Men of few words (Shamas of Bristol, Jesus of Nazereth, Forrest Gump, Mark Twain, Abe Lincoln, a man named Joyce, and Jack the Drunk)

Consider the words of the world famous fictional character, Forrest Gump. Forrest doesn’t talk using what my grandmother referred to as “four-legged” words. Yet no matter the constant simplicity of his speech, most people seem to immediately understand the deep – and often truly profound – meaning revealed by Forrest’s plain way of communicating.

Now that’s all I have to say about that.

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If you’ve ever met the bicycle-riding Bristol “landmark”, Shamas Dougherty, you will also hear nary a four-legged word come forth from his mouth. Nor will you hear nary a long speech. Yet Shamas is capable of commonly conveying brilliantly simple wisdom with his words.

Open your New Testament sometime and read anything spoken by Jesus. Christ is almost always quoted as saying far less than a minute’s worth of words at a time. No filibusters give, did he. The closest Jesus came to being a bit gabby in the Gospels was during the famous Sermon on the Mount. Even then, the entire Sermon can be spoken in about the same amount of time it takes one to read the full menu at a Cracker Barrel.

Jesus’ speaking style is depicted as being beautifully brief (and often in “short story” form); somewhat in contrast to the more wordy and long-winded writing style often displayed by the Apostle Paul.

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Yet even the loquacious Apostle was capable of sublime brevity at times, especially when he was at his best. One cannot read First Corinthians, Chapter 13, without admiring the timeless grace and grandeur found in so few words. (Maybe Paul was running short of ink when writing about the power of love to the good people of Corinth.)

Yet I ramble on … all the while I’m trying to write a column about the advantages of using more brevity and clarity within our speech and writing. Life is filled with paradox, indeed.

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The great American writer Mark Twain wrote about the importance of choosing the correct word: “The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—it's the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”

And the “correct” word often comes wearing the cloak of brevity. That is, if we truly want to “communicate” and not just talk someone’s head off (my mind can’t help but picture Paul again).

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Abraham Lincoln spent weeks honing one of the most famous and important speeches the world has ever heard – the Gettysburg Address. It takes about two minutes to read it aloud. Even less to read it silently. Yet its simple beauty and lasting truth can remain within your soul for a lifetime. Maybe longer.

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“I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree.” So penned poet Joyce Kilmer.

Take a month. Take a year. Take a lifetime, if need be. Research the scientific marvel of photosynthesis all you want. Write an encyclopedia of magnificent knowledge about trees (as has been done). Yet you will strive in vain to equal the enduring elegance of communication contained within Mr. Kilmer’s fourteen-word sentence above.

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Then there’s Jack the Drunk. My friends know I don’t like name-callin’, but that is precisely how this good man would introduce himself to you, if you could get him to talk at all.

I was teaching at the local homeless mission years ago, when an argument began among the men over a verse in the Bible. (Is there anything under the sun argued about more often than the Bible?)

Jack, who likely hadn’t uttered a word in a week or so, stood up. Everyone grew quiet. (When someone who rarely speaks decides to do so, most people present do tend to listen.)

Jack asked a question, “Do y’all know what they do over in North Caroliney when it rains?”

Someone mumbled, “No, Jack, we don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what they do,” said Jack. Then, after a perfectly timed pause, he added softly, “They let it rain.”

No one argued about the Good Book anymore that evening.

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Whether we be speaking or we be writing - “less” is often “more” (as I am constantly striving to remind myself when writing this column - sometimes in vain).

Simplifying our language, however, is not always an easy thing to do. It often takes a lot of effort.