A Telltale Tongue

The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell. All kinds of animals, birds, reptiles and creatures of the sea are being tamed and have been tamed by man, but no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be.
—James 3:6–10

Nothing is easier than sinning, and there are many ways to sin, but mostly we sin by what we say. “How much must I be changed before I am changed?” as John Donne said.

Actually James goes beyond our words and looks deep down into our hearts. Not only do we sin by what we say, he insists, but what we say is the measure of our sinfulness: “If anyone is never at fault in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to keep his whole body in check” (James 3:2). “Stick out your tongue,” says Dr. James. “I want to see the state of your soul.” Thus James begins his treatise on the tongue.

The tongue is a little member, he observes, yet it can do great things. Three metaphors make his point: Little bits control strong horses; little rudders turn mighty sailing ships; little sparks ignite vast conflagrations. Little things mean a lot.

The tongue, though very small, “makes great boasts” (3:5). “Look what I can do,” it struts and brags. “I can ruin a reputation. I can destroy a lifework. I can rupture a long-standing relationship. I can crush the strongest spirit. I can spoil the tenderest moment. I can humiliate, embarrass, and shame. I can curse and cut and kill!”

“[The tongue],” says James, “corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell” (3:6). The tongue defiles every part of our being and every moment of our lives from the cradle to the grave. It burns its way through our “life cycle” to use James’s exact expression, like an out-of-control forest fire, leaving devastation and ruin. Only in our death will it die.

James’s word for hell is gehenna, Jerusalem’s garbage dump, a fitting metaphor for hell in those days, associated as it was with impurity, corruption, fumes, and stench, a place ruled by Baal-zebub, the Lord of the Flies—the source of the filth that so readily rolls off our tongues.

And here’s the worst of it: “You can tame a tiger,” The Message says, “but you can’t tame a tongue—it’s never been done” (3:7–8). It is a restless, vicious, venomous, feral thing that cannot be controlled—at least by man. Finally James notes an odd incongruity: With our tongues we bless God and curse men, the most god-like beings on earth. Blessings and curses from the same orifice. “My brothers,” says James in a masterpiece of understatement, “this should not be” (3:10).

Who can explain this strange ambivalence? James’s answer is to consider the source: “Does a fountain send out from the same opening both fresh and bitter water? Can a fig tree, my brethren, produce olives, or a vine produce figs? Neither can salt water produce fresh” (3:11–12 NASB).

Fresh water flows from fresh subterranean sources, bitter water from deep springs of bitterness. James doesn’t explain his metaphor. He lets it hang in the air and leaves it for us to think through. That’s the best thing you can do for another, George MacDonald said: “Wake things up that are in him; or make him think out things for himself.”

Having thought about it for a while, here’s what I believe James had in mind. Our words are formed deep within in our hearts. Good words come from the good in us; evil words flow from the evil we have accumulated within. If we want to deal with our tongues, we have to get our minds right.

Jesus put it in clear and concise language: “No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit. Each tree is recognized by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from thorn bushes, or grapes from briers. The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and the evilman brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks” (Luke 6:43–45).

The heart is the storehouse of the body. We must be careful, then, of the things we put inside it. They can become words at any moment.

How can we get our words right? We must fill our thoughts with God’s words—meditate on them day and night. The secret of good words is the Word of God, delighted in and meditated upon, for what is the Word of God but the life of God which always translates itself into human speech?

Let me illustrate how this works for me, at least in one situation (though I must say I don’t always make it work). Certain folks “bring out the worst in me” (interesting phrase). I find it unnatural and, in some cases, impossible to curb my tongue when I’m around them. Like David, my heart grows hot within me, and  as I meditate (here’s that word again) the fire burns and I speak with my tongue (Psalm 39:3). At best I’m curt and discourteous; at worst I give them a “piece of my mind.”

“Aha!” I say. The problem is not my words, you see, but my mind. Long before I open my mouth, I have opened my mind to wrong thinking. I have rehearsed the wrong done to me by my brother. I have nursed my hurt feelings. I have imputed wrong motives. I have pandered to self-pity and pride. I have harbored  resentment and rage. “The fire burns and I speak with my tongue.” My heated words have been created and shaped by my thoughts long before they spill out of my mouth. How can anything clean come from something unclean?

Paul says, “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things” (Philippians 4:8). He’s not suggesting that I give myself to noble abstractions, as good as that may be, but rather that I focus on those attributes in others that are true, noble, righteous, pure, admirable, and lovable.

In other words, instead of obsessing over the wrong that I see in others, I must focus on the good God is doing in them. (Remember, it’s not just Christians who have good things going for them. Every human being is a recipient of God’s common grace.) When I do so, I see blessedness where before I saw only sin. I see loveliness and beauty that eludes me until I look at them in the light of the love of Jesus. My heart begins to soften, and my words are more inclined to follow in kind.

There is this, however: I never find it easy to think God’s thoughts after Him, especially under duress. All hell conspires to make me forget what I know. “It is funny how mortals always picture us as putting things into their minds,” C. S. Lewis’s character Screwtape wrote to his demonic nephew. “In reality our best work is done in keeping things out.”

We must, therefore, meditate on God’s thoughts day and night to keep them on our minds. And we must pray as David Elginbrod prayed, “Grant that more an’ more thoughts o’ Thy thinking may come into our hearts day by day.”

Taken from Seeing God, ©2006 by David Roper. Used by permission of Discovery House Publishers, Box 3566 Grand Rapids, MI 49501. All rights reserved.