Before we begin this morning, I need you to do something very important for me, so that we don’t miss any of what I have to say today. At no point during this morning’s sermon should you be thinking about a purple elephant with pink polka dots, OK? Can I get you all to do this? Nobody think about a big purple elephant with large pink polka dots. Not even in the balcony. OK, so nobody’s thinking about that elephant, right? Great, let’s get started.
We have a lot of creative people in our church. We have knitters and quilters, we have bean-bakers and chili-makers, we have painters of many stripes, from still-life to wood trim, we have musicians and singers, we have carpenters and product engineers, we have a lot of people who are able to create wonderful works out of nothing more than their imagination and a simple medium.
I have always envied those of you who can take something ordinary and make it look beautiful, because the only way I can claim to be creative is with something that can be neither seen nor touched, something that appears only for a moment and then is gone. I – and Angie – create with words. I just created that purple elephant with pink dots that none of you is thinking about. Now, in a certain sense a word is ephemeral. It is heard once in the course of an instant, and then disappears. So in one sense those of you who make quilts and paintings and bookshelves and jet engines make something that is much more enduring than the words we put together on a regular basis. I remember taking a class in seminary where one of the assignments was to create something that could be used as an aid to worship, so I thought for a while, and wrote a liturgical poem that could be used in multiple worship settings. Everybody else made banners, and icons and other symbolic pieces from wood and cloth and other equally constructive materials. But I made something with words alone, and as a result, I received the lowest grade in the class. The irony is that it was my preaching professor who preferred the material to the verbal.
So there is a sense in which words are fleeting. But there is a deeper sense in which words are far more permanent than anything made of sticks or stone or steel. John begins his story about the life of Jesus in exactly the same way the Bible begins the story of creation: “In the beginning.” In each of the first six days of creation, it is more than just God doing the creating; it is the word of God doing the creating. The Hebrew litany falls into a familiar pattern: “God said, ‘Let there be...’ and there was... and it was good.” God spoke – and it was – and it was good. So in the same way that God’s creative word is at work in Genesis, God’s creative word is similarly at work in the gospel: “In the beginning was the word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... all things came into being through [the word], and without [it], not one thing came into being.” I like the way the RSV phrases that last bit, “without him was not anything made that was made.” This is the power of the word.
A word is something powerful. A word can do things that bricks and stones and mortar and wood cannot do, and it is more enduring as well. This is why right now someone in the choir still can’t get that purple elephant with pink polka dots out of their mind, because once a word is spoken it takes on a life of its own that lasts considerably longer than the things we can fabricate and see and touch. Anyone here who has ever blurted something out in the heat of the moment that we wish we had never said knows this is true: whether to a spouse, or a child, or a boss or a co-worker, we know that a word, once spoken, takes on a life of its own, and cannot be called back. And though we may try our best, once spoken, no explanation or apology or justification can ever make that word completely disappear.
I was reminded of the enduring power of words as I followed the news about last weekend’s shootings in Arizona. You don’t have to subscribe to the theory that Jared Loughner went on a senseless rampage because he listened to too much Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck, to understand that words still have the power to make a difference. After all, I suppose too much NPR and “All Things Considered” might have the same effect on some. But whether the shrill tone of public discourse contributed to the attack on Gabrielle Giffords, whether those were crosshairs or surveyors marks on the map of Giffords’ district, whether one side of the ideological spectrum or the other employs the most war-like metaphors, there is still the cold reality that words make a difference. Words have power, words have endurance, and it would be a mistake to pretend they do not. When Jesus said it is not what goes into a person that can defile, but what comes out, he was thinking of the words we speak to each other, their power and their lasting effect.
When we hear Jets’ cornerback Antonio Cromartie curse out Tom Brady in a public interview earlier this week; when we engage in an honest debate about the value of language in Mark Twain’s classic Huckleberry Finn; when a critical conversation about end-of-life decisions becomes a “death panel;” when we pause before a meal to bless the food on our table and the people around it; and this weekend, when we remember the legacy of a man whose inspiring words led to a non-violent revolution and greater equality for people of color; we recognize that words possess an enduring power and a lasting effect far beyond the simple speaking of them.
Gail read this morning from the book of the Proverbs, words that take us back to the very creation when the Word began its work:
“The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago... when he established the heavens, I was there, when he drew a circle on the face of the deep, when he made firm the skies above... when he marked out the foundations of the earth, there I was beside him, like a master worker, delighting in the human race.”
From the very beginning, it is the word of God’s wisdom that has given meaning and shape to all creation, to the heavens and the earth, and to all of human life. By the spoken word God created, and by the incarnate word God is creating still.
As the details of last weekend’s shootings emerged, it became clear that it was much more a combination of Loughner’s own mental and emotional instability coupled with his access to guns and ammunition that led to the tragedy, much more than any politically-charged language. And so in a sense, trying to corral and parse whatever words might have been spoken or written before last Saturday is not altogether helpful. But what surprises me is what we have heard since the shooting. Gratefully, there have been a good number of thoughtful, level headed leaders who have spoken evenly, and civilly, and compassionately, who have urged the same in our better lights. I appreciated the President’s words, as well as his observation that speech matters, at Wednesday’s memorial service when he said,
“At a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized – at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do – it is important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not in a way that wounds.”
Yet without pointing fingers or naming names – though, forgive me Lord, but Barbara Anderson just drives me crazy! - without pointing fingers or naming any other names, we have reason to be disappointed in those who have used the occasion for division and polarization, for blame-calling and self-aggrandizement, rather than for healing and compassion. Listen to what John says about the potential of the Word: “From its fullness we have all received grace upon grace.” It is possible – and it is not just possible, it is responsible, it is incumbent and it is faithful – to see that the words we speak, and the thoughts which motivate them, are vessels of grace. One of the things I really appreciate about the discussion we have been having around becoming an Open and Affirming congregation is that the conversation has been a thoughtful, responsible, and grace-filled conversation. There was a time in our church’s life that such a conversation would have generated more heat than light, but one of the things we have learned together is how to talk to each other with a mutuality of respect as brothers and sisters in Jesus Christ. “From the fullness of the Word, we have all received grace upon grace.” This should be the aim of our words, of what we say to each other, and I don’t think it is unrealistic to hold ourselves, and our leadership, both our ecclesiastical and our civic and political leadership to this noble, honest and respectful standard.
Purple elephants notwithstanding.
Let us pray.
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