Tag Archives: language

Care with Language: One Sphere to Another

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Our dear friends Rev. Joe and Carrie Bangert are in town for the weekend, and it has been a joy catching up with them. Because our families are incredibly close, having spent years together here at Our Savior—walking together through so many moments in life, our kids being theirs and theirs being ours—it was easy to shore up our time apart. It’s nothing short of visiting with family. We spent most of Saturday morning talking about our children—where they are in life and the kind of people they are becoming. Chatting in this way, it’s hard to avoid comparing generations. And so, we did that, too. We talked about how things were different in our former days, and as we did, we observed ourselves. At least, I know I did.

I suppose I could ask you, “When did you know the path you would pursue as an adult?”

I’ve shared before that my earliest memory of future possibilities envisioned an Indiana Jones life in archaeology. I wanted to dig things up, find artifacts, and solve mysteries. I wanted to rediscover the earth’s undiscoverables. At one time, I found myself wanting to be a doctor. By the time I entered high school, both desires had given way to a longing to fly fighter jets, namely, the F-15 Eagle. I loved that plane. I still do. A secret wish is that before I die, I’ll be able to go for a ride in one—or any fighter jet, for that matter.

Beyond these things, something happened during my junior year in high school that rendered my previous aspirations obsolete. I think Graham Greene described it best. He said, “There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.”

I remember one of a few instances that signaled the door’s opening. It happened while sitting in a midday study hall scheduled right after my Creative Writing English class and just before my Spanish III class. That day in particular, I’d spent my time reading The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe.

In the story, Poe described a revelrous masquerade ball thrown by a prince for his friends in seclusion while a terrible plague was depopulating his country. As if nothing were happening outside, the extravagant décor of the prince’s gatherings betrayed a uniquely twisted personality, one that Poe described as “bold and fiery” designs that “glowed with barbaric lustre.” Poe continued using fantastical language to describe a seemingly grotesque genius inherent to a man who wanted to continue living his life of indulgence, doing all he could to forget what was happening beyond the archways of his isolation.

It’s a unique story. And yet, the point of my sharing is not necessarily its content (even though it does matter) but rather something that happened while reading the story. It was a moment when I felt a genuine appreciation for the rich use of language. Poe wrote in ways that brought me from one sphere into another. There I was sitting in the Morton High School cafeteria, feeling as though I’d been whisked away and into darkly gothic chambers filled with costumed and twirling revelers. His descriptions were incredibly palpable. Here at my computer on a Sunday morning more than thirty years after first reading the story, I still feel like I’m describing something I experienced firsthand. The party’s music, bustling atmosphere, and flickering candelabras dripping wax haven’t left me. Perhaps more significantly, I remember the passion stirred by the story’s pivotal moment from noisy merriment to a sweeping breathlessness that palled every person in every chamber of the house—the moment of moments when a visitor appeared and everything turned sideways for the prince and his guests. It was the moment that revealed Poe’s purpose for writing.

Poe described the scene:

“And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened… the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise—then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.”

I don’t want to spoil the story (although it was published in 1842, so you’ve had 180 years to read it), but you should know that the masked figure who suddenly appeared wasn’t on the prince’s guest list. He’s never on anyone’s guest list. Still, he has access to every space that humans occupy. One day, we will meet him no matter what we do to ignore him, how we try to hide away from him, or what we do to protect against him. Everyone will. And why? For one, God did not hide the truth regarding the sinister specter’s existence. He is the last greatest enemy of all (1 Corinthians 15:26), the one visitor God told us would be Sin’s final wage (Romans 6:23).

Both then and now, Poe’s story communicates something incredibly theological to me. For my part, however, I remember reading it and realizing how much I loved the language Poe used to tell it. I remember wondering how it could be possible to take such a deep truth carried on such a moving string of language, and translate it into other languages, such as the language I’d be studying in my very next class. Could Spanish interpret the vibrancy of Poe’s English sufficiently. English and Spanish are two different spheres.

There began my desire for a career focused on handling language in the best ways for memorably communicating concepts from one person or place to another. The door opened, and my future stepped in.

I assumed the way forward in this would be as a teacher, so I went to college and eventually graduated with a degree in education. Enticed by the opportunity to teach in a church, I drifted into my school’s Director of Christian Education program. This resulted in an internship in Michigan. A decade later, I experienced the unmistakable pull toward the seminary. Now I’m a pastor—both a teacher and preacher. I’m someone tasked with taking the most remarkable words ever put to a page and communicating them to others.

