Steve's Letter: You Talk Too Much!

Arthur Rubinstein, one of the greatest pianists of the 20th century, went to his physician with a minor throat irritation. Rubinstein had a tendency to magnify minor physical problems into major ones and, in this case, he was sure he had throat cancer or worse.

As the doctor examined him, Rubinstein kept talking.

"I know this is serious," he said, "and I want you to know that I can handle bad news."

The doctor continued his examination in silence.

"I've lived a full life," Rubinstein continued talking, "and can face death with no regrets. So whatever you find, I can take it. Don't soften it; just tell me the truth."

The doctor put down his stethoscope and said, "Your problem isn't that you have cancer. Your problem is that you talk too much!"

Last month, I told you about speaking for this year's graduation at Reformed Theological Seminary where I've taught for the last 15 years. This month, I'm glad to report that I did it and didn't make a fool of myself.

But the best part was that I didn't talk too much.

In fact, the shortness of the speech/sermon was my gift to the graduating class. It was also my gift to the faculty who, like me, has suffered through years of long, tedious and boring graduation speeches.

What I'm saying is that while the speech may not have been altogether that great...at least it was short. For that, a lot of students, faculty and guests at the graduation "rose up and called me blessed."

Proverbs 17:28 says, "Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent."

Do you ever think that maybe we Christians talk too much?I do. And not only that, I'm often the one who talks too much. I make my living talking and that can be dangerous because you learn to just keep talking "until something comes to mind."

There is an interesting verse in the prophecy of the coming Messiah (the "suffering servant"). In Isaiah 53:7, the prophet writes:

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he opened not his mouth.

Of late, I've thought a lot about talking too much. What follows is my own confession; but, frankly, I know you guys. You might benefit by some of what follows too.

One of the reasons I talk too much is that I'm into control. If you are the adult child of an alcoholic, you probably have the same problem. Every time things got out of control, we got hurt. So, to this day, we work very hard to control everything we can.

I have this deep voice (if I looked the way I sounded, I would have a television ministry) and have worked very hard to speak, teach and preach with skill. When I was a kid right after my voiced changed from a squeak to a foghorn, a teacher said to me, "Stephen, you must be careful what you say because people are going to listen to you." I've tried to follow that advice and "talk good" for Jesus...but also because I need to try to control things, events and people.

Jesus didn't try to control anything. He just went with what God ordained. He was God, but didn't "grasp that to himself." He "made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant...he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross" (Philippians 2:7-8).

Because Jesus was not into control, I don't have to be. He now controls everything and the more I let him rule, the less I have to talk.

Another reason I talk too much is that I'm constantly trying to justify myself, what I say, what I've written or what I do. I have this belief that if I can just say it right and keep saying it, people will understand and love me.

I recently interviewed Tony Campolo for our talk show. (He's a regular guest at stevebrownetc.com and, no, I don't agree with him most of the time...but I do love him.) Tony talked about forgiveness and related the time he spoke at a prayer service in Northern Ireland with both Catholics and Protestants. He said the Protestants were on one side of the room and the Catholics on the other.

In their turn, both Protestants and Catholics stood and said to the other side of the room, "I've done some horrible things and I'm so ashamed. I ask you to forgive me."

Then the other side of the room said in unison, "In the name of Jesus Christ and because of him, you're forgiven and I forgive you!"

I am too!

If I am forgiven it means that I have a bunch of stuff about which I need to be forgiven (so why pretend that I don't?) and, if that's true, I don't have to defend myself against charges that are probably true anyway. Even if I'm guilty (and I am), I'm forgiven. When I remember that, I talk less.

And there is one other reason I talk too much. (Well...probably a lot of other reasons, but I'm running out of space and time here and, after all, I am writing about saying less.) I talk too much because I'm not altogether confident in God's acceptance of and love for me.

Jesus rested in the confidence that his Father loved and accepted him and, in fact, prayed that we would have the same experience. A part of the prayer he prayed in John 17 was that we would be one: "I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me" (vs. 23).

Psalms 131 is one of my favorite psalms. I love these words: "I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother" (vs. 1-2).

Each morning, I tell God about my sins, I tell him where I'm afraid and sometimes I even tell him what I think he did wrong. After all the words have been spoken (sometimes a whole lot of words), I think I hear him say, "You through? Try to remember that I love you."

When I'm quiet enough to hear that, I find myself talking less during the day.

One time Saint Francis went into a village and discovered that the people had built a church building, naming it after him. He instructed his monks to tear down the church which they did.

As they walked away from the village, one of the monks said to Francis, "I thought we came to preach."

Francis replied, "We did."

Maybe we need to preach more like that, to wit, witness to Jesus-his love and grace-everywhere we go. And as someone has said, "when absolutely necessary use words."

Enough. This is already almost as long as my graduation speech.

"Be still...

...and know that I am God!"

He asked me to remind you!

In His Grip,