, to build up our brothers and sisters, to restore
the joy of the fainting, to lift up the discouraged, and to rejoice the heart
in praise.
We just have to be very, very conscious of what we do with
that thing.
Resolutions
So I resolved to be far more deliberate in offering compliments,
and to do my best to shut my mouth when I was inclined to cut somebody to
pieces. It’s a battle I’ll probably fight until the Lord comes, but I see the
importance of it.
I’ve tried to stick with that. I still like joking or
teasing my friends sometimes; but I’ve tried to get the proportions much
better. I try to give compliments where they’re deserved, and I try very hard
not to be too stingy with my thanks. I’m sure I fail sometimes; but I do think
it’s better that I’ve decided to use my tongue to build people up and to add
some positivity to people’s worlds.
I ought to have done that all along. But the flesh is
strong, and our natural inclination is sometimes to pull others down and promote
ourselves. We’ve got to fight it. We have to measure our words, for the sake of
our service to God. For, as the Lord told us, “By your words you will be
justified, and by your words you will be condemned.”
Building Up
My thought here is that we should really watch what we say …
especially in regard to the church. The Lord’s people are still flawed human
beings, and their flaws will invite our acerbic comments all the time. Or
perhaps there will be those who love the rumor mill and the dissemination of
scandal under the banner of “concern”. (And by the way, it doesn’t make it
better if you turn it into a “prayer request”.)
The Church is besieged and beleaguered today. It’s hard for
sincere spirituality to survive our toxic secular ethos, with its consumerism,
its rampant pornography, its empty distractions and its callous disregard for
God. We need all the encouragement we can get.
What we do with the tongue will have a lot to do with how
things go. May I humbly suggest that we use our words to build each other up,
not tear each other down? I’m not suggesting we ignore problems, or even fail
to identify faults in people or in our congregations when that’s
essential — reform depends on it. But I do really think some sober second thought
is in order when it comes to our tendency to leave the positives unspoken and
to maximize the negatives.
Too Quick
Maybe we should ask ourselves, “Is it really necessary for
me to speak here?” Or perhaps, “Is there really any merit in pointing out these
flaws?” Or maybe we should ask, “Where can I find some positives to emphasize,
so that my conversation, my relationships and my whole life don’t become
characterized by negatives?” Or maybe, “Have I done enough good with what I’ve
said to justify offering a bit of criticism at this particular moment?”
We’ve all got tongues. And every tongue is too quick. So the
Lord reminds us that “If a man (or woman) does not bridle his tongue, he
deceives his own heart, and his religion is useless.”
So if life and death are in the tongue, why not choose life?
Now, that puts our job in perspective, doesn’t it?
Amen. As someone in my 80th year, this one of the things that I often lie awake at night over. I can look back many years to times when I have spoken too quickly (and/or glibly) and realized that once the words have been uttered, they can't be called back.
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