A few weeks ago, during the sermon here at Our Savior, I used one of my fast-fleeting minutes in the pulpit to examine this privilege, sharing how it actually meets with the preaching task. I mentioned that Christian preaching is, as Saint Paul demonstrates quite simply in Romans 10:14-15, a conduit from God through a person to others. Its purpose is to deliver God’s Law and Gospel—to show us our sins and to give us the solution to the sin problem, Jesus Christ. The result: faith in the Savior and the assurance of eternal life only by His person and work. I noted that a Christian sermon, while it may technically preach Law and Gospel, if it does so unprepared and disjointedly, being little more than a prattling on and on about this and that, eventually becoming a droning form of communication that actually makes it hard for the hearer to listen—such preaching might be doing more to smother its purpose than accomplish it.

In other words, the careful handling of God’s Word—which includes deliberate attention to the language used to relay it—is important. This is true because it can assist in building a platform of certainty in a listener—the fostering of a uniquely powerful (and often overlooked) byproduct: the belief that what’s being said means the world to the preacher, and he desperately wants his listeners to believe it, too. Of course, that’s not necessarily the power of the sermon. The Holy Spirit at work through the faithful proclamation of the Word is the power.

Notice I said the faithful proclamation. Care with words is a part of this and is, by no means, disconnected from the Lord’s sending of the preacher as a witness. When the preacher communicates the seriousness of sin’s predicament (that Poe’s specter is indeed looming) and the solution born from the person and work of Christ, when he does this in ways that show he’s invested in every single word, this can be an extremely sturdy bridge on the road to certainty. Such moments become unforgettable for listeners, ones that welcome concepts right into the middle of the listener’s sphere.

I can honestly say that the beginning of my awareness of these things began to take shape during my junior year in high school. In essence, I was becoming aware of the art of homiletics—the study and practice of preaching. Sure, it coalesced in my youth through visits with secular literature. But even so, the door opened, and my current role (which back then was my potential future) stepped in. Do I sometimes wonder if I’d have made it as a fighter pilot? Sometimes. I just asked myself that question a few nights ago while watching “Top Gun: Maverick” for the tenth time. And yet, as Maverick said in response to Rear Admiral Chester Cain’s ridiculing comments for not having done something grander with his life, “I’m where I belong, sir.” I thought the same thing while sipping my shallow dram of whisky and nodding in agreement. I’m right where I belong. I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.

I suppose that’s enough for this morning.

Crucification?

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I mentioned a few weeks back that I’ve been watching old episodes of “Knight Rider.” I must say again that it’s great fun, not only for the horrible special effects and equally terrible dialogue but also for the 80s reminiscence it stirs. I say this mindful of a recent episode in which KITT, the show’s futuristic talking car, insisted on Christ as the only sensible reason for celebrating Christmas. Even better, a little further into the episode, Michael Knight, the main character, casually assumed out loud to another character that anyone unfamiliar with the contents of the Bible must be part of a very strange minority.

I found those perspectives refreshing. Although, when I returned to real life, I suddenly found them disheartening, having realized we’ve drifted far from such comfortable vantages. Today’s ethos makes 80s TV show language feel more like the vernacular of an alien planet than an echo of earthly history. If you think I’m exaggerating, then consider the Gallup poll from the 1980s that determined a little less than 75% of Americans were biblically literate. In 2021, the number came in at around 11%. That’s not an annoying but nevertheless inconsequential sign that we’ve lost our national footing in this regard. It’s an indication we’ve gone over the cliff and are in free-fall.

A passing conversation I had about two weeks ago with our Kantor, Keith Vieregge, comes to mind. We were talking about how so many words in the English language are mauled with regularity. When someone says “supposebly” in our presence, there’s a good chance we’re cringing internally. But it gets worse. Keith mentioned how words are being completely reconfigured, having recently heard the word “conversate” used in place of “converse”—as in, “The teacher needed to conversate with the parents regarding their child’s behavior.” I agreed and then volleyed with the made-up word “crucification,” which I’d recently seen used in place of “crucifixion” in an online forum.

