The Worst Thing You Can Say

Our culture is changing in America. We are increasingly aware of not offending others. Bullying is no longer acceptable. We’re governing speech in ways I haven’t known before.

I grew up in a much less sensitive environment. Racial comments were the norm and things that are now known to be offensive were once considered polite references. Our society misused words like “retarded” and made them insults, slurs. Back then it was considered funny to mock anyone who was different. Verbal bullying was o.k. It was normal to demean women, people of color, short people, tall people. Now? Not so much. We, I hope, are learning to be more aware of the impact of our words.

However, one area of speech that is gaining popularity is that of cursing. Rare is the day when you will hear anyone apologize for their profanity. It is, as far as I can see, considered a type of liberation. Ah, the complete freedom to say whatever you please, as long as it’s not offending anyone. Of course, it is offending people, but not in the way I've already mentioned. 

I recall sitting at a restaurant, and this has happened more than once, dining near a table of military members. We, and others around us, were dining with our families. Oblivious to those around them, the group used one curse word after another and they did so loudly, taking no concern for those they may have been offending nor of the children around them. My husband discreetly stepped over and drew their attention to the families in their vicinity and they kindly changed their talk. I appreciated that. However, that was 10 years ago. I’m not sure that would be so effective today.

The language on t.v is coarse, the jokes are crude. And I wonder, is the majority unaware that others find their language offensive? Now, let’s be clear, I don’t hold myself up as the greatest example of all, to be sure. I have plenty plenty of flaws and I can be found guilty of language issues myself. My goal is not to condemn but rather to offer a view, draw awareness.

In recent years, I’ve become aware of the way profane language is tossed around so casually. So insensitively. And of course, the “F” word has become the new norm.  It’s everywhere. Believe it or not, this hasn’t always been the case. Until fairly recently, this word was whispered, mouthed, implied but never blurted out in polite company. Not that I’m aware of. I mean, the military people I was around used it freely among themselves, but other than that, I rarely heard it and even then, if it was uttered, there was also a sense  that it might not be appreciated by everyone. Again, I’m just drawing awareness.

You might think that I believe this is the worst thing you could say. This major curse word, once reserved for the worst of situations, this surely must be the worst. But it isn’t. Not in my mind anyway. The worst thing I believe anyone can say to another is a phrase that I’ve heard my entire life. One rarely covered up. One delivered in jokes. One friend to another.

The worst thing I think you could say to someone else is “Go to hell.”. We say it so casually and I doubt we consider what we’re actually saying. To curse someone to hell is to say “No eternal life for you!” “No Jesus for you!” “Live with the mortal enemy of Christ forever!”. That’s what that phrase means. It grieves me to hear it. And the worst part? I’ve said it. In anger, I have viciously flung that phrase. And I regret it.

Our language can be a beautiful gift. We have the choice when we speak to lift others up or not. With our mouths, we can bless or we can curse. Our words can give life and hope. The Scripture says we should not bless God and curse man who is made in God’s image from the same mouth (James 3:9,10) – and yet we do. Christians are told to “let no unwholesome talk come out of [our] mouth” (Ephesians 4:29).

All of this to say, our language matters. Our words matter. We would do well to censor ourselves sometimes simply out of respect for others around us. And when we choose to curse, we might benefit from considering what we are actually saying. I would not actually wish hell on anyone but the vilest offender – and even for them, I’d like to think I could pray for their soul to be save and their life changed.

Coffee for Two ASAP! (or risk arrest)

My heart actually hurts. My chest feels heavy, pressed on. I’m having trouble figuring out how I feel, understanding what happened and what I (honestly) would do differently given the opportunity.

I don’t think the police officers are to blame. . . necessarily. I mean, they had a complaint from a business. But, couldn’t they have just escorted the guys outside and talked to them? Were handcuffs necessary? See what I mean? I’m having trouble processing.

I’ll yield that I wasn’t there and accept that there may be things I don’t know. In fact, that’s my cop-out response. I count on that because then I don’t have to do one dadblame thing. Not one. I can just sit silently and let the world continue to rotate on its axis and revolve around the sun. Like Pilate, I can wash my hands of the entire sordid affair.

Picture your local Starbucks. You agree to meet a friend there. You get there before he does. Dude’s always late. You and your buddy that rode with you shake it off and decide to have a seat and wait on him. There are people there. You’re just hanging. Then you notice the girl behind the counter kind of looking at you weird. You’re actually used to that. It’s a thing. You look a little “different”. She picks up her cell between customers, makes a call. No big thing, but you keep feeling her eyes on you. Come on! You’re just waiting for your buddy, talking to your other buddy. Dang. Same thing you’ve encountered all your life.

About the time you’re really getting creeped out by the coffee chick, in walk 2 cops. They head for the counter. Coffee chick glances your way now and then while talking to the cops. They turn, look your direction and head your way. What in the…? This is a new one.

Soon after that, while cops are talking to you, your buddy finally arrives. Yeah, you could’ve used him sooner. Everyone in the place is whispering, looking your way, wondering what’s up. Then the cops put handcuffs on you and escort you out. I mean, aren’t you glad you acted cool? Responded “appropriately”? Good thing you watch the news!

Now, I don’t know if that’s exactly how it went down, but according to a witness it was something pretty close. Question: were the police called on these guys for not ordering coffee? For sitting in an establishment without paying for anything? Really? I don’t think so. I think it’s because they were black and didn’t order anything.

I meet people at Starbucks all the time. I often wait until they get there to place my order. Sometimes I never order. We may just have our meeting and leave. In fact, I’ve often pondered how cool it is that Starbucks lets people just hang there all the time without ordering. I mean, I see it, I do it. Often. But, then again, I’m a middle-aged white woman. I dress well.

Inside my brain, I hope hope hope that I am wrong. I want these men to be known problems. I want there to be an actual danger to their presence. Not because I want coffee chick exonerated, not at all. I just want us as a culture to not be this hopeless. This far gone. This shallow for crying out loud.

I understand fear. I’ve been victimized a time or two. I lived through 9-11 and even have some understanding of the value of profiling – to some degree – until I think of my Assyrian sister in law and her beautiful family, my nieces, her sisters, her brothers, their kids. ereHHere I sit, finding it hard to believe that someone called the police on two innocent people because of their skin color and I’m having to face my own issues. I didn’t believe it could be just what it was. I’d like to think I would’ve stood up for them if I was there, but should that even be necessary? Shouldn’t their word have as much value as mine?

I hate coming to grips with the fact that I may be part of the problem. I hate that parents of good kids have to worry about their children’s safety because of their skin color. And I wasn’t going to say anything either. I was going to go about my day. Then I read the account of a woman who observed the incident and felt the kick in my own gut. Then my pastor friend who adopted several Ethiopian children shared his fears. Another kick. I have to speak for others. I have to, in the name of the Lord I serve, say NO. This isn’t ok. He died for every single one of us. He delights in us. I am compelled to say, regardless of the details of this incident, but for all in general, it’s not ok to treat people like this. There’s a mountain of things I don’t know and I don’t understand, much to be learned but in this moment, I stand.

Note: This is not a commentary on Starbucks. It could happen anywhere.