Our words are like fire. They have the power to divide and destroy or the power to fuse and unify. The first comes from fear, the second from love. View the study sheet here. Watch the recording here.
In the woods it is pretty easy to tell the difference. At the end of a long day of hiking a controlled campfire provides for the sustaining reward of a well-earned hot meal. But the wildfires that tore through our nation’s woodlands in 2021 were devastatingly destructive. In Oregon over 800,000 acres burned, and in California that number was over 2.5 million acres. Fire can be either helpful or hurtful. Sometimes negligence can quickly turn the helpful use of fire, to cook a meal on a stove, into a tragic house fire and loss of life. We need to use fire carefully.
Jewish tradition imagines words as fire. The Talmud describes the Torah as “white fire engraved in black fire; it is fire mixed in fire, cut from fire and given from fire.” The early rabbis saw the words of Torah as dynamic, combustible, capable of powering the way forward. Because of their inherent volatility words need to be used very carefully, warned the rabbis. Used well they can forge an enduring relationship. Used carelessly they can cause a conflagration.
Too many of our communities are awash in a destructive firestorm of words. All too easily we use words to rupture and divide. It appears as an art form to use words to cohere and merge. Some of the most volatile discussions we have as a nation are about race. It has been that way ever since slaves were brought to these shores from Africa in 1619. For over 400 years we as a nation have struggled to find the language that will enable us to truly overcome the legacy of that moment and of the compounding many that followed. All too often our words have served as gasoline on the burning embers of that history.
One of America’s greatest word artists was James Baldwin. In 1963, at a climaxing moment in the Civil Rights movement, he published The Fire Next Time. It consists of two essays: “My Dungeon Shook: Letter to my Nephew on the One Hundredth Anniversary of the Emancipation” and “Down at the Cross: Letter from a Region of My Mind.” Baldwin passionately struggles in these essays with his pride in being a Black man and with his attachment to America. With intellect and artistry and emotion he explores the possibility of a reconciliation.
The title of his book is drawn from the Black spiritual “Mary, Don’t You Weep,” which has the line “God gave Noah the rainbow sign, no more water but fire next time.” In the Torah God only promises no more water. The possibility of a fire next time enters into the spiritual of a people in slavery much, much later. Baldwin is torn between hope and consequence. In the end, he prophesies to his nephew that America must learn to love itself by embracing its full diversity. If not, fire will destroy us all. His words add texture and beauty to the creative piece we call America. Now we are bearers of fire. Let us use it carefully.
Join us here at 7:00 p.m. (PST) Thursday February 24 as we explore the fire next time.