So, where am I going with this? Well, I suppose one point of intersection is that not only are we thoroughly lacking in biblical literacy, but with our current culture’s reworking of words, we may discover breakdowns in the fundamental transmission of the Bible’s contents. Anyone who cares about language will tell you that when words become confused, the only way forward is chaos. I mean, consider the current confusion regarding gender. The terms “man” and “woman” mean different things to different people. In relation, the word “sex” no longer refers solely to biological gender and reproduction processes. It has become ideological, and as a result, no longer holds a firm footing for easy communication. I proposed not all that long ago that the practice of confusing terms spilled over from academia’s already-poisoned river into the streams and creeks of America when Bill Clinton, in response to a question in front of a grand jury while under investigation for perjury, said rather ridiculously, “It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is.” Clinton went on to mumble almost unintelligibly, “If the—if he—if ‘is’ means is and never has been, that is not—that is one thing. If it means there is none, that was a completely true statement. Now, if someone had asked me on that day, are you having any kind of sexual relations with Ms. Lewinsky, that is, asked me a question in the present tense, I would have said no. And it would have been completely true.”

What a rambling word-salad of ridiculousness. If we don’t know how to properly handle the two-letter verb “is,” we’re in big trouble.

This reminds me of something else.

There is a memorable line in act 2, scene 3 of Macbeth that reads, “Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.” If you know the story, then you’ll remember these words being spoken after Macbeth murders Duncan, the King of Scotland. The point is to communicate the impending chaos on the horizon for a rulerless kingdom. When no one is in charge—when there’s no certainty for direction—things come undone very quickly. Maybe this line applies to 21st-century communication, too. When the crispness of language is murdered, regardless of the unkillable nature of objective truth, the ability to actually transmit objectively true things becomes untenable, burdened by the absence of universally accepted fundamentals.

Take for example the important topic of marriage. Marriage, and the families it produces, are the fundamental building blocks of every society throughout history. In a simple way, without the hardened commitment established by marriage, societies would dissolve into little more than chaotically self-indulgent gatherings overflowing with orphans. But how can you talk about marriage in any meaningful way if the variables of its equation are undefinable?

“Marriage is to be between a man and a woman,” someone might say.

“I agree with you,” is the possible reply of a transgender woman married to a man.

But they don’t agree on marriage. A transgender woman is a man married to another man, and by such a combination, cannot begin to meet the basic parameters of natural law God has cemented into marriage, one of which is the procreation of children. The frustrating breakdown here leads to giant tech companies, with all seriousness, creating emojis of pregnant men. It leads to schools teaching children gender dysphoria is something to celebrate along with phrases like “birthing person.”

In short, words matter. What’s more, holding the line on their structures and meanings matters, too.

Truth be told, I’m only sharing with you what came to mind after reading Proverbs 21:23 during my devotion this morning. The text reads, “Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble.” I suppose the text is somewhat relative to the direction of my thoughts. The word used in the text for “keep” (שֹׁמֵ֣ר) means more than just to control something. It means to guard it for the sake of preserving it. A commentary I visited with this morning compared the guarding to someone who cares about the language they use, inferring someone who says “no more than is right and fitting.” This is both contextual and residual. In other words, aware of the precise meanings of words, a righteous person also knows the long-term damage that comes when those words are misused. Misuse leads to confusion. Confusion can result in a tangling that brings incredible harm.

Come to think of it, Jesus spoke to these things in a way when He said in Matthew 5:37 to let one’s yes be yes and one’s no be no. In context, the Lord is referring to taking oaths. But His broader teaching is not only to understand what is meant by the terms but to be so certain about them that you can speak with simplicity in a way that has binding strength. You can say “yes” and be fully invested in your answer, or you can say “no” and never feel the tug to question your resoluteness.

I don’t know about you, but on my part, I’m not only doing everything I can to be careful with language but to protect the terms that make communication through language of any value, especially as it meets with God’s Word. I don’t want confusion anywhere near the Gospel. Confusion, as John Milton chimed so poetically, brings nothing less than “ruin upon ruin, rout upon rout.”

Christians and Swearing

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I sat down this morning intending to write something relative to Lent, something helpful to you. However, the only thought that keeps emerging from my early morning mind is one that’s already been swirling around in it for a while. It’s sitting at the forefront right now because of a Facebook conversation between two friends that I re-read just a few moments ago.

Who knows? Maybe this will find its way around to the topic of Lent. Maybe it won’t. Either way, I’m suspecting it might be something that concerns you, too, and if we can at least gather something of value from it, then great.

