Refuge from Strife of Tongues

“For when the love we held too light Was gone away from our speech and sight,

No bitter tears, No passionate words of fond regret, No yearning of grief could pay the debt

Of thankless years.

Oh, now, while this kind love lingers near, Grudge not the tender words of cheer,

Leave none unsaid j
For a heart can have no sadder fate
Than some day to wake — too late —

And find love dead!”

There is a great deal of power for evil in human speech. Few people altogether escape the hurt of tongues. No name is pure enough to be forever safe against vile insinuations, cruel aspersions. Even Jesus, whose life was holy, harmless, separate from sinners, did not escape the slanderer’s tongue. It is strange how much unloving speech there is in this world. On the smallest provocation men become angry, and speak violent words. Even those who profess

189 to be Christ’s too often lose control of their speech and say words which cut like swords. There are homes in which the principal talk is wrangling — the strife of tongues. There are children with tender souls, who grow up in the midst of worldly contentions, scarcely ever hearing a gentle or loving word.

Then there is a strife of tongues around us, even when the words are not spoken against us. Think of all the speech one must hear as the days go by, speech that is not loving, helpful, encouraging, comforting. The gift of speech is one of the noblest that God has given to man. It was meant to be loving, true, wise, enriching, and full of blessing. God gave us our tongues that with them we might speak to him in prayer, praise and worship, and speak to our fellow-men in gladness, in love, in hope, in all helpful words.

Our Lord has told us that for every idle word that men speak they must give account. For every idle word! Notice that it is not for every sinful word, every bitter word, every false word, every impure word kindling unholy suggestions which may burst into flame and leave the whole life blackened. Of course, for such words, words that lead to sin, we must give account. But Jesus said that we must give

190 account for every idle word we speak. Think of the idle words to which we have to listen! What is the larger part of the conversation that goes on in parlors, in clubs, during walks and rides? Is it wise, good, wholesome, useful talk? Does it instruct, interest, inspire, stimulate? People chatter on forever and say not one word worth remembering. Yet we cannot get away from this strife of tongues.

It is full of misrepresentations, too, reflections on the absent, innuendoes, suspicions, criticisms, censures. It is strange how much of the talk we hear is about the absent, and with what ruthless unconcern people say evil things of those who are not present to hear. Characters are discussed and dissected as if they were nothing more than bits of clay. Names are taken up and gossiping tongues whisper their hints of scandal even of those whom an hour before they were praising obsequiously. Reputations are blighted. It is the rarest thing that a full, hearty, honest word is spoken of any absent one. Evermore this sad chatter about people goes on in society. We cannot but hear it, for we are not deaf; but if we are honorable, charitable and true-hearted, these words hurt us. We need a refuge from them.

“The strife of tongues!” How truly these

191 words picture the life which is about every one of us! And men and women with sensitive spirits grow weary of it, and long to flee away to some quiet retreat, where they shall no longer be hurt by the unending strife. So much inharmonious talk harms us. We grow tired of hearing criticism and fault-finding. It worries and frets us to be nagged at continually. It pains us to know that those we have trusted as friends should have spoken of us with such careless tongue. It grieves us to learn that we have been misjudged, our motives misconstrued, our actions misunderstood, our own words perverted and their meaning misrepresented. We get weary of all this, and sometimes wish we had wings like a dove, that we might fly away and be at rest.

The same psalm that gives us the picture of the strife of tongues also unveils the refuge we want from all this confusion of words.

“In the covert of thy presence shalt thou

hide them from the plottings of man;
Thou shalt keep them secretly in a

pavilion from the strife of tongues.”

God has provided a refuge into which we may flee, where we shall not be hurt by the strife of tongues. What is the refuge?

It is not by falling in ourselves with this

192 stream of talk that we escape its hurt. That is our danger. When we are with those who have only idle words, empty chit-chat, on their tongues, it is easy for us to join them in the frivolous speech. When we hear others gossiping about their neighbors, telling bits of news, repeating derogatory stories, hinting suspicious things, we find it quite natural to enjoy it all and then to add our portion to the common stock. When we are among those who are saying unkindly things of another, casting arrows of censure, sneer or sarcasm at the good name of an absent person, making his faults a subject of conversation, holding a sort of clinic over his character, and dissecting it for their own wicked delight, how easily we slip into the same groove of talk, unless we are most watchful.

