Last week I spent some time in a retail tire store waiting to get a new set of tires on my truck.  Using the down time to check my email on my smart phone, I found myself totally distracted by a meltdown that was occurring on the other end of the waiting area.  Some guy was not happy about his tires, and was letting the store employee know about it something fierce!  Whoa!  I quickly looked around to make sure there were no women and children in earshot of his verbal tirade.  Although I was interested in what the tire guy had done wrong in case I needed to beware of buyers remorse, it was totally impossible to follow his logic since every other word made me cringe.  Fortunately, the two took it outside and I was spared the full performance.  Later I got a text from a co-worker who asked, “Are you busy?”  My response was, “No. Just listening to a guy speak cursive.”  On the other end I read, “What??”

Cursive and Cursing actually have no etymological relationship at all.  Cursive is, of course, the ability to write words with letters joined together.  It increases the speed and sometimes the beauty of writing.  In grade school we called it “real writing,”  but very few people today learn how to do it.  (Penmanship is definitely at a historic low– but that’s for another day.) Cursive comes from the Latin word “cursivus,” which means “running or flowing.”  That makes perfect sense.

Cursing on the other hand is from an Old French word, “curuz,” meaning anger.  The Old English version is “curs,” which means an “evil prayer.”

SO…… maybe it’s not a misnomer to use the phrase, “speaking in cursive.”  The guy in the tire store was doing just that– angry, evil prayers were flowing like water right out of his mouth– uncontrollably!   He was certainly “speaking in cursive.”

I believe there are two categories of speaking cursive.  The first is what we call using “curse words,” or “cussing.”  Most people think of it as just a harmless way to express frustration; to vent; to let some steam off.   Many think it’s a clever way of  strengthening their statements, or even providing much needed color.  I disagree.  And my disagreement comes from the Bible.  In James 3:9 we read, “With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be.”

The second is what we call a “word curse.”  It’s not using “profanity,” but declaring things over someone that are not true.  It wounds them, hurts them, and becomes a constant reminder of their unworthiness.  It’s what Jesus was talking about when he said,“But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool! ’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.” (Matthew 5:22)  “Raca” means “empty, worthless, stupid.”  It comes from the Hebrew word, “spit.”  It means to demean someone; to cut someone down; to make someone appear stupid.”  A word curse may not be a curse word, but it has the same effect.

Jesus said, “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.”  (Luke 6:45)

I grew up in a Christian home.  My parents did not allow foul talk or “cussing” in our house.  I never heard it come from either of my parents, and I knew it wouldn’t be tolerated if I tried it.  But I always fantasized what “cussing” would sound like coming out of my own mouth.  I was in the sixth grade, and had just heard some brand new, juicy words on the school playground that day.  Oh, how I wanted the courage and the freedom to say them!  How I wanted to fit in with the guys, and feel the power of those words slicing through the air, making the girls cringe and my pals take notice.  But I just couldn’t do it.  I knew that if I did, it would surely make it’s way back to my folks.  I lived in a small town, and somehow in my community everybody knew everything about everyone.  It’s just a fact.  Besides, I remembered when my older brother had been exposed after letting one fly during junior high P.E. class a couple of years earlier.  It brought pure scandal to our household, and a crying jag from my disappointed mother.  And my brother paid for it dearly.

Upon returning home from school that day I devised a scheme– a way to get away with it.  I would go behind the green storage shed in the back corner of our yard, face the September cornfield just behind it, and all alone, and without anyone in hearing distance, I would let ‘er rip!  What an incredible feeling it would be to empty my soul of those nasty words that were brimming to be released!  And I did just that!  What’s more, I even broke another family taboo when I gave the innocent rows of corn the middle finger several times during my verbal vomit session!

Just when my secret tirade was slowing down, I saw something moving among the corn stalks.  It was old Mr. Brewer, our neighbor from across the field!  He had heard me, no doubt!  As quick as a flash, I made my way back to my house, red-faced and thoroughly embarrassed.   As supper approached,  I began to imagine what would surely happen.  The phone would ring, my mother would answer, and Mr. Brewer’s wife, Nettie, would inform my mom of everything! What I had done was unforgivable.  My brother had only violated the taboo with one word, while I had used a whole string of them, and had “shot birds” as well!  It was a grievous offense indeed, and I was was in it way too deep.  Death seemed preferable to facing what I had done.

Just before the family gathered for dinner I exploded.  Like a volcano, I erupted, blurting it out to my mom in the kitchen.  I was sobbing so hard she could not understand my words, so I had to tell it all to her again!  Double the shame!   But then I  felt her loving arms wrapping around my eleven year old frame as she whispered, “It’s ok.  Thank you for telling me. It looks to me like you’ve learned your lesson.  Doesn’t it feel good to get it off your chest? ”  And that was it.  That was all.  It was over.  Supper was fabulous and we never talked about it again.  And Nettie Brewer never called.