Christian Communication

Genesis 11: 1-9; Ephesians 4:26-27

 

I am about to read to you the Biblical story of the building of the tower of Babel. But first a bit of reflection about the story itself. On one level it is a pre-scientific explanation of why human beings have so many different languages. But on another level - and there is always more than one level in Scripture - the story ponders a deeper question: Why is it that people who speak the same language often don't really understand each other? Why, sometimes in my home, and perhaps in yours, is there door slamming, brooding silence, and persons who complain: "You just don't understand?" So as I read the story do not ask: Is this the proper explanation for why we have so many languages? Ask instead: What does this tell me about why we don't understand each other even when we speak the same language? Read Genesis 11:1-9 now.

 

So the story hints that human arrogance causes misunderstandings: a tower with its top in the heavens and let us make a name for ourselves. And fear does the same: Lest we be scattered abroad. By the end of the story we discover that the consequences of acting out of arrogance and fear is that we end up not understanding each other.

In my house I routinely build a tower of Babel right in my family room with the same old bricks of arrogance and fear. My wife, Laura, and I get into an argument, a disagreement. Now that's not bad, having disagreements. That's natural. Even healthy. I like the quote that says "if a married couple say they always agree, then one of them is unnecessary." Disagreement is natural, and often healthy.

Some of us have a problem accepting that. We grew up in homes where we were told that arguments were wrong, unChristian. "Peacekeepers" were honored. Maybe it was mother saying, "Now when father comes home don't raise a fuss. Don't argue with him. Just keep everything calm." But Jesus didn't say blessed are the peacekeepers. He said, "Blessed are the peacemakers." That's different. Peacemakers are folks who accept disagreements as natural, but find ways of using them to come to new understanding, better solutions. Also I remind you that Jesus did not say don't have disagreements, don't have enemies, people with whom you fight. He assumed that was going to happen. He said: "Love your enemies." Which is to say: Of course, you are going to have disagreements, but treat folks with whom you are arguing in a decent and fair way.

Back to the arguments in my family room: I become more and more insistent that I am right and that, therefore, Laura must be wrong. At such a point, we are no longer sharing points of view. I am telling, and she should listen. That, my friends, is the brick of arrogance. Isn't it? Teenager said to me sometime ago: "It is very hard to have a discussion with my old man, because he thinks he is always right." The brick of arrogance.

 

Religious people are peculiarly tempted to pick up the brick of arrogance. We deal with an eternal God, and we are tempted to insist that our way of understanding that eternal God is eternal, absolute, true for everyone. So we're right and the other is wrong. We're saved, the others are not. Sad, but very often the more religious we are the more we take to tossing bricks of arrogance at each other. Sometimes those verbal bricks turn into deadly bullets, and Serbian Christians, in the name of Christ, take to killing Bosnian Moslems. The brick of arrogance.

There is another brick also: the brick of fear. As I fight with Laura, a piece of me becomes afraid I might lose. I might have to admit I am not as wise as I keep insisting and know for a fact that I am. Also I might have to listen to her feelings, her point of view. It's kind of scary to listen. I’m a man: if I wanted to listen to feelings I’d…well, I’d be a woman.  But I’m a man so feelings can be scary. It’s far more comfortable just to pontificate. So you see, with the same old bricks of arrogance and fear, I build that tower of Babel right there in my family room. I think perhaps on occasions you, too, may build that tower in your family room.

When the children of a former church of mine told in song this Babel story, they sang that we could overcome all that with the "universal language of love." That's right, of course. The gift of the Christian spirit is the gift of a love that should overcome the Babel divisions. But what does that mean in practical terms. The Beatles used to sing: "All we need is love, love." That's a nice warm fuzzy. But in practical terms what does it mean? After all, the Beatles broke up. How can love help me with that blasted tower in my family room? I offer myself and you four clues on Christian communication, practical methods for the Christian language of love.

First clue: I really have to try to remember not to look on every argument as a competition. An excellent book on communication You Just Don't Understand insists that this is a peculiarly male problem. The author says that males learn early to see the world in competitive terms, and so their conversation among themselves and with women is often competitive - who gets to say the most, who gets to dominate. The author insists that that's why many males find it hard to ask for directions when they are driving and are lost. Because to do so would put them in the inferior position of asking for assistance. I don't know if all that's true. But I do think that when I get into an argument very often it feels to me like it's a win lose situation, a competition, not a chance to explore. Babel: the brick of arrogance: I have to be right. The brick of fear: I don't want to lose.

In the Ephesians passage we just read the author writes: "Be angry but sin not." Once again the Bible says, you see, it's all right to have disagreements, anger, but "sin not." Now sin in the Bible is often separation - from others, from God. So - it is ok to be angry, to argue, but don't separate. But when I see argument as competition, as win-lose, I separate. I have to be on top. I have to win. We are not seeking to understand each other, but to put each other down. First clue: Be angry but don't separate. Try to view disagreement as a search for understanding, not a competition. That is particularly difficult for men to do, because we have been shaped by a competitive perspective. We must pray God's spirit to help us.

