Sermon

“The Three Gates of Speech” is often credited to the 13th-century Persian poet and Islamic scholar Rumi, who supposedly said:

Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates:
At the first gate, ask yourself, “Is it true?”
At the second gate, ask, “Is it necessary?”
At the third gate, ask, “Is it kind?”
If you can answer “yes” at all three gates, then and only then, is speech as good as silence.

This saying hints at the power of words to destroy. That power is spelled out in our passage from James. “… no one can tame the tongue—a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it, we bless the Lord and Creator, and with it, we curse those who are made in the likeness of God.”

It’s always a balance in our worship together to give thanks and praise and to call out the problems we face together. I’ve preached on this passage several times before. I notice each time I preach it, it seems we are ever more in need of wisdom and transformation of our use of words, especially what’s being amplified in social media. Our inability (so far) to work as a unified nation to stop the spread of COVID-19 can be blamed in some measure on the wildfire of misinformation and lies in social media. But the dangerous tongue is also an individual problem. We all have our moments, don’t we?

It happens so quickly. In anger, you compose an e-mail or text and push send. Immediately, you wonder if you should have waited. Now, you can’t take it back. Or, the words popped from your mouth like a firecracker. And you wish you’d had the patience to count to ten before speaking.

Have you heard the saying, “We were born with only one mouth but with two ears”? Often, listening is at least twice as important as speaking.

Talking and listening is the subject that my friend and colleague the Reverend Jim Petersen writes about. Jim calls it the Flat Brain Syndrome. When we get emotional, it’s as though our brain swells and flattens out. When emotional, we are unable to think clearly, and then, our moving mouth is connected to a defective brain. So, Jim says we need to listen better, especially when we are filled with emotions.

We can use the tongue to enflame and destroy, but we can also use it for healing.

Dear friends, online: When we are aiming to be the kind of people in whose presence good things happen, listening is a good place to begin!

The sound of healing is the soothing words of praise from someone you care about. The sound of healing is the joyful noise of singing. The sound of healing is a poem whose words are wafting

around you like a beautiful scent, lifting you from a dreary moment. The sounds of healing are courageous words bringing justice for others. Our words bless and curse.

With our words we name the world and each other, and in some sense our naming creates a genuine reality. Once our stories take hold, they have a tremendous power for good or evil. They can exclude or embrace, heal or humiliate, lift up or tear down. How many of us have internalized self-loathing that resulted from repeated criticisms from a family member? How many can still remember a compliment made by an elementary school teacher even though it was made many decades ago?

When I was in high school and in the self-conscious phase of puberty, I had an aunt who repeatedly said that I was “pleasingly plump.” All I could hear was the word “plump.” That word hung on me for years, as I gained pounds in college and wrestled with emotional eating.

Even more destructive were the words attacking some young people in high school and who were born shortly after 9/11. Recently, I heard an interview with some of the Black youths who have come of age during the past twenty years. A few of them shared that they had been called the “N” word as early as grade school. As I heard their stories, I thought of the power vested in the “N” word. Power to destroy life. It has been used that way, literally.

James wrote that tongues are so powerful that they’re like a rudder than can steer a massive ship and a bit that can direct a mighty horse. While they’re both comparatively small, they can steer far bigger things. While our tongues are among our smallest muscles, they can direct lives. They can misdirect a society.

But words of confession can redirect lives. A word of forgiveness can reconcile us with people who have hurt us. Words of praise uplift. Singing words bolster sagging and broken spirits.

“I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony! I’d like to hold it in my arms and keep it company…”

Our Westminster Music Director, Debbie Glaze, noted that singing together is a path toward healing. When we sing, we listen to one another; we make harmony.

Sadly, right now when we need it most, we are not able to safely sing together. So, let’s be creative. I invite you to write in comments so that we can participate in this together.

What does healing sound like for you?

Does healing sound like the laughter of children? Silence? Words of truth and forgiveness? Sublime poetry? Words of praise?

Though the passage from James is the longest in the Bible on the topic of the tongue, the book of Proverbs also pays it much attention. Chapter 12:18 reads, “The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.” And Proverbs 16:24: “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.”

I know that these days are very challenging, and sometimes we may feel as though we just don’t have the energy to get out of bed and carry on. That’s when we can learn from those who have long dealt with injustice and hardship. I’m closing with this poem entitled “Believing in Hymn.” H-Y-M-N. Frank X Walker, a Black poet from Kentucky, wrote this poem from the perspective of Myrlie Evers, the widow of Medgar Evers, who was killed by white supremacists in 1963.

Believing in Hymn (voice of Myrlie Evers)

Whenever we needed more confidence
than we woke up with in the morning

God would come in a song
wearing a black woman’s voice

a voice that sounded like that far away
look in Reverend Martin Luther King’s eyes.

When she opened it up, it wrapped its arms
around all our fears, our doubts;

it lifted our hearts and spirits and took up
so much space there was no room to hate back.

Every time she laid down a verse over the roar
of fire hoses, attack dogs, and police batons,

our own voices would join hands, pick it up
and let the chorus carry us as far as we needed to go.1
-by Frank X Walker

Today, how can your voice and my voice join hands?
How can our words and our listening bring healing?
How can we let God’s grace carry us into new life?

1 Believe in Hymn from Turn Me Loose: The Unghosting of Medgar Evers, poems by Frank X Walker, University of Georgia Press, Athens, Georgia, 2013.