Ten thousand . . . give or take a few. That’s how many words the average speaker utters each day. And according to James, those ten thousand are no mere sounds. Every word is a rudder or a flame (James 3:4, 6), a blessing or a curse (James 3:9), wondrous water or stinging salt (James 3:11), a fig or an olive or a grape (James 3:12). Every word has substance, flavor, direction, power. Every word is alive and active for a time, though only the words of God are always living and active in the high and holy sense (Heb. 4:12). Our words have a God-given vitality and depth that often goes unnoticed. What might happen if we paused to notice?
Let me show you where words come from, why they are deeper than we think, and how this could shape our use of the most common words we hear each day.
Words from the Word
Where do words come from? Words are not the inevitable product of social development, or some evolutionary instinct refined over time. Words are a gift from the God who called His own Son the Word (John 1:1). They are a God-reflecting present offered with the grander gift of life. Words came to Adam along with his breath and blood (Gen. 2:7, 16). They were woven into his DNA so that he would be fully equipped to engage with his God—to hear and respond and worship.
The ultimate goal of God’s gift of words is communion with the “worded” and “wording” Lord. Words are the beckoning invitation to draw near, to taste and see that the Lord is good (Ps. 34:8). Words were given to draw us out and lead us forward. They are always directional.
That’s why Scripture constantly speaks of them as so much more than mere sounds or instruments of social interaction. In the light of God, words are apples of gold in settings of silver (Prov. 25:11), seasoned with salt (Col. 4:6), grace-giving, and beautifully constructive (Eph. 4:29). Why? To draw us closer to God. But in the darkness of sin, words bring divine anger (Deut. 1:34). They deal in deceit (Ps. 35:20; Ps. 36:3). They devour (Ps. 52:4). They entice us to corruption and rebellion (Prov. 7:5). They lie in wait for blood (Prov. 12:6). Why? To draw us closer to the devil and death. Words are always directional. They push us toward life or shoulder us toward death (Prov. 18:21). This all sounds over-the-top, doesn’t it? But God and His Word is true (Rom. 3:4). This is no exaggeration. Words truly are this potent.
Notice how different this biblical approach is from that of the secular world. The linguist and philosopher Steven Pinker called language a biological “instinct,” similar to the instinct that spiders have for spinning webs. If asked the question “Where do words come from?” he would say they come from our biology, which just “happens to be.” In other words, “We don’t know where words come from, but does it really matter?” Yes, it does. Origins are tied to purpose. If words just “happen to be,” then that gives us free reign to make them whatever we want them to be, to change their meaning, or even to tear them away from reality. That’s why, for example, the LGBTQ community wants to claim that “man” no longer means a biological male and “woman” no longer means a biological female. We make words mean what we want them to mean, without any underlying origin to direct them. Do you see how that works?
In contrast, God tells us that words come from Him. With mystery and beauty, He determines their meaning, use, and effect. He is the Lord of language. And His words are upholding, guiding, and directing whatever words fall from our lips. Every time I think about this, I trip and stumble into verse.
Out of silence came God’s speech,
Thunderous strong with hands of braun,
Touching, taking, moving, making,
Sculpting, saying, guiding, praying—
Every word a call to gather,
Every word a living thing.
All our words a wish to matter
Granted by the Worded King.
The Hidden Depth
Now, words are a gift from the Trinitarian Giver. They reflect and reveal Him. And therein lies their depth. The Christian linguist Kenneth L. Pike found various interlocking triads in human language, and he believed this reflected the Trinity. Pike’s work has been further developed and applied by Vern S. Poythress. For now, let me offer just one of those triads: contrast, variation, and distribution. Don’t worry. You don’t need to be a linguist to understand this.
First, every word contrasts with other words. It contrasts in terms of its form and meaning, its grammatical roles, and its sound. Apple is not cheese (though they could go well together). Bird is not bush (though there’s a confusing saying about the two). Words contrast with each other. They are distinct from one another. That provides stability in language amidst diversity, and stability is good. The ultimate foundation for that stability is “the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17).
Second, every word has variations. It can appear differently even though it is essentially the same in another form. Apples is a variation of apple. The variation does not fundamentally change the meaning of the word and its usage (either literal or metaphorical). There is distinction supported by underlying unity, and this is good. The ultimate foundation for that variation and distinction is the Son, who is the “image” of the invisible God (Col. 1:15). Jesus makes visible “the form” of God (Phil. 2:6) in His earthly ministry. And yet the Son shares the one essence with the Father and Holy Spirit. Underlying unity supports distinction. This does not mean, however, that the Son is just an outer “form” of God who is not truly distinct from the Father. That would be the heresy of modalism. Every analogy for understanding God, in the end, breaks down. It’s no different for the analogy with words. Nevertheless, we can safely say that the variations we see in human language are a creaturely reflection of something in God. After all, we said that the distinctions we see in words are good, and all goodness must come from God.
Third, every word is distributed in a context. Every word has a relationship to other words. “The apple is ripe” provides a context for the word “apple.” The sentence “She is the apple of my eye” provides a different context. The contexts, in all their diversity and their opportunities for expression, are good (though sinful contexts are the result of human sin).
What does all this mean? Well, it means something amazing: if you and I look at a word long enough, we will see the mystery of God. We will see the mystery of His generosity, His providence, and His redemption of sinful humans.
