The Scariest Verse in the Bible

I don’t know that it is particularly useful to have a verse designated as the scariest in holy writ. I remember in college people asking me what my “life verse” was. I guess a life verse is the verse that means the most to your life, following the term logically. I never knew the answer to that question. I like a lot of Bible verses and didn’t have the temerity to label one the LIFE verse for my life. But the question of which Bible verse scares me to my core has been long settled. Maybe someday it will be usurped. Maybe lurking in the pages of, say, 2 Chronicles there is a verse I have long neglected that will sneak up on me with no John Carpenter score to serve as warning, and I will be cast into mortal fear but for now this one is holding steady.  Here it is, from the mouth of our Lord:

“Either make the tree good and its fruit good, or make the tree bad and its fruit bad, for the tree is known by its fruit. You brood of vipers! How can you speak good, when you are evil? For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. The good person out of his good treasure brings forth good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure brings forth evil. I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.” Matthew 12.33-37

I was reminded of this passage as I read Alan Jacobs’s recent article that touches on the implications of Christ’s words in the context of our writing. Here is an excerpt:

“It is curious that Jesus speaks of the Pharisees’ accusation against him as a “careless word” — and disturbing that he clearly does not mean thereby to excuse them. Perhaps we would like to think that our careless words are more forgivable than our calculated cruelties, but it seems that we will “give account” for all our words alike. I doubt that we think about this often enough. There is sure wisdom in the Great Lenten Prayer of St. Ephraim, much used in the Orthodox world, which begins thus: “O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despondency, lust for power and idle talk.” Idle talk! — how many of us would think to place, near the head of a long prayer to be repeated frequently in Lent, a plea to be delivered from that?”

The fact that Jesus had to make this statement shows the universality of this problem and its consistency through history, but I believe the danger is amplified in our culture. Twitter, Facebook, and blogs help us feel as if all of our thoughts need to be posted immediately. It is difficult to pause for reflection; someone might beat you to your observation. And Jesus is stark in the condemnation he issues to careless words. As Jacobs writes, we like to believe that our careless words—that curse word under our breath, the things we yell at a television during a sporting event, the unintentionally critical comments to a spouse or friend—are not all that big of a deal, especially when compared with our premeditated sins. But our Lord will have none of that. What comes out in those careless moments is not an aberration, but the overflowing of the contents of our heart. And that, frankly, is terrifying.

Jacobs goes on to talk about how glad he is that he didn’t publish his first book until he was 40. He had felt like he could write well before then, but was grateful that he wasn’t given the opportunity. It is easier to say stupid things before you are 40, easier to be self-righteous about your beliefs and feel as if you have everything figured out.

And while Jesus’ words freak me out considerably when applied to my spoken words, Jacobs’s reflections have caused me to think more about it in the context of my own writing. It is one thing to be embarrassed about things you have written in the past, and I have certainly written things I am embarrassed about. It is another thing to write something uncharitable, to be condemned by words you haven’t just popped off while angry but actually taken the time to write down. Those words can be careless, too, and sometimes we have to say them out loud to realize how true that is.

I don’t think we think of the implication of our words enough. For someone whose hobbies outside of playing with small blond two year olds and running through the woods basically consist of reading and writing—being inundated with words—I certainly don’t consider that enough. Our faith enjoins us to be careful, though, to take every thought captive to make it obedient to our Lord so that we do not fall into the pit of careless words and idle speech. For, according to our Lord, it is not our prayers that show our heart, but the words we say without taking the time to reflect. And that is terrifying.