The Tongue II

 Opinions are like armpits. Yes, I’ve heard them described as other body parts, but armpits will do just fine. Everyone’s got a couple, and the longer they remain unwashed, the smellier they get. Some opinions don’t age well. There are still people walking about insisting that your Social Security number is the mark of the beast, even though it’s a purely American practice, and no one else in the world has it.

As long as the individual giving it is sure to clarify that it’s an opinion, it is what it is, and I’m not likely to go to the mattresses over it. If, however, they declared definitively, unequivocally, and with all the bluster of a zealot that it was, indeed, prophecy, a word from on high, and a message from the throne room of you know who, then when it doesn’t come to fruition, be prepared to be called out on it.

Most people don’t watch what they say because they don’t believe their words will ever have consequences. They keep at it until one day, they realize that words are not consequence-free as they were taught to believe, and the lesson usually comes by way of a swollen lip, a black eye, or a bloody nose.

I am by no means advocating violence. There are, however, moments when I see the need for it, not to the point of stomping someone into the dirt, but a nice swift knuckle sandwich to the schnoz to keep an individual from saying something they’ll regret. Sometimes, that’s what it takes for someone to bridle their tongue. It takes something violent and wholly unexpected to snap them out of their tirade, their rage, their self-righteous acrimony that they feel compelled to share with the world.

The worst kinds of opinions are those we dole out without understanding the full context of what we’re dealing with or without having experienced what the individual we’re attempting to share our opinion with has.

I was sitting in a Cracker Barrel one time, somewhere between Indiana and Kentucky, and I overheard a conversation between two young ladies sitting at a table behind me that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in fury. One of them was on the verge of tears, telling the other that her mom had just passed away the week prior, and her supposed friend, without an ounce of sarcasm and even less self-awareness, said, “I know what you’re going through. My goldfish died last month.”

I don’t care how much you loved your goldfish. You can’t compare your goldfish dying with someone’s mother passing away and intimating that the emotional hurt is on par. I didn’t say anything. I was too stunned. Luckily, I’d already finished my baked cinnamon apples.

The easiest way not to find yourself with your foot in your mouth is not to offer an opinion when you have not gone through a similar experience. I know it’s hard. I mean, your opinion is likely the best opinion they’ll ever hear on the topic, but there’s a reason silence is golden. Yes, be a shoulder to cry on, be an ear to hear, be someone others can confide in. Be quick to offer sympathy and empathy but not so quick to offer your opinion.

Like I said, it will take some getting used to. Not saying something isn’t in our nature, but perhaps it should be.

The funny thing is when someone comes back and tells us that what we suggested they do didn’t work out for them, but quite the opposite, it made it worse, we are quick to insist that it’s not really what we told them, that they misheard, misunderstood, or didn’t grasp the spirit in which it was said.

Unless your advice is to draw closer to Jesus, unless your opinion is that they should surrender their hearts to Christ, understand that if you haven’t walked a mile in their shoes, your advice may fall short and be so off the mark it will do more harm than good.

There is one surefire remedy for all that ails mankind. Other than that, any opinion you or I might have concerning someone’s struggle, hardships, or trial is just that. More often than not, when we offer an opinion, we think it to be something more, closer to the gospel than to an amalgam of words we managed to spit out between bites of nachos.

No one is perfect, but we can aspire to perfection. We can allow ourselves to be refined by the refiner’s fire until we look back on a life well lived and realize we’re speaking a lot less, obeying a lot more, and have come a long way from where we started in both word and deed.

Even a bridled horse gets testy sometimes, but that’s when the rider pulls back on the reigns and brings it under control. When God corrects us and pulls back on the reigns, it’s a sign of love, not indifference or animus. It’s the flesh that perceives God’s correction as being a negative experience because it’s the flesh that is affected by it. If our flesh can somehow convince us that God’s correction or chastening is bad, and we resist it and kick against the goads, then the plan of maturation and growth God intended for us is hindered and slowed.

All of us have something we wish we wouldn’t have said or said differently, whether in hindsight or once we understood the full context of the situation. We all stumble in many things, as James says, but we must learn from our mistakes and grow in wisdom and understanding throughout our journey. If your tongue is as unbridled today as it was ten years ago, then you’ve not grown or matured but remained stagnant. As with most things, there must be an acknowledgment of the need to grow and develop and a willingness to take the necessary steps. Anything less is us spinning our wheels, trying to convince ourselves that we are where we’re supposed to be when we should be much farther along.

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.