This is a homily about how we speak to each other.

 

In order to protect the innocent, let me use the name “Bill” for all four of my alumni stories, though each involves a different person from a different decade. Bill #1, Bill #2, Bill #3, and Bill #4,

 

Bill #1 turns in a paper in Form IV English. Teacher grades it, turns it back bloodied with red ink, and says: “Bill, are you sure your first language is English?”

 

Bill #2 turns in a history essay. Teacher turns it back and says: “Bill, I use to think your father was the dumbest person I ever taught, until I read your paper.”

 

Bill #3 is walking out the Lane-Johnston building and tries to avoid the headmaster. But headmaster sees him and motions him over with a curled finger. “Did you see that math teacher I told you to get tutored by?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“You are a sorry good-for-nothing, Son. When you come sulking into my office saying you don’t want to go to summer school, don’t expect tears from me.”

 

Last one. Bill #4 is tired of school and not doing well. He wanted to quit school and join the Navy, but understandably, his parents didn’t like the idea. They took him in to see the headmaster. The headmaster sits the three of them down in his office. He slowly reads aloud the boy’s report card in front of his parents. He slowly looks up and says, “Go ahead and withdraw your son. He’s not going to amount to anything anyway.”

 

I am always fascinated by alumni’s stories. It is very scary to a teacher, however, to hear that these stories are remembered with clarity, word for word. The last story—“you’re not going to amount to much”—happened in 1943, 72 years ago. That young man did grow up to amount to something; he was the long serving senator from Virginia, John Warner.

 

And this point also. Every Bill I mentioned told me the story with great affection for the adult who spoke this way. Many men love kidding around, horsing around, making jokes, punching each other, and so on (note I didn’t say all men). Most importantly, great teachers hold you to high standards and speak directly to you about the quality of your work. This is ok; this is good; nada. Yet somehow, as they urge you higher, they convey a sympathy for your efforts. You can’t always figure out how, but you respect the teacher, pick that interest and sympathy up, and keep trying.

 

But I recommend to young teachers and any young professional not to assume they have any special gifts of language until years pass by.

 

When someone begins his or her teaching career, in fact, not a day or two passes before some experienced teacher or school head warns the person to avoid sarcasm. “Whatever you do, avoid sarcasm.” You should not avoid sarcasm simply because we live in an over-sensitive age, but life in the classroom is very different than in past decades. Here are three recent court cases. One teacher called a student a “thug” and the boy’s parents sued. Another said, “You can’t record my lecture because you have to be smart enough to take notes”: another suit. And finally, a parent has said that a teacher’s language is equivalent to causing post-traumatic stress syndrome in her child. In all three cases the teacher was exonerated, but when you start whatever you choose to do as a profession, Gentlemen, you will enter a world where people are far too quick to make absurd accusations and seek ridiculous recompense for apparent emotional injury.

 

But most of you will not be teachers, so what does this have to do with you? In today’s scripture, the writer of Peter admonishes us to love one another, be hospitable, serve one another, and speak as if we are speaking the words of God. I don’t believe that means, be dull. But I do think we can translate the words into a metaphor to wear: thin skin, thick skin.

 

Some of us have thin skin. A person makes a joke at your expense and you get upset, which allows a bully to make it worse, and you worry about the joke and don’t forget the offense for a long time.

Some of us have thick skin. You’ve learned to take kidding and it doesn’t bother you because you think the intent is fun or you have your own ways of defending yourself or giving it back, word for word.

 

Consider this. Why not go into each day assuming that everyone is wearing thin skin—that there are abundant reasons to be sensitive to how every person feels.

 

And why not go into your day wearing thick skin. If someone says something to you that doesn’t feel good, assume that the person either didn’t mean it that way (which is true at least half the time), or that the person is hurting so much inside he needs to lash out at others and so you forgive.

 

If you think others are wearing thin skin today, you’re careful to be deeply aware of other people’s emotions, and if your own skin is thick, you’re giving your friends and teachers the benefit of the doubt, which in the end will make you a happier and more helpful person. It’s a simple lesson: think about it.

 

Now go in peace to love and serve the Lord.