So here goes…

Have you noticed that more and more Christians are finding it perfectly acceptable to use profanity in their social media postings, whether it be casual conversation, sharing of memes, or whatever? And I don’t mean the relatively inane adjectives employed for emphasis on rare occasions. I mean the worst of the worst. It sure seems like more and more believers are practicing the crassest corners of our language as they’d so easily employ any other portions the dictionary might claim.

I don’t get it. Somehow these words have found a comfortable home in the vocabulary of so many believers.

Why?

At the Marriage Seminar we held at Our Savior this past Saturday, the leader of the event, Pastor Ron Farah, asked all in attendance to consider and then define the term “communication.” I didn’t speak up too often throughout the four-hour workshop, but in that moment, I raised my hand and took the opportunity to speak. I shared that I’m one who believes words to be the clothing in which we dress our thoughts. In other words, the thoughts in our mind are presented to others through the avenue of language. The best communication, I believe, occurs when people take care with the words they choose. Mindful of this, why would I seek to dress the thoughts of my intellect in gutter rags when I could adorn them for respectability?

I don’t know if that makes any sense, but hopefully you get the point.

Along these lines, however, past partners in exchanges on this topic have been quick to pull studies from thin air suggesting that people who swear a lot are above average in intelligence and may actually have better communication skills. It’s funny how the internet has made everyone into an expert. Playing that game, I’m equal in digital expertise by finding an equivalent number of studies proving the exact opposite. Put differently, I don’t believe the premise that profanity proves the swiftness and depth of a person’s intellect.

Anyway, my purer point isn’t how smart a person is or isn’t, or whether or not they’d beat me in Scrabble. First of all, my point is that profanity seriously devalues dialogue and the people engaging in it. Perhaps further, it grossly misrepresents the Christian faith. For these reasons alone, believers should avoid using it, that is, if they want their words to matter.

I’m sure there are plenty out there who think I’m nothing more than a shrieking ninny in this regard. Maybe. Although, I did take time to do a radio bit relative to the subject a few months back, and it’s gotten a pretty positive response. You can listen to it here: https://aminutetostopandthink.podbean.com/e/concern-for-others-must-always-be-a-part-of-your-calculation/

In the meantime, Colossians 3:8 and Ephesians 5:4-5 deal directly with this issue… so there’s that, too.

Another little something that comes to mind…

First off, we don’t swear in our home, and I dare say it isn’t just because we’re a “pastor family.” It’s because we know words matter. Think of it in the sense of swimming. Swimming is fun. Sure, you could swim in any kind of water. But why not the crystal clear shoreline of a pristine oceanfront instead of a sewage overflow. Or how about the attempts of a young man to woo the one he desires as his bride? He could hand her a wad of flowers he haphazardly ripped from the neighbor’s flower bed at the last second. Or he could present her with a well-arranged, and color-coordinated bouquet demonstrating he cares, that he took time, thought, and expense to show her his love. Some bodies of water are healthier than others for swimming. All efforts to communicate will in some way display the value of the participants to one another. Innately, some words are just better, too.

Along these lines, and as another example, every chance I get, I ask my daughter, Madeline, about her school day. She’s in high school. As I pry, I’ll ask her about the “boy” scene—you know, just to stay in tune with what she’s thinking in that department and to be ready to help her navigate. We have a great relationship, so we can have these conversations. Her response to the boy question is almost always the same.

“Dad, all of the boys at my school swear all the time.”

“All of them?” I’ll ask.

“All of them,” is her reply. “I guess,” she’ll begin with gentle passivity, “I’m just not interested in dating anyone who swears all the time. It feels sort of disrespectful.”

Good. I’m glad she’s keeping her eyes and ears open for someone better than what the vernacular of this generation of classmates is betraying. She doesn’t need to settle for the gutter. She’s valuable. How a boy speaks to her, while it reflects a lot of other things—culture, maturity, and the like—it also shines a light on his understanding of her as a person. I should also be sure to point out that it presupposes what’s important to the boy’s parents. Again, take a listen to the radio bit I shared above. It’s a true story. And you’ll see what I mean.

So, what does all of this have to do with Lent? Well, hold on a second. I think I’m almost there.

Since I’m already at this (and most likely have offended a few folks), when speaking of Christians using vulgarity, I should add that I don’t just mean the typical words that make PG movies into PG-13. There’s another particular phrase that’ll cause me to bristle.

