The importance of words

In her delightful book, The Life of the Spirit and the Life of Today, the great writer and Anglican, Evelyn Underhill tells a story of a debate between a self-professed intellectual and a “simple-minded nun.” The way Underhill tells it, you get the impression that this person is running circles around the nun, spouting all kinds of carefully crafted arguments. At one point they’re talking about the annunciation, the story of when an angel appears to the virgin Mary and tells her she will give birth to the saviour of the world. The self-professed intellectual says, “Well, anyhow, I suppose that one is not obliged to believe that the Blessed Virgin was visited by a solid angel, dressed in a white robe?” 

The nun replies, “No, dear, perhaps not. But still, you know, he would have [had] to wear something.”

I love this story. I get this picture of someone, maybe it’s you, I know I can certainly relate, someone who is out in society, spinning words for a living, feeling pretty good about themselves. And, then you have this nun, living a cloistered life, spinning very few words for a living, dedicated to solitude and silence. And, it’s the nun who speaks this clever word. 

“No, dear, but he would have had to wear something.”

The power of the tongue This has been a bit of a theme in our readings over the past few weeks. We’ve had Jesus talking about how it’s not what’s on the outside of a person that makes them clean, but what’s on the inside. You can be out there saying all of the right things, using all of the right words. But, if what’s inside is unclean, if your heart is dirty, that’s what truly matters.

In today’s gospel reading, the importance of words once again makes an appearance. Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” What’s the talk around town? What words do people use to describe me? 

They say, “Some say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, and others one of the prophets.” 

Then he says, “But who do you say that I am?” How do you see me? This is, of course, where we get the Confession of St Peter, one of the most celebrated moments in the gospel story. 

Peter says, “You are the Messiah.” This is the word that Jesus is looking for; despite what everyone is saying out there, despite all of the lofty, intellectual arguments, in their heart of hearts, what word do the disciples use to identify Jesus?

You are the Messiah.

How, then, do we access these clever words, these descriptions of Jesus that make our hearts clean before God? We’ve also been hearing a lot this month from the letter of James. As an aside, I love the opening to today’s reading from James: “Not many of you should become teachers . . . for we know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.” What an opening line for this time of year, the start of the new school year: Dear teachers everywhere, at a time when you are keenly aware of your students’ expectations, not to mention the expectations of parents and caregivers, and the administration, know also that you will be judged more strictly by God! If there is any passage in the Bible which describes the weight that teachers feel on their shoulders at this time of year, this is it! We see you, teachers, and we pray for you.

The reading from the letter of James goes on to talk about the power of words, the power behind the things that come out of our hearts and into mouths. The tongue is described as this tool that both sets on fire and “is itself set on fire.” The tongue, this “restless evil” that cannot be tamed, this “deadly poison,” an instrument that we use on the one hand to bless God and on the other, to curse those who are made in the likeness of God. 

How then do we access words which bring forth from our mouths fresh rather than brackish water? I think of the nun in Evelyn Underhill’s story. I wonder if there’s a world in which finding the right words involves not saying anything or not saying much at all?

A couple of weeks ago I was having a hard time with a friend. We were having a bit of a disagreement, an old wound that had resurfaced, something that comes up now and again in our friendship. I sought some advice from a colleague. I told her about the situation. I described all of the shadow-boxing that I’d been doing with this friend, dressing them up and down with all of my cleverly prepared arguments. I listed off the long list of people that I’d spoken to about this friend, all of the “consulting” I’d done to build my case against them. 

My colleague said, “Have you talked to God about it?”

No, I hadn’t “talked to God about it.” I was too busy talking to everyone else about it! 

Have you talked to God about it? By which she meant, “have you stopped talking so that you can listen to what word God might have for you in all of this?”

How often, in our pursuit of words, in our pursuit of arguments to build our case against others (who are made in the likeness of God, as the letter to James reminds us), how often do we just stop talking and listen? If we pause, reign in our tongue even for a little while, what word might we discover deep down in our hearts?

Evelyn Underhill writes about prayer as the process of “withdraw[ing] from the window” to “meet the inner guest.” The window being this place where we look out and consume all of the words and advice and talk that everyone out there has for us, as opposed to turning away in order to turn inward. What would it look like to breathe for even just a few moments each day, taking some time to greet that inner guest? 

After all, writes Evelyn Underhill, quoting another great writer of her time, Indian Christian missionary Sadhu Sundar Singh: “Prayer . . . is as important as breathing and we never say we have no time to breathe.” Amen.


Photo credit: iStock - Tirachard