“Love at the Crossroads”

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

September 15, 2024

"Words Matter"

James 3:1-12

Mark 8:27-38

Children’s Message:

I bet you all know the phrase ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words…will never hurt me.’ Do you believe it? Do words really not hurt? Yeah, the thing about sticks and stones is that our physical bodies can eventually heal and recover—though that doesn’t make violence a good thing. But words stick with us for a very long time, hurting us over and over again as we remember what was said.

What kind of hurtful things might people say? I hate you. You’re stupid. You’re fat. You’re skinny. You can’t do anything right. What’s wrong with you? Nobody loves you. You don’t belong here.

Now, we know those words hurt, but you can’t always see the damage on the outside. I brought two apples with me. One has been exposed to hurtful words. And one has been exposed to kind and encouraging words. Can you tell which one is which? No?

Well, maybe we need to open them up to see. Now, can you tell? Today’s reading says that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body. Let me see your tongues. They’re pretty little. But they can sure do a lot of damage when we say things that hurt. But you know what else? They can do a lot of good when we say kind things. So, let’s list some kind things to focus on.

On large board, list kind words and place in front of font.

Let’s pray. Dear God, you have given us the power to hurt and to help. Guide us in our words so that we build up all those around us. Amen.

Message:

What we say matters. It sounds obvious, but it still bears repeating—frequently. Because we don’t seem to get it. Things come out of our mouths without passing through our brains. Or sometimes they pass through our brains and still manage to make it out.

I tend to be a critical person. Just ask my husband. I’m critical of myself, as well as those around me. I don’t want to be. I don’t actually try to be. Even when I want to frame something in the best way possible, my mouth has a way of making it unhelpful, at the very least. Can anyone else relate?

And it would be one thing if it were just our mouths, but with social media these days, our fingers do the talking as much as anything. This week is an excellent example of hurtful and unhelpful words that have simply exploded on the internet, exponentially making one bad comment tragic.

As most of you probably know, one of the presidential candidates during the debate this past week said that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, OH were eating pets—cats and dogs. It sounds ludicrous because it is. However, what started as one horribly racist comment in the midst of a much longer discussion went viral—as they do. Between funny memes about armed cats taking on the city to frightening posts threatening Haitian citizens, the very real people in this very real city have been unable to attend school and work because they fear for their lives. Because one person did not control their tongue, and millions of people did not control their hearts, their minds, their posts.

Another example are the school threats that have exploded across social media this week. Schools all across the country have been forced to navigate a barrage of reposted threats that have caused panic and confusion among students, parents, and faculty—not to mention created complications for law enforcement attempting to investigate these posts. Just in the past week, I’ve received three emails from our school, reminding parents and students not to repost any threats seen on social media but to report them, instead. Every repost creates additional panic and confusion.

What we say matters. Even when we think we’re helping. James is a practical theologian. He doesn’t bother with lofty, spiritual ideas. He brings things down to our level, and he doesn’t beat around the bush. This isn’t rocket science. The words that come out of your mouth betray your heart. While you might consider yourself a pretty decent person—faithful, attend church once in a while, pray, give a little—the comments you make and the words you say tell the truth.

James says, you’re not a fresh spring if you’re spewing nasty water. So, he advises, train your tongue. Control it. And that’s where he loses me. Because the truth is, according to Martin Luther, we are indeed both fresh spring and nasty water. We are both sinner and saint. We are both utterly lost and completely saved. And we will do and say things we wish we hadn’t. And we can’t take them back. We can’t undo their damage. You just can’t put the toothpaste back into the tube.

As Jesus and his disciples are on the way to Caesarea Philippi—which, by the way, is not a very safe place for them to be—they are discussing his identity. What are people saying? That’s a pretty easy question to answer. “Elijah, John the Baptist, another prophet. You should hear them and all their guesses, Jesus. It’s hilarious!”

“And what have you been saying?” And…crickets. Does anyone dare say it? Peter does. “You’re the Messiah. The Anointed One.” What a risk-taker! He knows the answer. Which is when Jesus tells him what that will mean. He is destined to be rejected, to suffer, and to be murdered. It’s inevitable. Because Jesus knows us too well. Jesus knows that those around him will be looking for a warrior, a king, someone who will overthrow Rome, someone who will do all the big signs. And they’ll get him all wrong. Just like Peter does.

Because even when he gets the answer right, Peter doesn’t understand what he’s saying. He doesn’t understand what the word, Messiah, truly means. He repeats it as if it is the answer to all of their immediate concerns and issues, when in truth, it will be so much more—and so much less. To follow the Messiah will not bring military might or earthly power or health and wealth. No, to follow the Messiah will inevitably mean hardship and death. It will bring us closer to the cross than we’d ever want to be.

And that will mean being faced with a very important question: will we keep going? The disciples are at a crossroads. They are faced with the consequences of what it means to call Jesus the Christ—to say it out loud, to mean it, to tell others about him. And those words will have lasting consequences—for them, for him, for all of us. Because what we say matters.

When we call Jesus ‘Lord’—when we claim that he is Messiah, Christ, Savior—we make a very serious statement about who we are and who we want to be. And friends, that road leads to the cross. Every time. Which means that those memes we post on Facebook, and the prayers that we say, and the words we direct to the world don’t just reflect on us. They reflect on the God we follow. They tell the world who we claim as Messiah.

And the Messiah that Jesus embodies is love. Always love. Love for those who disagree. Love for those who don’t believe. Love for those who betrayed him, who beat him, who murdered him. And yes, even love for those who misrepresent him. Because that’s what love does. Every time.

Love seeks the best in us and strives to draw that out, build it up, and offer us second, third, and unlimited opportunities to try again. Love looks weak on the cross so that its strength can carry us through death and into life. Love is everything we can’t imagine and everything we hope to become. Love doesn’t hide from shame and doesn’t dismiss grief. Love doesn’t single people out for who they are or who they are not. Love embraces, redeems…saves.

So, at the crossroads of words and actions, of hurting and helping, of following Christ or hiding…we get the opportunity, over and over again, to choose love. Simply because love chooses us. Always.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE