Perennially, the story of Elijah in hiding is one of my
favorites. I’m not sure what it says
about me that I derive a sense of peace from a narrative about a man who is
running for his life—from isolation and wind and earthquake and fire:
I
Kings 19:11-12, “He said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’ Now
there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking
rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the
earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and
after the fire a sound of sheer silence.”
If I’m honest, of course, it is the “sound of sheer silence” and the journey
that follows which actually draw me back to these words, time and time again. Somehow, this underscores the point that it
is neither the volume of words we speak nor the capacity for extensive dramatic
flair that actually matter… quality over quantity… but, what defines the quality of our speech?
Ephesians
4:25 and 29 read, “So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the
truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another… Let no evil talk
come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is
need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear” (NRSV).
“Speak
truth,” is fairly common jargon (if not practice) in Christian circles, but
I hate how this phrase is often conflated with the concept of passing judgment. What if speaking truth was more about being
honest about who we are than putting
others in their places? What if speaking
truth was more confessional than confrontational? What if truth offered the very grace our
people (that’s everybody… “members of one another”) need—building
up by sharing our humanity as opposed to tearing down by spreading lies… about
ourselves?
L.
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