There’s something remarkable about the way language carries hidden stories beneath the surface of our conversations. When we talk about someone’s enthusiasm for a new hobby or consider the day’s challenges, we rarely pause to reflect on how these ordinary words connect us to ancient spiritual truths.

In our modern world, we’ve become accustomed to compartmentalising our lives—work here, family there, spirituality tucked away for special occasions. But this wasn’t always the case. The ancient Hebrew worldview embraced life as a seamless sacred experience, while Greek philosophy explored the logos—divine reason—flowing through all of reality. These traditions converged in early Christianity, with Jesus embodying this unified understanding in his revolutionary teaching.

The Living Word

The Gospel of John opens with that profound declaration about the Word being present at creation’s dawn. In Greek, this ‘Word’ is logos—not merely information but the active, creative principle of the universe. This connects beautifully with the Hebrew concept of dabar, which simultaneously means both ‘word’ and ‘action’. We see this dual nature in Psalm 33:6: “By the word of the Lord the heavens were made.”

When early Christians recognised Jesus as “the Word made flesh,” they weren’t speaking metaphorically but identifying him as the perfect embodiment of this creative principle. His words and actions formed a unified whole—when he spoke, reality shifted. Healing happened. Storms calmed. Lives transformed.

This understanding reveals something essential about divine communication that still resonates today: genuine words carry creative power. They don’t merely describe reality; they participate in shaping it. How might our conversations change if we approached them with this awareness?

Excavating Meaning

Our everyday vocabulary contains these buried treasures waiting to be rediscovered. Consider ‘enthusiasm‘—from the Greek entheos, literally meaning “God within”. Imagine the disciples at Pentecost, filled with the Spirit, speaking with such divine animation that onlookers thought they were drunk. That’s enthusiasm in its original sense!

When we describe someone as enthusiastic about their garden or a new film, we’ve secularised what was once recognition of divine presence. Yet perhaps that spark of passionate engagement still carries traces of its spiritual origin—reminding us that genuine animation flows from something deeper than mere preference.

Similarly, when Jesus says, “Consider the lilies,” he employs a word rich with contemplative meaning. ‘Consider‘ derives from the Latin considerare—literally “to observe the stars.” The stars were cosmic markers, windows to heaven itself. When St Ignatius gazed upward, he believed he was literally beholding heaven. This etymological connection reveals how contemplation was once understood as a cosmic act—placing oneself in relationship with the vast ordering principles of creation. Look at the stars! Look at the flowers!

To truly ‘consider’ something, then, isn’t merely to think about it, but to hold it within a larger context of meaning. When was the last time you considered something in this deeper sense?

Revolutionary Language

Jesus consistently turned ordinary concepts upside down, imbuing them with unexpected spiritual significance. Take his use of ‘kingdom‘ (basileia in Greek)—a charged term in first-century Palestine. While his contemporaries yearned for political liberation, Jesus redefined the concept entirely: “The kingdom of God has come near” (Mark 1:15).

This wasn’t about political upheaval but an immediate reality, accessible within each person: “The kingdom of God is among you” (Luke 17:21). Through parables of mustard seeds and leaven, children and treasures, he painted a picture of this kingdom that challenged every expectation—political, religious, and social.

Jesus also revolutionised social norms through his table fellowship. The word ‘companion‘ literally means “with bread” or “bread fellow.” While Jesus’s breaking of bread may not have directly influenced this word’s evolution, one cannot help but see its resonance with Christian tradition.

When Jesus dined with Zacchaeus or shared meals with those deemed untouchable, he wasn’t merely eating—he was dismantling social barriers and revealing how God’s presence manifests in shared bread and genuine communion. This radical table fellowship prefigured the Eucharistic meal, where bread becomes both symbol and substance of Christ’s presence.

The connection between humanity and earth runs deep in Hebrew tradition. Adam’s name derives from adamah, meaning earth. Similarly, ‘humble‘ comes from humus—earth. Jesus repeatedly linked humility with spiritual truth, teaching that those who humble themselves will be exalted.

His parable of seeds falling to earth and dying before bearing fruit (John 12:24) reinforces this connection between humility and transformation. What might it mean for us to embrace this earth-bound identity—to acknowledge our groundedness as the very soil from which new life emerges?

The Beatitudes offer another fascinating glimpse into spiritual language where Jesus uses ‘blessed’ or ‘happy’. Intriguingly, this was also the original meaning of ‘silly‘. We often associate silliness with childlike qualities, and Jesus taught us to become like children to enter the kingdom.

The word ‘silly’ evolved from meaning ‘happy’ to ‘innocent’, then ‘harmless’, ‘weak’, and ‘pitiable’, finally settling on ‘foolish’. Sadly, etymology reveals how words meaning ‘innocent’ often develop disparaging connotations. Perhaps Paul’s words can help us reclaim the original meaning: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise” (1 Corinthians 1:27).

Similarly, Jesus declares that divine wisdom is “hidden from the wise and intelligent and revealed to infants” (Matthew 11:25). Perhaps we could all benefit from being a bit more silly—embracing that childlike openness that makes us receptive to wonder and mystery.

Living Between the Words

As we recover these deeper meanings, we begin to bridge the artificial divide between sacred and secular. Jesus consistently showed that ordinary objects—bread, seeds, coins—could become sacred signs, that daily work carried spiritual significance, and that common conversations could be sources of wisdom.

When we pay attention to the words we use, we discover God anew, living in and through our daily communication. Perhaps this is part of what it means to have “ears to hear”—to listen not just for information, but for the spiritual resonance within everyday language.

The next time you feel enthusiastic about something, consider the lilies, share bread with a companion, or embrace a moment of blessed silliness, remember: these aren’t just words. They’re gateways to a deeper way of being—sacred bridges connecting our everyday conversations with eternal truths that have sustained humanity across the ages.

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