Friday afternoon, I received several calls in quick succession from a company trying to sell me an extended warranty for my car. I tried on many occasions to get removed from their call list but to no avail. So, after two quick calls where I politely informed them I was not interested, I got angry when the phone rang a third time. This time, I did not even bother to look at who was calling. I screamed into the phone, “I just told you a few minutes ago: do not call me again. What's wrong with you. I am not interested.”

There was a pause, and a familiar voice said, “John, all I wanted to do was wish you a belated happy birthday.”

Realizing it was an old friend and not a sales call, I apologized. We both chuckled and then proceeded to have a great conversation.

Growing up, when I would get upset, my mother would always caution me by saying, “Choose your words carefully.”

Today, I think word choice is a lost art that we need to practice daily. After all, no matter where we go—the grocery store, a football game, a coffee shop, even in classes at the seminary—we often use words that inflame, demean, and provoke others. Just the other day, I almost let some unkind words fly at a person who cut in front of me in the checkout line at a grocery store. But then I thought, to what end? Channeling my mother, instead of cursing, I gave them a smile and said, "No problem."" After all, the words I speak say more about me than about the person I am speaking to.

When speaking about the power of the tongue, James says, “With it we both bless the Lord and Father and curse human beings made in God’s likeness. Blessing and cursing come from the same mouth. My brothers and sisters, it just shouldn’t be this way!” (James 3:9–10) I could not say it better if I tried!

Today, as sharp tongues go unchecked on social media and political campaigns make scandalous claims as they gear up for the midterms, now is the perfect time for us to fill our hearts with love so that when we speak, what comes out is not poison, but rather, words that heal: kindness, compassion, respect, and peace. Amen.

Monday Musing

The big day arrived! Filled with anticipation and great expectation, I went outside, leaned into the raised garden bed, and picked my first tomato of the summer. This was not just any old tomato; it was the perfect tomato for a BLT sandwich. I sliced the tomato carefully placing each slice neatly on whole wheat bread. I added crispy bacon, lettuce from the church garden, and a few dollops of real mayo. Delicious. I immediately gobbled down two sandwiches in quick succession.

Even though I have had good luck growing tomatoes in the past, they were not the types of tomatoes that make good BLT sandwiches. Last year, I grew so many Roma tomatoes that if I laid them end to end on the ground they could probably have reached Minneapolis and back again. There have been other years, when I ate so many cherry tomatoes that my eyes looked exactly like what I was eating. But this year, I had a singular purpose; I was determined to grow only big beefy tomatoes for BLTs.

In the spring, I prayed God would take pity on me. Lo and behold, God answered my prayer. A friend gave me three tomato plants that she thought would be perfect to help me accomplish the task. However, I soon discovered that I needed to change my thinking about what a tomato should look like. The plants she shared were not deep red Beefsteak, Big Boy, or Giant Belgium’s, but Cherokee Purple Heirloom tomatoes. The fruit, when ripe, looked more like a bad leg bruise than a tomato. However, desperate for the perfect BLT, I let go of my preconceived idea that a tomato must be red and quickly fell in love with the Cherokee Purple. After eating that sandwich, and with juice joyfully dripping down my chin, I thought if I were Jesus, I would say, “The kingdom of heaven is like a BLT sandwich made from Cherokee Purple Heirloom tomatoes.” Of course, I am not Jesus! I am, however, committed to the work Jesus has asked his followers to do.

Today, I believe that if the church is going to remain a place of hope, it must allow the Spirit to breathe new life into old structures just like a Cherokee Purple tomato transformed my BLT sandwich. It is only then that the Church can be renewed through the promise of the living Christ.

"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19