Taming the Tongue

​My sermon this morning is inspired by a line from James: “With [our tongues] we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God.” In our speech, we can do good, and we can do harm.
 
We see both in our Gospel reading, which shows us just how important it is to know when to speak and when to remain silent.  
 
Jesus asks the disciples what people are saying about him. Then, more importantly, what do the disciples themselves say about him? Peter speaks up, and he gets it right. “You are the Messiah.” That’s good speech.
 
Jesus then sternly orders them NOT to tell anyone that he is the messiah. It seems like that is something people would want to know!
 
But as soon as Peter speaks again, it becomes clear why this is a time for the disciples to keep silent. Peter and the others have no clue what being the Messiah means. When Jesus tries to tell them that he will suffer, die, and rise again, Peter doesn’t get it.
 
And so, when he should stay quiet, Peter speaks again. Peter tries to tell Jesus what it means to be the Messiah. This time Peter gets hammered. “Get behind me, Satan!” He should have stayed quiet!
 
There is a time to speak, and there is a time to be silent. Wisdom means knowing the difference.
 
Last Sunday, we renewed our baptismal covenant. To the question, “will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?” we responded, “I will, with Gods help.”
 
That’s a commitment to speak up in witness. Many of us struggle with that commitment. I struggle with that commitment.
 
So, I was caught off guard at our last Veterans Lunch when one of our guests, hearing that I had been backpacking, asked if I had used the opportunity to share the Gospel. Had I confessed Christ to the people I met?
 
I had not. Indeed, to my shame, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I might try.
 
Aggressive proselytizing would have been unwelcome. I would not have made a very good impression if, on meeting someone, I led with, “I am a priest. Are you saved?”
 
But I could have said something. I think especially about one night when Benjamin and I stayed in a shelter with two other hikers. Benjamin and I said Compline each night. But on this particular night, it was raining, so we couldn’t wander off in the woods to pray in private.
 
What we did was step around the side of the shelter, staying underneath the eaves, and say our prayers. But what we could have done is tell our shelter mates that we were about to pray, and asked them if we could pray for them. If they were interested, we could have followed up by inviting them to join us. Instead, we said nothing.
 
I don’t think of this as a huge failure. But I imagine Jesus asking me the question he asks the disciples in our reading. Harvey, what do you say about me? And the honest answer, at least for that day, was, not much. I kept silence, when I might have spoken.
 
But there are also times when we need to stay silent, times when we are more likely to do damage if we speak than to truly communicate whatever it is that we want to say.
 
Benjamin and I finished our trip a little earlier than we had expected, so Carrie was out with a friend when we got home. There followed a miscommunication. (For the record, I cleared this story with Carrie!)
 
I understood that Carrie planned to cut her time with her friend short and come right home, bringing supper for me and Benjamin. Carrie understood something else. She didn’t get home for maybe an hour and a half, and she didn’t have any food for us. By the time she arrived, I was steaming.
 
In my partial defense, Benjamin and I had hiked eight miles that day, then driven three hours. I was tired and hungry.
 
After Carrie arrived, Benjamin and I got something to eat, then the three of us played a game. But I sulked through the whole thing. I was bad enough, that Benjamin approached me in Carrie’s absence to apologize for being so upbeat when he knew I was angry. I at least had the decency to feel like a jerk.
 
When I meditated that evening, I was still steaming. I spent the first part of my meditation planning all the devastating things I would say to Carrie as soon as I got her alone. I wanted to communicate just how obnoxious she had been.
 
After a few minutes of meditating, I recognized that a direct attack would not be helpful. So, I shifted to “I statements.” I decided I would explain how I felt, as I waited for her. That was an improvement. But it still wouldn’t have been helpful.
 
By the end of my meditation, I was a bit better. I decided that I didn’t need to rehearse what had happened, either to point out her failings or my sufferings. But I was still angry, so I wanted to say something. In the end, I asked her for an apology, which she graciously gave.
 
As I think about my performance that evening, I would give myself a grade of C+—passing but not great. I am thankful that circumstances prevented me from speaking before my meditation, when what would have come out of my mouth would definitely have qualified for an F. Thanks to Benjamin’s presence, I kept silent long enough that I could say something more or less like what needed to be said. On that occasion, my tongue was a little fiery, but at least it wasn’t still full of deadly poison.
 
I think I have mentioned before a bit of wisdom from a little booklet called Franciscan Day by Day. In the thought for September 4, it suggests that we should speak only after our words have passed through what it calls three gates.
 
At the first gate, we should ask whether what we plan to say is true. Only if the answer is yes should we move forward.
 
At the second gate, we should ask if our words are necessary or helpful. Even if our words are true, there is no sense speaking them if they don’t help somehow.
 
Even then, there is a third gate for words that are true and helpful. We should ask ourselves if our words are kind.
 
I am struck by the wisdom of that sequence, particularly by the fact that the final criterion is kindness. It may be that we have something to say that is true and even helpful, and yet not kind enough to merit being said. When I first saw Carrie after my backpacking trip, I could have said things that were true, and even in a way helpful to get off my chest. But they definitely would not have been kind.
 
I never got all the way to kind. But I did move in that direction thanks to my enforced silence of a few hours.
 
Our calling as Christian people is to speak always in love, even when we need to say hard things. Anytime we fail to speak in love, we have missed the mark.
 
And so my prayer for us this morning is that God will bless us with the wisdom to speak when speaking is necessary and to be silent when we can’t speak in love. I pray that in Christ’s name. Amen.