Who has never caught himself laughing at the things people were saying about some dear friend of his, and even adding little bits which his own confidential relation of friendship had permitted him to learn about his friend? Or when we find ourselves among those who are wrangling over questions, or quarreling about creeds or politics, or something else, it is not hard for us to take sides and wrangle as vigorously as the others. In a home where strife is n 193 going on we are always in danger of entering into and adding to the bitterness by our own excited and exciting words.

This is not the refuge from the strife of tongues which God provides. It may be the easiest thing just to drop into the stream and drift with it, but we are only hurt if we do this thinking to save ourselves from the evil of other men’s sins. We are deserting our colors and going over to the enemy. We may not surrender to the strife of tongues to get clear of the pain the strife causes. We must be witnesses for Christ. If others all about us sin with their tongues, we must be sure that we honor our Master either in speech or by our silence.

Nor may we seek a refuge from the strife of tongues by stoical indifference. If the talk we hear concerns ourselves and is condemnatory, we would do well first to ask whether it be true, whether the things said of us may not have at least some shadow of truth in them. It is well for many of us that we must live in an atmosphere of criticism. If others always spoke well of us, invariably commending us, it would make us proud and self-conceited. It is well for us that there always are those about us who are ready to see our faults and are not afraid to expose them.

Francis Quarles said: “If any speak ill of thee, flee home to thine own conscience and examine thy heart. If thou be guilty, it is a just correction; if not guilty, it is a fair instruction. Make use of both. So shalt thou distill honey out of gall, and out of an open enemy create a secret friend.”

Nor is the divine refuge from the strife of tongues found in flight. It may be the easiest thing to take the wings of a dove and fly away. Men have run to the covert of the rocks and the caverns, to the convent or the monastery, to the hermit’s cell, to escape this unhallowed strife. But that is not the way God wants us to do. He needs us in the heart of societv, for he desires us to witness for him. We are to let our light shine upon the world’s darkness to dispel it. We are to live among those who are not good, to show them a pattern of true and beautiful living. You find yourself, for example, in an uncongenial home. The spirit of love has not been cultivated and there is a strife of tongues even in that sacred sanctuary. The uncongenial life is hurting you. You feel like fleeing from it. But probably it is your duty to stay there. You must therefore find your refuge in the midst of the very uncongenialities which make the home so hard a place for you to live.

The same is true of most of our environments. We cannot flee out of them. Our duty requires us to stay where we are. God needs us where he has placed us. Flight from the environment would be flight from duty; we should thus prove disloyal to our Master, and fail in our search for shelter.

But there is a refuge which we can find in the very midst of the strife of tongues. They tell us that when the terrible cyclone sweeps over a country, there is a spot at its centre, which is so quiet and still that a leaf is scarcely stirred, where a baby might sleep undisturbed. So at the centre of the sorest strife we may find a pavilion, where no hurt can come to us.

How can we find it? First by having the peace of God in our own heart. If we are in right relations with God, his bosom is our refuge. In the time of strife we can always turn to him, and in his presence, in his love, our heart can be at rest. Then we must keep our heart ever warm and loving toward those who make the uncongenial environment. Nothing they do must disturb our love for them. If we live thus, we shall have a pavilion in which God will ever hide us from the strife of tongues. The strife will cause pain, but it will not mar the sweetness of our spirit.

There are plants and flowers which grow in the early spring under the snow-drifts and are not hurt by the cold. So will the graces of the heart be kept tender, beautiful and sweet amid the harshest uncongenialities, even beneath unkindnesses and cruelties, if we have this refuge of God’s love into which to flee.

