by Bishop Bill Gohl
A few summers ago, Arywn traveled to help out when her dad was hospitalized. She was understandably upset as she packed on the fly and she was so rushed that all I was told was that if she found out that I had only fed the children McDonald's for the days she was gone, I would be a dead man.
And so she went with haste, as the scriptures say, and left me with our four adorable, well-behaved and self-sufficient children for whom I cooked each day, packed lunches, did homework and laundry and taxied to their three schools. The cat was well-fed and watered. The litter box was tended to, the trash and recycling went on the curb at the appropriate moments. I was feeling like Dad of the year and felt the need to strut a little upon her return.
And upon her return, she was proud and impressed by how clean the house was, how well the laundry was under control (and those who have children know that laundry is never under control), she was hugging me and telling me that she loved me and how she missed me. And I was on cloud nine until...until the children were in bed and we were settling in and Arwyn said, "Let's sit out in the garden and have a glass of wine."
My blood went cold. I started to sweat. The garden. The garden! I forgot to water the garden!
We went out and it was d-e-a-d, dead. Arwyn looked at it, she looked at me with a face too gruesome to describe, and did not say another word to me until the next day, and even then, we didn’t talk about it.
Paul reminds the Colossians to care after the words that they say. He reminds them – and us – that we are responsible for what we say, and that our words have power. That our words can have the same effect on others as my lack of caring for the garden had on both the plants and my wife!
On the one hand, our words can be like weed killer in the garden. Hard words, embarrassing words, demeaning words that soak into the roots of the lives around us – words like dummy, moron, "jokes" at the expense of someone else. A steady diet of being told you are dumb, insufficient, a waste of time and space will inevitably lead you to always question whether or not you are stupid the rest of your life.
One of my best friends in school from kindergarten through college came out to his parents as a gay man when we were juniors in high school. His mom, who belonged to a church that ranked sins carefully as to which were the worst, was convinced that homosexuality was right up there with serially murdering unicorns and kittens. And, with the advice of her Bible study group she practiced therapeutic "shaming" to try to "help" him. When she would call him to dinner, or send him to school, or to bed – she called him a "filthy faggot."
"For three years, my mom has looked me in the face, told me that she loved me and called me a filthy faggot. I don’t think she even remembers my name is really John." I was enraged when her "therapy" "worked." The cause of death was suicide, but I knew – and many of us knew – that the real cause of death was a heart that died from the inside out from the consistent, deliberate, powerful words of his mother.
Or, perhaps even worse still, your lack of words can have the same effect of not watering the garden at all. An absence of being validated, of being told that you’re good at something, appreciated for what you do, of being reminded that you are loved – that takes a toll, too. It almost makes it unbelievable when those words do come. It leaves that same weed-killing specter of doubt about whether we are loved or not. I grew up in a family where my dad's German immigrant family never talked about love. My grandfather never encouraged my dad, but often reminded him to overcome his "deficiencies." He never hugged him or kissed him – they always shared a handshake. And when my mom demanded that my dad behave differently, it was a tension in my dad's family. And though it's not the way he was brought up, my dad hugged me, kissed me and told me that he loved me when I graduated from high school, college and grad school; my dad hugged me, kissed me and told me that he loved me when I became ordained, married, and four times a father; my dad hugged me, kissed me and told me that he loved me when I failed my first class, was in my first car accident, and when Arwyn and I experienced a miscarriage. When the way was tough and I was coming through some dry places, when I was sorrowing and when I was celebrating, my dad hugged me, kissed me and told me that he loved me – and it has made all the difference.
All of us need to know that we are treasured, that our lives matter, that our words are powerful and can build up or break down. That’s what Paul is trying to get across to the Colossians. Words like "I love you" have power, especially when there is action to back it up. And that's for us, for our spouses and significant others, for our children, parents, siblings – our closest friends and family. We need powerful words of being beloved.
Words, powerful words, can slowly and steadily break you, or they can carefully and deliberately build you up. In this polarized society and culture that we are living in, our words matter. As the body of Christ, we have something to say – and not simply by complicit silence. Indeed indifferent silence can be as deafening as harsh "jokes" and demeaning words.
In our homes, in the places where we learn and work, in the public square and in the church, let us put aside all such things — anger, wrath, malice, slander, and abusive language – and above all, clothe ourselves with love, which binds everything together; let the peace of Christ rule in our hearts; and be thankful.
You must get rid of all such things — anger, wrath, malice, slander, and abusive language from your mouth. Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves with the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator. In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all! As God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. –Colossians 3:8-15