Let’s stay with apple for an example. I say the word “apple” to my kids when they ask for a bedtime snack. They know what it is. They know it is not an orange or a banana. The word “apple” draws to their minds a distinct thing—with all its features. That’s contrast. The fact that a sequence of sounds can link our minds together so we can identify something in the world is both mysterious and miraculous. It’s mysterious because that sequence of letters, in God’s providence, could have come to represent many things. But it has landed here: on this particular piece of fruit (and all its literal and metaphorical uses in context). Why? Ultimately, all whys go back to the plan of God: who He is and what He’s doing. We don’t know all the specifics. But we do know that God stewards language even as He allows humans to have a place in His sovereign, ordained will. All our uses of apple throughout history have been guided by God. God’s hand is behind every apple—whether on a tree or in a poem. God owns every orchard, every branch and bud, and every human hand that holds one. He is the Lord of apples. Praise God for that.
The word “apple” has its variants, too. When I hear the word “apple,” I think of all these variations, both in the world and in language. In the world, we find Cortland, Macintosh, Golden Delicious, Fuji, Honey Crisp. All these forms would be nothing without the supporting form of the Son. In language, we find “apples,” “apple sauce,” “apple tart,” “apple butter.” We hear expressions such as, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” or, “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” All these variations in language would mean nothing without the supporting form of the Son, who is given to us in the person of Jesus Christ (John 3:16). Without the Son as the image of the Father, all our sundry images of apples would melt away like mist in the morning light. We need Him . . . just to speak. That is both mysterious and miraculous.
The word “apple” also has its distributions, its contexts. There’s a sign for an orchard down the road from us that goes up every September. “Apples,” it reads at the top, and then it lists times when people can come and pick their own. That word has a rich context. Think about it. There’s the context of the sign, the word “apple” nestled in with other words in white paint on the old piece of plywood. There’s the context of the orchard, which has been thriving for generations and supporting an entire ecosystem—worms, butterflies, bees, birds, rabbits, and the occasional bear. And then there’s the context of the human lives—the couple who currently cares for the orchard each season by taking hours to trim the trees, fertilize the soil, and protect the apples from diseases. These are people made in the image of God. These contexts are wheels within wheels, and they draw out my wonder. That little word on the little sign on the little street by a little orchard has God’s attention. He is involved with all of it. That is both mysterious and miraculous. Not even a road sign escapes the gracious governance of the ever-speaking God.
All of this means that words reflect something of who God is and what He is doing in the world. And because they do, words run deep. They are not raindrops that evaporate and disappear shortly after they hit the air. Like the puddles between the trees in The Magician’s Nephew, they are portals to worlds—worlds of God’s character and goodness, worlds of God’s mysterious actions in the spinning earth, in your life and mine. Praise God for puddles.
Everyday Words
But let’s get practical. If all words reflect something of who God is and what He is doing, then something momentous is happening every time someone speaks. And yet we mostly pass this by. Let’s end by taking a look at the three most common expressions in English today. How can we translate these expressions to bring out the God-centered nature of life and the Lord of language? How can we point toward communion with God as the end-all of human experience?
How are you? Most of the time, we utter a thoughtless “good.” But remember that words reflect the Trinitarian nature of God, in all of His mysterious and sovereign goodness. “How are you?” can be translated into a God-centered dialect. “What’s God doing in your life right now?” That’s a much harder question to answer off-the-cuff. But maybe we should save our questions for when we have the time to listen to what people have to say. Try substituting this variant for the common expression and see what happens. You might have an opportunity to pray for someone and direct them toward the God of hope, with whom we’ll have everlasting communion through Jesus Christ.
Thank you. Gratitude is inherently God-linked because God is the source of all giving. He is “gratuitous” in the highest sense. There can be no thankfulness without someone to thank, and God is the ultimate Someone. What if this expression were swapped out with a God-focused variant? Imagine someone hands you a receipt at the grocery store, and you take it and say, “He’s always giving.” They reply, “Who?” You smile and say, “God.” Then you walk away. What sort of impression might that make on a stranger in God’s spoken world—especially if they don’t know He’s speaking? That could be a nudge toward communion, toward the God who gave Himself in Jesus Christ.
I don’t know. I probably say this several times a day. They are an affirmation of finitude. It’s just three words, but by uttering them, we make a profession. “I am limited. I am a creature. I am only a servant of the all-knowing God.” In all likelihood, people are never impressed by an “I don’t know.” It’s white noise. They expect we don’t know. But exchange this with “God is grand.” That’s really what we’re saying, isn’t it? “I don’t know. I’m limited. But God is grand.” God knows all that we don’t know. He even knows our thoughts before we think them. Try it sometime. In conversation about a complex topic, throw your hands up and say, “Well, God is grand.” It can turn up someone’s chin toward the mystery and meaning of life, which is at its grandest when God is held highest.
Conclusion
We won’t be able to show every stranger or acquaintance how the Trinity is reflected in language. We’re not all poets or philosophers out in the real world. We are just words of the Word. But words are not meant to be cast aside—not the ones God has spoken, and certainly not the creatures He’s made in His image. Words are meant to be planted. You and I will have ten thousand chances tomorrow to scatter seeds. Who knows what will grow as the Word sows His Spirit-tilled fields beneath the watchful eye of our Father. But by amazing grace, we will be the planters. So, by all means, look at what’s in your hands before you let it fall to the soil. Grand things will grow.