One secret of security from the hurt of tongues is the keeping of love in the heart. Slanders or bitter words of any kind can harm us only when we yield to the feeling of resentment and anger. So long as we continue loving through all the strife, we are hidden away in a safe refuge. It is impatience that opens the door of the refuge and lets harm in. The sin is not in being tempted, but in yielding to the temptation. Our Lord taught us to pray for those who despitefully use us and persecute us. While we pray for them, their cruel words have no power to hurt us.

We have in Jesus Christ the highest example of the truth of this lesson. Never about any other life did the strife of words rage as it raged about him. Men’s cruelty knew no limit. Poisoned tongues emptied their most envenomed bitterness about him. They uttered the vilest charges against him. They made the worst accusations against his character. They pursued

197 him with the keenest malice. Falsehood did its worst in defaming him. But none of these things hurt him. He kept his sweetness of spirit, his serenity of soul, through all the strife of words. If we look at his refuge, we find that, first, he kept love in his heart through all the strife. He never grew impatient. No bitterness ever entered his soul, no anger, no feeling of resentment. He never once returned hate for hate, but only and always love for hate. While the men were driving the nails in his hands and feet he was praying for them. “Father, forgive them.” His love never ebbed for a moment.

We can stay in God’s pavilion and be safe from the hurt of the strife of tongues only when we keep ourselves in the love of God. If we grow angry and speak unadvisedly, or let our heart grow bitter and our lips utter words of unkindness or resentment, we have sinned. The strife has hurt us. We must love on and pray on and seek the good of those who are treating us so bitterly.

The language of the psalm is very beautiful. “Thou shalt hide them” — thy children, thy believing ones, — “in the secret of thy presence, from the pride of man. Thou shalt keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues.”

That is, when the world wrongs us, or assails us with its darts of evil, God hides us in the secret of his own presence. When a child comes in from the street,’ alarmed, trembling, from the midst of evil that has threatened it, the mother draws it close to her own side, into the secret of her own presence, and holds it there until fear is quieted and all danger is passed. That is the way Christ does when his little ones are trembling and afraid in the midst of the strife of tongues. A New Testament word says, “Your life is hid with Christ in God.” What need we care for the world’s worst of rage, falsehood, calumny and unkindness, when we are thus hidden in God! Men cannot hurt the stars by flinging stones at them; the stars are hidden in God’s heavenly refuge. No strife of tongues can hurt us, if we are in God’s pavilion of love.

We cannot get away from the assailing of men’s tongues. We must hear much speech that hurts or wounds and much that wearies and saddens us. But we can be so hidden in Christ, so wrapped in the folds of his garments, so held in his heart of hearts, that the strife shall not touch us. He will hide us in the secret of his presence from the pride of man. He will keep us secretly in a pavilion, from the strife of

199 tongues. There is ever need for fresh lessons on the duty of loving speech. We should do our part to quell the strife of tongues in this world. This we can do in some measure at least by guarding our own lips that they never add to the volume of this unseemly strife. We can fulfill our duty yet more adequately if we continually put into the stream of speech sweet words, wholesome words, words that will prove healing, inspiring, strengthening, encouraging. We never know the power of such words for good. They give happiness and cheer and make people better.

There is always a mission for good words. Incalculable is their power to bless. Immeasurable, too, is the possibility of helpfulness in these tongues of ours. Bitter will it be if it be found in the end that we have failed to use our speech to bless the world. There is need for hearty words in all human associations. We are afraid to say kind, appreciative things to each other, even to those we love the best. We keep the gentle thoughts sealed up along the years, till our friend is gone. Then by his coffin our lips are unsealed, when true words, warm with love, flow out. But of what use are they then? We might as well keep them sealed up.

aoo” Year after year, with a glad content, In and out of our home he went —

In and out.
Ever for us the skies were clear;
His heart carried the fret and fear,

The care and doubt.

Our hands held with careless hold
All that he won of power and gold,

In toil and pain. O dear hands that our burdens bore — Hands that shall toil for us no more —

Never again!

Oh! it was hard to learn our loss,
Bearing daily the heavy cross —

The cross he bore;
To say with an aching heart and head,
* Would to God that our love now dead

Were here once morel’”