The
blue whale is the largest animal ever, living or extinct. Its tongue weighs
over two and a half metric tons – more than a full-grown bull elephant.
And
your tongue is far more dangerous.
James
dizzies his readers with a kaleidoscope of multi-colored metaphors to depict
the danger of human speech: The tongue is a snaffle-bit, a tiny piece of tack
that puts Man of War through his paces (v.3), a rudder, hidden below the
waterline but guiding the whole ship (v.4), a lit cigarette butt flicked onto
the tinder-dry roadside stubble of a drought-stricken landscape (v.5-6). A
speaker rides his tongue like a rodeo cowboy, strapped to the back of a raging
bull hoping somehow to hang on (v.7-8). Like a treacherous municipal water
supply, people’s mouths can contain invisible doses of deadly e. coli
(v.11-12).
No
surprise, then, that James opens up with a warning: “My brethren, be not many
masters.” It’s not only tough to walk the walk; it’s treacherous to talk the
talk!
“Set a watch, O LORD, before my
mouth,” the psalmist prayed. “Keep the door of my lips.” (Ps 141.3) God calls
us daily to the dangerous work of opening our own mouths. The reward justifies
the risk because speech can point our world to Christ. Given the stakes, it
might not be a bad idea to offer that prayer at the start of every day – and
maybe at the start of every sentence.
Shut
Up and Speak!
Doug
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