“Oh, my God!” a woman will say emphatically in discussion, and the Thoma’s will get a little tense.

“Daddy,” Evelyn will whisper while tugging at my coat, “she just took the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Yes, I know,” is my returned whisper. “How about we just continue to show reverence for God and not do what she did, okay?”

“Okay,” is her reply.

Again, good. I’m glad Evelyn was so bothered by this that she felt the need to speak up. It means she not only has a sense of an acceptable manner for calling upon the name of the Lord, but she also understands that language itself has gravity and it affects people in its orbit. The way we use it matters. Habitually tossing out “Oh, my God” exclamatorily in casual conversation is not one of the ways it should be employed. Personally, when I hear the phrase used carelessly, I cringe. When I hear a fellow Christian say it, it takes everything in me not to claw my ears out of my skull. It’s an outright affront to the Second Commandment. Sure, I get how cultural swear words may slip into our lives undetected, but with this one, Christians should know better.

But they don’t. Why?

Because there are plenty of things Christians do that they shouldn’t. I do stuff. You do stuff. We’re humans. Humans are burdened by the human will. The human will is infected by the Sin-nature. The Sin-nature is great at establishing habits. Habits can become things we do but don’t necessarily realize or see, as if we’re completely oblivious to them. Yes, oblivious. Better yet, ignorant. The Sin-nature is an ever-present reminder that, indeed, we are ignorant humans. On the other hand, and as it meets with this thread, we need to understand that ignorance is by no means a justifier for behavior. You can’t kill someone because you didn’t know it was wrong. We can’t say we’re innocent because we’re ignorant.

At its barest minimum, ignorance will always be proof of our nature—a well-defined footprint of Sin.

So, why bring all of this up? Because again, it came to mind. I suppose it was worth pondering because Lent is good for this kind of discussion. Lent is a time to deal with the ignorance of sinful habits.

Okay, okay. I know some out there will say, “We should fight our sinful behaviors all year long and not just at Lent!”

Yes, I know.

And by the way, Lutherans do fight it year-round. At least they should. In my church, every service begins on bended knee in humble confession, followed by the absolving word of God’s forgiveness. Such a rite and ceremony are regular ammo for taking out the underpinnings of every ignorant thing that haunts us. We humbly submit to God all of the sins we know and the ones we don’t—thoughts, words, and deed—things done and things left undone. And then God replies with a gracious Word of love that washes away all of the specters, and He lifts us to our feet ready to engage in the war.

Still, Lutherans go a little further with this during the season of Lent. It’s a season that provides for the deliberate taking of aim at the deepest and darkest parts of the human nature and frame. This is the tarry muck from which the Sin-stained habits crawl. Lent calls for six weeks of thoughtful self-examination. It sets us at the shoreline of the tar pit so we can see these things for what they are, and it does this as preparation for viewing Good Friday and Easter Sunday rightly—for knowing the immense price tag of Christ’s efforts on our behalf. Certainly we are self-examiners all year long. But when it comes to the precise targeting of particular Church seasons, Epiphany doesn’t necessarily take aim like Lent. Christmas doesn’t either. Lent is a unique time of the year.

Self-examination. It’s good stuff. My Lenten encouragement for you: Do what you can to benefit from this aspect of Lent’s intentions. And I suppose as you do, be sure to know that by God’s grace through faith in Jesus, you have, as Saint Paul said in 1 Corinthians 2:16, “the mind of Christ.” This means that by the power of the Holy Spirit through the Gospel you have all the weaponry you need for waging war against the sinful flesh and being in alignment with the will of God—which is the salvation of your soul.

As you live your life of faith, you can do so with the Godly desire for wrestling and winning against the craving to embrace Sin—whether that be gossip, adultery, covetousness, or taking the Lord’s name in vain. And speaking of, when it comes to the other colorful bits of vocabulary we employ that have the tendency for misrepresenting the Church’s identity, well, you can pin those down for the count, too.

I’ll pray for you in your ignorance. You pray for me in mine. I certainly have plenty of sins that I need to lay before the Lord daily.

As we do this together, let’s “fix our eyes on Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2). Let’s look to Him and know by faith that when we fail, He won’t be waiting in the wing to condemn us. He took that condemnation into Himself on the cross. The price for our failures was paid. By His victory, He stands at the ready to pick up all who look to Him for help—to dust them off, to bind up their wounds, to forgive them, and to send them back out into the world to be His people once more.