Saturday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Image: the Virgin drives away the devil
with a stick. 

 Lectionary: 340

For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature,
can be tamed and has been tamed by the human species,
but no man can tame the tongue.
It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.
With it we bless the Lord and Father,
and with it we curse men
who are made in the likeness of God.
From the same mouth come blessing and cursing.
My brothers and sisters, this need not be so. 

I suppose the Apostle James was exaggerating a bit when he included the sea creatures among those tamed by the human species, but we can call it a prophesy for there are trained orca and beluga whales swimming in the enormous tanks of some zoos. I don't know that anyone has taught a giant squid to follow instructions but the day might come. 

In any case, James says a mouthful when he complains that "no one can tame the tongue, it is a restless evil, full of deadly poison." How often do we say things we regret immediately and for years to come? I have never been among those habitually silent ones. But they probably suffer a similar regret over things not said, when the untamed tongue refused to do justice, speak mercifully, or humbly serve the Lord. 

In the silent chapel I can entertain myself with thoughts of how much I love the Lord. My piety and devotion are touching. But the illusion vanishes like this morning's dream the moment I greet anyone outside the chapel. Rejoining human society, I take up where we left off, adding to the morass of gossip and malediction. 

There is nonetheless blessing in the silence of the chapel; there we can learn to practice not speaking and non-judgment. The blessing comes through the processes of penance and prayer. As I practice penitence , I look at myself and realize I have done wrong, again. If I am surprised by that I am the bigger fool, but I am usually not surprised. 

Turning to the Lord I beg forgiveness. And then I must be silent for I have no claim upon God's mercy other than the assurance of Baptism. I want to but I dare not point to the sins of others and crow about how much worse theirs are than mine. I am silent. I wait. I trust. I believe. 

I praise God for God is good, merciful, beautiful, gracious.... (I recall Saint Francis's Praises of God  and the phrases which shoot upward like an endless geyser.)  

I say nothing about myself for there is nothing there to talk about. 

Through it all, I learn a form of silence which not only stills the tongue, but also quells the judgement. If God is so patient with me, surely the same Lord regards others with the same affection. Who am I to judge? 

Besides, it's better to praise God; to let the praises continue to gush as I go about my business, and never mind presumptuous thoughts about things beyond my ken. I've seen people do that though only a few observers noticed it. With practice I too can be silent, nonjudgmental, and willing to receive people with the same equanimity of the sun and the rain. The rudder of a disciplined tongue can lead one to praise God.