Words that Bruise or Bless

Getting honest about the "sticks and stones" cliché...

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

Does anyone really believe this? According to Psychology Today, a more true to life thought might be that sticks and stones may break my bones, “and words can cut me deeply.”

Words are not little things. They bruise and bless; they build up and tear down; they establish and demolish; they change things and change us. Maybe that’s why the Bible says not many of us should become teachers, because those who teach will be judged with greater strictness (Jas 3:1).

So be careful, little lips, what you say…

Words brought galaxies into being when “God said…and there was”(Gen 1:3). God’s words have impact (Isa 55:11), are living, active, and sharp (Heb 4:12), illuminate dark places (Ps 119:105), nourish souls (Mt 4:4), and defeat death (Lk 11:43). The words of the gospel are “the power (literally, dynamite) of God.”

Words transform. They heal. And they can indeed “hurt me.”

Mariah Carey once said in an interview that for her, one criticism will instantly overrule 1,000 praises. There is something to this. Words have power.

Words can wound and steal life. Gossip and slander bring a cheap thrill to some, while exploiting and objectifying others (the similarities to pornography are striking). False testimony uses words to misrepresent, caricature, or malign the reputation of fellow humans, usually for the sake of retaliation or selfish gain. Words of condemnation, accusation, and sarcasm create pain as they shame, belittle, and discourage. Coarse joking uses humor to draw attention to oneself, while sending rotten fruit in the atmosphere.

There are also “healing words” (Prov 12:18). Words of sincere praise have healing power. Communities thrive in a culture of mutual celebration, of “catching each other doing good.” This is a hallmark of life together as Spirit-filled daughters and sons. Words of encouragement will “put courage into” those who are weak, afraid, and torn down. A timely rebuke protects a friend from self-destructive patterns. A gentle word turns away wrath (Pr 15:1) and halts the cycle of evil. Grace-filled words engage skeptical minds and doubting hearts (1 Pet 3:15-16).

The question remains, how are toxic words transformed into healing words? Scripture tells us how. It begins by identifying the source of our words: “…out of the heart, the mouth speaks” (Lk 6:45). Our words are healed as we replace what fills our hearts.

Why do we gossip, slander, condemn, accuse, slash with sarcasm, joke crudely, boast, and lie? Every toxic word traces to some sort of pseudo-savior—something that the heart is clinging to more tightly than Jesus. The comedian Tom Arnold once admitted that he uses humor in order to have something out there so people will like him. “It’s the reason behind almost everything I do,” he said. For some, human approval is the preferred narcotic. For others like Rachel, it’s having children: “Give me children or I’ll die” (Gen 30:1). For the Pharisee, it’s the feeling of superiority: “Thank you, my God, that I’m not like other men” (Lk 18:9-14).

The options are endless. Our words echo the beat of our hearts.

Words are transformed through what Chalmers called “the expulsive power of a new affection.” For our words to become life-giving, and for toxic words to fade from our vocabularies, this new affection must be Jesus. Hearts taken by the beauty of Jesus will yield beautiful words.

What makes Jesus beautiful? Jesus only spoke beautiful words—never careless, unkind, hateful, or untruthful. Even his sharp, strong words were beautiful, always perfectly suited for the occasion. But there’s more. Jesus also IS the Beautiful Word Incarnate, the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:1-14). His perfect words flowed naturally from his perfect life, which secured the benediction or “good word” of his Father: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased.” This same benediction has since been transferred toward and secured for us who believe—when we are at our best and when we are at our worst.

Throughout their childhood and even into the teen years, at bedtime I regularly pronounced a benediction over our two daughters:

God made you beautiful and special,
and he loves you so much.
So does your Dad.
Don’t ever forget that.

My hope is that these last words of many days past (both our girls are adults now) will register as the first words of today and every tomorrow. Every small and adult child craves a paternal blessing that overrules the negative verdicts that the outside world, as well as their own hearts, so readily pronounce against them. Words of life hearken them back to their true identity as daughters and sons, precious and beloved—an identity that’s fixed when they’re at their best and when they’re at their worst.

It’s not just the kids who need words of blessing. Grownups need them too.

Once in the not too distant past, my wife Patti offered me life-giving words that I sorely needed. Feeling ashamed and grieved about some unkind things I had said about another person, I flat out asked her if she thought that I was a fraud. Should a tongue that gossips presume to speak or write the words of God? Can a hypocrite preach the gospel, or should I start exploring other career paths?

In response, Patti urged me to consider my own preaching—that I, too, am worse than I ever dared to think and more loved than I ever dared to hope. Staying attuned to these realities is essential for teaching and leading, because God does the most good through preachers who step into and out of a pulpit limping, not strutting.

Another time, when a friend knew I was feeling discouraged, he sent me the following, life-giving words from a previous pastor of his:

“I continue to pray for you in the struggles you face. I’ve been so helped as I’ve thought about some of the following things. I don’t want you to ever forget that Moses stuttered and David’s armor didn’t fit and John Mark was rejected by Paul and Hosea’s wife was a prostitute and Amos’ only training for being a prophet was as a fig tree pruner. Jeremiah struggled with depression and Gideon and Thomas doubted and Jonah ran from God. Abraham lied miserably and so did his child and his grandchild. These are real people who had real failures and real struggles and real inadequacies and real inabilities, and God shook the earth with them. It is not so much from our strength that He draws, but from His invincible might. I am praying that He will give you courage in this quality of His.”

How I needed to hear this benediction, this “good word,” spoken over me!

As others preach the gospel in these and other ways to me, it increases my courage to come out of hiding and renounce my inner chameleon. I become free to lean toward the more honest, transparent ways of Scripture’s saints—and to consider how I, too, might see my story of rupture and rapture, of sin and redemption, as a means to help others see that if God’s grace can reach me, it can reach anyone.

As Jack Miller once said, God’s grace flows downhill to the low places, not uphill to the put-together places.

As we come out of hiding, maybe we will all become a little less lonely, too.

The Father’s benediction, his irrevocable paternal blessing, is ours. Through Christ and because of Christ, we are pronounced as his beloved. We can enjoy deep rest because the last word of Jesus’ life—“It is finished”—is the first word for ours. Through Christ, with us God, his Father and ours, is well pleased.

Nothing can change this.

And one more thing. For us to gain the Father’s benediction, Jesus had to lose it. At his baptism, Jesus received the “good word” from on high. On the cross, he heard no word from the Father. Just a deafening silence. The silence did not break Jesus’ bones like sticks and stones, but it broke every other part of him. This was for our healing. The Word Incarnate receiving silence from heaven opened heaven’s heart, and secured the Father’s “good word” toward us.

If this does not melt our hearts and transform our words,

…what will?