This year, I gave up talking about politics for Lent. Anyone who knows me knows that my verbal fast was quite a feat. I am a man of many opinions — more than a fair share of them political, most of them strong, and all of which I am willing to talk about at length with only a moment’s notice.

For 40 days, I stopped doing that. No more arguing the pros and cons of President Donald Trump over a meal. No more chasing down articles online to prove my point. No more hitting the reply button to every negative comment on my Facebook posts to make sure I get in the last (and truest) word.

The spiritual discipline of shutting up has taught me that there’s a better way to live than to talk out of school.

I like to think of this as the spiritual discipline of shutting up.

Hearing, Speech, and Anger
The biblical basis of this discipline is James 1:19: “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” Notice the three verbs: listen, speak, and become angry. The apostle is telling us that the more listening and less talking, the less anger. Conversely, the less listening and more talking, the more anger. 

It was anger that convinced me I needed to shut up about politics for a while. In the aftermath of America’s 2016 presidential election, I began to notice how angry all sides of the American electorate were. Worse, I began to notice how angry I was. And the more I talked about politics, the angrier I became.

Anger is not necessarily a bad thing. When we witness an injustice, anger is an appropriate first response. It’s a catalytic emotion, a spark to start a fire of righteous action. According to Mark 3:1–6, for example, some Pharisees “watched [Jesus] closely to see if he would heal [a man] on the Sabbath.” In their minds, healing was work, and working on the Sabbath was forbidden. Mark describes Jesus looking at these men “in anger” and being “deeply distressed at their stubborn hearts.” By healing the man, He refuted their legalistic interpretation of Scripture. 

Anger catalyzed Jesus’ response to the Pharisees, but He didn’t live there, and neither should we. Instead, our response to injustice or to any other ill must move beyond anger to constructive action. If you find yourself in a perpetual state of ticked-offness, you should be concerned. That’s where I found myself after November 8, 2016. And I was deeply concerned, both for myself and for my country.

The Better Part of Wisdom
As I reflected on my anger about politics, I engaged in some ruthless self-examination. Did I have good reasons to be so angry so often? Of course I did! America would be so much better off if it just followed my political advice, I thought to myself. If it listens to me, it will get off the wrong track and onto the right track.

OK, I know you’re laughing at my political egomania, and you should be. It’s ridiculous. Even I realize that … now.

The problem is that I didn’t realize it as I argued about Trump, refuted memes, and posted replies to the Nth degree. I really believed I knew what I was talking about. I really thought I had it all figured out.

Proverbs 17:28 is a good proverb for people like me to keep in mind:

Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise;
    when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent (ESV).

I always thought this proverb applied to the other guy. I gained wisdom when I discerned that it applied to me. 

Have you ever examined the rationale for your opinions, political or otherwise? When I realized how much free space I was giving to anger, I started paying more attention to the reasons for my beliefs. What I found about myself can be expressed in this paradox: I know little about much and much about little. 

On the one hand, I know little about much. My opinions are a mile wide and an inch deep. Somehow, I’ve managed to formulate beliefs about everything from art to Zoroastrianism, not to mention politics, without paying close attention to any of them. These beliefs might come from a book I read or a meme that made me laugh or a comment made by a friend or a half-remembered remark in a college professor’s lecture 25 years ago. Such opinions are ill-founded. That doesn’t mean that they’re wrong, necessarily — even a stopped clock and all that — but it does mean I might not want to be too cocksure about them. 

On the other hand, I know much about little. I’ve read a lot of books, but in my life, I’ve studied only three topics in any systematic form: philosophy, theology and missiology. As a minister, I’ve put these studies to daily use in the context of a local church or as the executive editor of magazines for ministers. I’ve developed a certain level of expertise in those topics — not the highest level, of course, but not the lowest either, and that means my opinions on those topics are better grounded than, say, my opinions about art, Zoroastrianism or politics. 

Given the paradox of the little and the much, it made sense to keep my political opinions to myself, or at the very least to be far humbler about them than I had been. You never look like an idiot by being quiet about your ignorance, after all.

The Range of Effective Action
So far, I’ve talked about the discipline of shutting up from two perspectives: anger and ignorance. There’s a third reason to consider taking a verbal fast, however. It has to do with your range of effective action. 

Go back to politics for a moment. I have an opinion about the national debt. What actions can I take to effectuate my opinion? I can vote for like-minded politicians, I can lobby for my position, I can organize support for my position, I can run for office, and if those things don’t work, I can always move to Canada, eh? Here’s the thing, though: I may have an opinion about the national debt, but evidently the national debt does not have an opinion about me. I don’t have an effective range of actions on this topic.

Take a subject closer to home … literally. Several years ago, my wife and I heard that Greene County had a huge problem in its foster care system. Basically, too many foster kids and not enough foster homes. So, we sought training in foster care, became certified foster parents, took in our first children and ended up adopting two girls into our forever family. (We already had a biological son.) My wife and I had an effective range of action when it came to helping solve our county’s foster care problem.

Which topic should I talk about more? Clearly, the answer is foster care and adoption! Why? Because I know more and can do more about it than about the national debt. With this knowledge and effective action come less anger and more personal satisfaction. 

Three Questions
Now that you’ve heard my story about giving up politics for Lent, let me ask you three questions in closing: 

First, what makes you angry? The important thing to remember is that anger can be a good catalyst to action, but it’s a lousy place to dwell. A good way to decrease your anger is to fast your tongue for a while.

Second, what do you really know? All of us have opinions; some of them are better grounded than others. If you find yourself talking too much about what you know the least, it might be a good idea to keep your opinion to yourself.

Third, what can I actually accomplish? Few things are more satisfying than to experience congruity between what you believe and how you behave. The closer to home your effective range of action, the more you’ll accomplish in life.

I’m done with my Lenten fast of talking about politics, but that doesn’t mean I’m jumping back into the fray like I did before. The spiritual discipline of shutting up has taught me that there’s a better way to live than to talk out of school. 

As parents of three children under 10 years of age, my wife and I are used to a noisy household. But when the noise gets too loud, we simply say, “Hush it!” 

Things quiet down, and order gains the upper hand over verbal chaos.

Hush it.

That’s good advice for the soul, too.