Learning to Talk

Exodus 20:16; Ephesians 4:11-16; John 1:1-5

Every single one of us here this morning can recollect a time when our mouth got us into all sorts of trouble. We can all recollect a moment when we wish we could have grabbed the words leaving our mouths as fast as they came to erase them. We wish we could hit a magic reset button. Zen has a wonderful term for this talking—wrong speech. I like that—the simple act of speaking was faulty, fallible, and foolish. In our tradition, we have a slightly more theological terminology for it—false witness. I like that, too, because it gets to the heart of the matter—when we speak wrongly, we are not telling the truth, we are witnessing to something that does not exist, and, often, we are revealing what we really wish would be so, if the world and all within it acted according to our self-interest.

Think about that—the most reliable source of lying is self-preservation. We can all think of celebrities caught in predicaments who obviously lie their way through it, hoping to preserve a modicum of their marketability. As a parent, I caught my children in blatant falsehoods when they thought such meandering would spare them. Heck, I know things I told my parents to get out of trouble (some things I think are safely secret even now [although my children wrongly assume there are things still hidden from me I know quite well]). We can resort to lies when the chips are down to save ourselves.

We can also bend the truth to fit our needs in a less morally cloudy fashion, too. A lot of us cope with bad news through the psychological tool of denial. We protect ourselves by determining that something painful simply does not exist. Couples facing destructive dysfunction will deny it. A patient will simply refuse to accept a black diagnosis. An addict will play all sorts of tricks with herself to keep from seeing the truth of her dependence. 

The practice of faith is not immune from falsity. 

God knows us better than we know ourselves. God knows our propensity to manipulate circumstances, responses, and reactions to suit our own ends. The recently closed political season simply proves the rule. I doubt there is anyone naive enough to take political advertising at face value. We all know that candidates will take opponents’ views, statements, and experiences completely out of context to gain momentum for themselves. We just decide to choose the least false of the lot—cynical, I know, but seemingly more and more true. God knows that about us. God meets us as we are. God issues parameters for the better way to be. So, God intones the Ninth Commandment—

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.

The motivation God seeks to nullify is self-aggrandizement. God will not tolerate our use of slander, malice, or self-interest as a means to advancement of one person over another. The reason why God does this is alarmingly simple—in the eyes of God, every person is the same—every human being is a child of God, equally blessed by God with grace; and equally in need of that grace every single day.

This Sunday is a forgotten high, holy day in the life of the Church. A great many are already utterly distracted by tinsel, jingle bells, and shopping sprees of the coming month. Some of us are still stubbornly clinging to Thursday coming—Thanksgiving, the pause of gratitude for God’s providence, the maelstrom of family dining, and the chaotic joy of it all. Sunday comes and goes. But today is too important to slip by unnoticed. Today is Christ the King, the last day of the year for liturgical Christians. Today, we are to meditate on, ponder deeply, and encounter the Lord Jesus, ascended to his place of power and glory as pantocrator—Lord of the Cosmos, Ruler of All That Is. 

What does that mean?

It means God answered our frailty as people unable to tell the truth. God has spoken the Word—the Word made Flesh—to answer all human utterance. God silences all falsehood. God dismisses all lying. God corrects all denial. 

All very theological, but has that to do with any of us?

Everything.

I wish I could guarantee that you will eventually outgrow the need for self-preservation and accompanying lies, but the truth is that, as we are, it is a default position. We will feel threatened, defensive, and put-upon by someone, and we will revert to old patterns. We will still be the child deliberately bending the truth to escape. Christ meets us, understands, and seeks the reconciliation to the truth. The lie will only compound the division—God will preserve us as we live the truth. Any pain and suffering will pass. It is momentary. We can heal. God will heal us. Trust this word to be true.

I wish I could guarantee that you will never face a circumstance so overwhelming that you simply refuse to admit its existence, but I can’t do that. Life is fragile—we are fragile. There is only so much we can bear. At that point, meet Christ with you. Remember his words, “Come unto me, all of you overburdened, bearing heavy loads. I will give you rest.” Allow Christ to lead. Allow Christ to take charge. Allow his love to redeem. Allow his grace to open the truth that nothing can separate us from God. Allow his mercy to lift you from whatever abyss swallows you. 

Then tell the truth. That is the essence of right speech. That is the end of false witness. Enter the truth without fear. Admit it. Accept it. Live it. God will be right there. The power of Christ will be right there. With that comes the deepest assurance of all—all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.