Language of our Lives
The great American writer and activist, Toni Morrison, died on August 5th at the age of 88. A true transformational presence in American life. She was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1993. In her Nobel lecture, Morrison warned of succumbing to a language that is “unreceptive to interrogation, [which] cannot form or tolerate new ideas, shape other thoughts, tell another story, fill baffling silences . . . a language calculated to render mute the suffering of millions.” She held out hope that writers could find a language that does justice to the distinctiveness of individual lives. That kind of “work-work,” she said, is “sublime.” She imagines her muse saying, “Tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light.” And she surely did that.
But what Morrison said about writers of literature applies just as much to writers of theology and preachers of the gospel. Words matter. It is no accident that the highest theology in the New Testament happens when John the Evangelist calls Jesus the Word, Logos, of God (John 1:1). There is no higher expression of theological understanding in the formative writings of the Christian faith. That’s the peak. And the peak broadens to unimaginable dimensions when the same John then tells us that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us – or in us, as the preposition ἐν can be translated either way. Words matter. And that is why the Word, God’s Word, became flesh, became one of us, so that our own mouths also could speak words of God instead of words that do what Morrison warned about.
True words – whether our own or the words of clergy or politicians or teachers – must be receptive to interrogation, questioning and challenge, must be open to new ideas, must be able to shape other thoughts beside the ones the speaker might have in mind. Beware of anyone who does not want his or her words questioned.
Do you hear the voice of the Lord today in today’s Gospel reading? He doesn’t say many words, he doesn’t have to. “Do not weep,” he says to the weeping mother. It’s not empty sympathy he offers. His words are accompanied by action. And that action opens up new horizons to human experience.
We are not Jesus, we cannot say to a dead man, “Arise!” But we can make sure our words are not destructive. Paul put no obstacles in anyone’s way in today’s reading from 2 Corinthians. Do our words put obstacles in anyone’s way? He commends himself to his readers, “by purity, knowledge, forbearance, kindness, the Holy Spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God.” Do you see how he brings in the Holy Spirit and the power of God? When your speech and actions are pure, patient and kind; when you speak with knowledge rather than ignorance; when you speak the truth instead of falsehoods; when your love is genuine – ἐν ἀγάπῃ ἀνυποκρίτῳ, love that is not hypocritical – when all these things describe who you are and how you present yourself, the Holy Spirit is at work. The power of God is visible in you. You don’t have to raise the dead! The power of God is doing bigger and more lasting things in you!
Paul did not consider himself to be particularly eloquent or impressive looking. He was poor, but he made many rich; he had nothing, yet felt that he possessed everything. When your words are truthful and not self-serving; when your acts are kind; when your love is without hypocrisy; when your thoughts are pure – you are rich, you possess everything; because God is at work in you; because the Holy Spirit is quietly opening the way for you.
So yes, Saint Paul would completely agree with Toni Morrison about words and the language we use. Our speech and choice of words must be the opposite of what Morrison warned about: unreceptive to interrogation, [which] cannot form or tolerate new ideas, shape other thoughts, tell another story, fill baffling silences . . .