Second clue: Thomas Merton, a Catholic monk, once wrote: "As one gets older one recognizes the futility of a life wasted in argument when it should be given completely to love." If you take home nothing else this morning take home that sentence and think about it. "As one gets older one recognizes the futility of a life wasted in argument, when it should be given completely to love." Disagreements are inevitable and not unhealthy. But this compulsion to argue, to insist on my own correctness, to score points that's my illness. Maybe it is yours.

I know a young man who delights in correcting others. He is very smart, so he can often point out how others misuse language, or misquote a fact. It's part of his competing. It's scoring. I hear myself often in that young man. I have tried to journey beyond that. A life wasted in argument should be given over completely to love.

A friend of mine had a father who was a master sergeant in the army. That father did everything by the book - on parade ground, and in his parlor. He was impossible to live with. He knew the right way. His way. About everything. My friend hated visiting his father. Tried to avoid it as long as possible. But a few years ago something changed. His father became a far more comfortable person to be around. Visits were fun. My friend's sister commented on the fact that father was so much nicer. Finally my friend asked: "Pop, what happened?" The master sergeant replied: "I decided I'd rather be happy than right." He'd tossed away the bricks of arrogance and fear. A life wasted in argument - or given to love? It is a choice each person needs to make, perhaps again and again.

Third clue: Here’s another quote I need to remember: “We are not here to prove ourselves, we are here to express ourselves.” When I get into an argument sometimes I feel that what is at stake are my thoughts about myself, and other's thoughts about me. I have to prove to me and to them that I am OK. You see that with arguments between teens and parents. Parents trying to prove how effective they are say to themselves - "I must demonstrate at least to myself that I am a good parent." Teens wanting to prove they can be free, self-determining. “I must demonstrate at least to myself that I am mature, competent and don’t have to be told how to live.” Both parent and teen are seeking to feel OK. That's when the bricks of arrogance and fear begin to appear.

Most of us try to prove ourselves, win grades, merit badges, make ourselves and other know that we are ok. But the central Christian message is that I don't have to prove myself. I have already been approved by God. It is not even a case of being ok. Indeed our faith says I will never be all ok. I will always be a flawed, broken, erring human. So the faith declares, "I'm not ok and you're not ok, but that's ok in the love and mercy of God because we’re all fine when we are found there." Now when I really know deep down in my gut that I am accepted by God, then I don't have to waste time and effort trying to prove myself. I can express myself, which is far different. And if I don't have to prove myself, it may be possible for me without arrogance or fear to let others express themselves. So I learn not to avoid fighting but to fight fair.

 

My friends, this central message of the Christian faith - that you are affirmed, accepted, blessed by God - when you and I really believe it, we are indeed free from the necessity of having to prove ourselves, free to listen and share, without arrogance or fear. We are not here to prove ourselves, we are here to express ourselves.

Fourth clue: I have got to keep remembering in the midst of an argument that I am not God. That should be obvious. But the Babel story is about this human desire to assault heaven, to become godlike. That's the ultimate brick of arrogance. Now I know I am not God, but why is it then that when I get into an argument I am so sure I'm right? As if I were God. Can't I fight for something I believe in without insisting that those who disagree are wrongheaded idiots?

Presbyterians should be especially clear about this because we emphasize the sovereignty of God, the utter distance and awesome separateness of the Almighty. We also stress that human beings are always flawed, broken selves, even after we have discovered Christ. So we ought to be good at not claiming too much for our human wisdom, our personal points of view. Why is it then that on issues like abortion, immigration, homosexuality and the Iraq war we fail to see people with whom we disagree not as wrongheaded, but as simply searching for God's truth along a different path? Why are we so tempted to make an idol out of our point of view, as if we were God? As if our thoughts were identical with God's thoughts on these issues.

Isaiah put it well when he declared, "Thus says the Lord, 'My ways are not your ways, my thoughts are not your thoughts. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.'" And Paul pondering the same issue wrote: "we see in a glass darkly," or a better translation, "we see now only baffling reflections of reality." I am not God. I must let God be God.

So there you have it: Four clues to overcoming the bricks of arrogance and fear:

One: Be angry but do not separate. Argue, but see it not as a competition but a search for understanding.

Two: A life wasted in argument or given completely to love?

Three: We are not here to prove ourselves. We are already approved by God. We are here to express ourselves, to share ourselves.

Four: We are not God. We must not claim to be what we are not. Let God be God.

The next time I get to building that tower of Babel in my living room I am going to try to remember not to pick up the brick of arrogance or the brick of fear. How about you?

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