Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Words Can Kill the Spirit

Proverbs 1:20-33; James 3:1-12

We had it wrong as children.  Do you remember ending an argument with a classmate this way?  We would poke out our chest and say defiantly, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Granted that probably helped in the moment.  At least, it stopped a fight.  But what we would learn later in life is that words can hurt us.  Words are powerful.  Words, we would discover, can kill the spirit.

Imagine hearing these words from your parent: “You are a stupid child.  You will never amount to anything.  You’re a poor excuse for a son/daughter.  I wish I had never had you.”

Think of what those words do to the spirit of a child.

Imagine hearing these words from your spouse: “You’re fat.  You’re lazy.  I don’t love you anymore.  I hate you.  I wish you would leave.

Think of what those words do to the spirit of a man or a woman.

They’re just words, right?  A series of letters strung together.  No, those words, spoken by the right person, can be humiliating, dehumanizing, shaming, deflating, and depressing.  Spoken by the right person, words can become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

A major league baseball player spoke at a prison.  An inmate asked, “How did you become a major league baseball player, sir?”  The baseball player replied, “You know, I think it started when I was a boy.  I would play catch with my dad, and he would say, ‘You keep throwing the ball like that, son, and one day you’ll end up in the major leagues.  You keep swinging the bat like that, son, and one day you’ll end up in the major leagues.’ He ended with this, “And here I am…A major league baseball player.”

 The room became quiet, and the inmate who asked the question said, “You know… The same thing happened to me.  When I was a boy, my father told me I was good for nothing, and that one day I would end up in prison.  And here I am.

Words hurt.  Words cut.  Words have the power to kill our spirit.     Some words are so laden with emotional power we refer to them with a letter.  The N word.  The F word.  I would add the R word, retarded. 

Kelly and I were at a Cooperative Baptist Fellowship annual meeting few years ago.  We attended a luncheon for the Church Benefits Board.  A man at our table named Bob had recently retired.  Our daughter Hannah was with us, and he spoke kindly to Hannah.  As we ate lunch, Bob went to the lectern to give a testimonial for the board.  Except when saying the word “retired,” he used the word “retarded” instead.  “Now that I am retarded…”  A few people chuckled.  He did it three times.

 So, after his talk I took Hannah and got in line to speak with Bob.  Kelly said, “Don’t do it, David!”  I said, “Honey, I have to.”   By the time Hannah and I got to him, Hannah was slump over, and I had to hold her up. She was drooling.  I said, “Bob, you need to know that some of us are sensitive to the misuse of the word ‘retarded.’  Especially when it is done to get a cheap laugh.  There are proper and improper uses of that word.  In future talks, I hope you will remember that.”

He leaned forward and placed his forehead on my shoulder and said, “I’m so sorry. I will never do it again.”  I believed him and accepted his apology.

James said the tongue is a fire that was lit by hell.  While we have domesticated many animals, he said we have still not tamed the human tongue.  Don’t let its small size deceive you. It is a “restless evil, full of deadly poison,” he said. Then he pointed out an irony of the tongue.  We can use our tongues to declare God’s praises.  We can use our tongue to sing, “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.”  And then we can use that same tongue to curse people who are made in God’s image.

James laid it on the line, “My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so.” Our words, James said, tell a lot about us.  They are an indication of who we really are deep inside.  He asked these two rhetorical questions

Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and brackish water?  Can a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives, or a grapevine figs?    The implied answer to these rhetorical questions is “no.”  A spring is either fresh or brackish water.  It can’t be both.  A fig tree yields only figs, not olives.  Regardless of what we claim about ourselves, the words that come out of our mouth tell who we really are deep inside.

 Of course, James didn’t know about Facebook, email, Instagram, and Twitter.  He didn’t know how easy it would be to cyberbully today, often anonymously.  If you are a parent of a teen, you need to be aware of the bullying that takes place online.  According to the Pew Research Center, 59% of U. S. teens report having been bullied or harassed online.  Girls are much more likely to be bullied online than boys. Boys are more likely to be playing video games.  Youth in the LGBTQ community are nearly twice as likely to be bullied as their non-LGBTQ peers.  Cyberbullying causes depression, anger, self-harm, and has driven some to suicide. The tongue is a fire lit by hell, a “restless evil, full of deadly poison.”

 So, James challenged his readers to do better, to be better.  They’re not just words, a series of letters strung together.  No.  Words are powerful.  They can hurt, or they can bless.  They can cut, or they can heal.  They can lift the spirit, or they can kill the spirit. 

Henri Nouwen, a brilliant theologian of the 20th century, understood this.  He spent much of his life teaching and lecturing in Ivy League schools.  In the last chapter of his life, he chose to leave the Ivy League and live in a community of people with physical and intellectual challenges.  He wrote some of his finest work during this time.

 He wrote about a member of the community named Janet.  She approached him one day and asked for a blessing.  So he raised his hand and made a sign of the cross on her forehead with his thumb.  Janet said, “No, that won’t work.  I want a real blessing!”  The community was about to gather for prayer, so Nouwen told Janet that he would give her blessing during that time together.  With about thirty people gathered, Nouwen told the group, “Janet has asked me for a special blessing.”  So Janet stood, come forward, and gave Nouwen a hug. Here’s what he said to Janet before the group. Janet, I want you to know that you are God’s beloved daughter. You are precious in God’s eyes. Your beautiful smile, your kindness to the people in this house, and all the good things you do show us what a beautiful human being you are. I know you feel a little low these days and that there is some sadness in your heart, but I want you to remember that you are a special person, deeply loved by God and all the people here.

 As Janet returned to her seat, something amazing happened.  Jane raised her hand and said, “I want a blessing too.”  After Jane another person.  And another.  By the time the prayer service ended, they were all shedding tears of joy. (Life of the Beloved, p. 58)

 The world is hungry for words that give life, words that bless, words that lift and encourage.  So, I have an assignment for you today.  Some of us haven’t had a homework assignment in a long time.  So here it is.  Bless someone this week.  Use your words, either spoken or written, to bless someone.  Sit down and think about it.  Make it genuine.  Go see the person.  Call.  Write a note.  Whatever is comfortable for you.  We know that sticks and stones can break our bones.  We also know that words can kill our spirit. So let us use our words to give life.

Closing Prayer

Lord, you have placed this power within each of us.  Power to curse and power to bless.  Use us to bless.  Amen.