Words Matter: A Case for Reading

As a child, I can vividly recall the dread I felt when my teachers assigned one of the most feared and abhorred pieces of homework available in their arsenal: The vocab list. A list of five to ten words that I was required to memorize by the end of the week, all of them meaningless to me at the time, and as foreign as another language. With the subtle yet complicated hubris only a child can have, I thought I knew all the words I would inevitably need. 

It was only much later in life that I had enough sense of self-reflection to realize that I had countless experiences where my words fell short. The words available to me didn’t appear adequate. How do you describe the intricacies of the distinct flavors of happiness, sadness, contentment, anger, jealousy, and nervousness when you only have the words you know to rely on? How do you fully describe the breathtaking landscape of Creation, even more the smallest bug wriggling around in your lawn, to someone who has not seen it? 

The case for reading has combatted several negative connotations: escapism, isolationism, and frivolity. And it can feel silly sitting on a chair and flipping through painted slips of dried trees and imagining things in your head while other, fruitful activities abound. But I’ve found there often is no better activity to equip yourself for future interactions than finding the right words for their intended moment. Inside every book, no matter what its content, readers find examples of emotion, humanity, and description, giving them evocative imagery to take with them back into the world, deeply empathetic and prepared to relate to others.    

I first encountered this idea at Dordt University, when I was asked to read a speech from author Neal Gaiman. Right before quoting C.S. Lewis, Gaiman infers that escapism through fiction not only exists as a reprieve to those in unpleasant situations, but as a mechanism to equip readers with “weapons and armor”—real, tangible things to take back with them so that they might be better equipped in the real world. 

I’d never had such a confident explanation (or excuse) for my voracious reading habit that had taken hold of my life, years after the dreaded vocab lists. When reading for enjoyment, my predicated habit is to lapse into complete obliviousness, blind and deaf to all else. Submerging into a good story felt like sinking slowly underwater, and being pulled abruptly from that story felt like gasping for breath after breaking the surface. But the stories that stayed with me, the words I brought back with me, slipped into my dreams and speech habits, my comforting words and my descriptive ones, as weapons and armor. The words I discovered (or looked up) were added to my vocabulary like arrows in a quiver, waiting patiently to be pulled out and loosed at the opportune moment.  

I can’t help but draw the comparison to the Sword of the Spirit described in Ephesians 6:13-17. “Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

Undoubtedly, our greatest preparation and equipping is supplied by Scripture, where we gain not only the knowledge and peace to interact with our fellow believers, but also the world. The expanded world of literature and reading is merely a supplement to the Word, but still an ordained part of Creation under the human purview, also bringing value, redemption, and kingdom impact through the creation, dissemination, and learning that follow. We are better equipped as Christians when we have a full command of language, not only as pastors, evangelists, and the Commissioned, but in the smallest moments when we try to describe a sunset, comfort a grieving friend, or attempt, in futility, to comprehend the vastness of our God. And the best way to nurture our mastery over language is to read it. 

At Dordt, I’ve often looked back and found the most foundational moments in my time as a student were the small, often overlooked ones. A word exchanged on the sidewalk. A late-night talk on a $5 couch. The look of confusion shared across a classroom when everyone is perplexed. The moments students share that pass in a fleeting heartbeat, but replay ad infinitum. 

Those small, foundational moments are the basis of language exchange, or a communion that we are suitably equipped for. The words we use in that communion are the limiting factors in how meaningful those moments are.  We are most familiar with the word “communion” as interchangeable with the Lord’s Supper, but the definition that I have grown to love is “intimate fellowship or rapport.” When we communicate with others, we are entering not only into the practice of language exchange, but an intimate fellowship. A meaningful one, where we are bound by our physical expressions and vocal stimulations to express love for our neighbor in a way glorifying to God. Even more so, the words we use, the weapons and armor we equip ourselves with, are the avenues of that love. The vocab lists of my childhood were never pitched to me as tools that I would use to glorify God, and I doubt many students picture them that way. But the profundity and clarity that come from our words matter in a way that impacts the kingdom of God in this moment, and in all the ones that are yet to come.  

My hope is that as we all continue to read, we stay rooted in Scripture, captivated by dragons and fantasy, informed by non-fiction, reflect on history, but most importantly, that we read not only for the enjoyment of reading, but to better equip ourselves to serve God, our neighbor, and our communities though methods of expression and fellowship that God can look over and say “well done, good and faithful servant.” Let us not be satisfied with the words that we know, like the servant who buried his talent in the ground, but multiply our vocabulary so that no matter the situation we find ourselves in, we have the words to serve.