Build Up
Summary
Paul's instruction to build up one another turns out to be less about mentorship and more about the everyday texture of how we talk to each other—and whether we actually listen. Working through Ephesians 4:29–32, Dominic Jackson looks at what "unwholesome talk" actually costs: the person speaking, the person being spoken to, and God himself.
Questions for reflection
Dominic describes the difference between hearing and listening. Where do you notice that gap most in your own life — at work, at home, with certain people? What do you think is underneath it?
The sermon suggests that our words are less a response to our circumstances and more a reflection of what's already inside us — the cup analogy. What does the way you speak under pressure tell you about what's in yours?
Paul's list of unwholesome speech includes bitterness, rage, slander, and malice — but Dominic also names sarcasm, grumbling, and bad timing. Which of those is hardest for you to recognize as a problem in your own patterns?
When is the last time you said something true at the wrong moment — and what would it have looked like to wait?
The passage says unwholesome speech grieves the Holy Spirit. Does that change how you think about the words you use with the people closest to you? Why or why not?
What is currently filling your cup — and how is that showing up in how you speak to the people around you?
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This morning we conclude our mini-series on the one anothers. The New Testament uses that phrase 59 times — 59 instructions for how we are called to get along with one another, not just as a church, but as a family. We've looked at hospitality, conflict, judgment, service, and last week, restoration. Today's command is an encouraging one to end on: build up one another.
Before we get into the passage — if you're like me, when you hear "building up another person" you probably picture something like an internship, or a coach, or a mentor preparing someone through exercises and experiences. But according to Ephesians, building up one another is first connected to something simpler and harder than any of that. It's about how we speak — and how we listen. Paul's instruction today is about communication in community. That's where we're going.
Let's pray.
Lord, as we look at this passage — which is as much an invitation as it is a command — help us to remember that this is also how we often hear from you. The same Spirit who was present at creation, who moved through the writing and preserving of the scriptures, is in us. Help us to hear from you in study, in sermons, and over a cup of coffee or a text message or a Sunday morning check-in. Help us to listen to you and to one another. In Jesus' name, amen.
A Little Background on Ephesus
Since we're jumping into the middle of this letter, a bit of context helps. Ephesus was a massive city — the epicenter of Roman and Greek worship in its day. It was one part Las Vegas, one part Silicon Valley. There was a well-known tagline for the city's underbelly: Ephesus — a place for whatever your appetite. It had a dark, spiritually corrupt side, but it was also extraordinarily wealthy. These weren't people struggling with material needs or Roman oppression. They had everything they could want, and they still felt empty.
Paul spent over two years there. Many people came to faith. Years later, writing from prison, he sent the church a letter to remind them of their identity and encourage them to stay true to it. That letter is Ephesians.
The first half of the letter is about the gospel — how it changes everything about us. The second half begins with the word therefore. As in: since the gospel changes everything, here is how it should change how you live, how you love, how you speak. That's where our passage today lives.
On Listening
Let's look at the end of verse 29 first — that it may benefit those who listen.
Years ago I was guest preaching at a church, teaching on the subject of listening, and I asked the congregation to rate themselves as listeners — one to ten, show me with your fingers. My favorite part was catching the looks from spouses. Wives who raised seven or eight fingers, and then glanced over at their husband. I can only imagine the car ride home. An eight, John? You give yourself an eight?
This morning I won't ask you to show me. But take a moment and just ask yourself honestly: how would you rate your listening skills?
Here's a quick list, taken from a 2024 Psychology Today article, on what researchers call active and empathetic listening. Give yourself a mental tally:
My close friends would describe me as a responsive listener.
When people are upset with me, I can listen without becoming defensive.
I listen not just to words, but to the feelings behind them and the body language around them.
I have little interest in judging or quickly offering my opinion.
I can validate another person's feelings with empathy, even when I disagree.
I'm aware of my defensive mechanisms in hard conversations — appeasing, ignoring, blaming, distracting.
I'm aware of how the family I grew up in shaped my listening style. (Don't look at your spouse. Don't mention your in-laws.)
I ask for clarification rather than fill in the blanks or make assumptions.
I don't interrupt to get my point across.
I give people my undivided attention when they're talking to me.
Before clicking on that article during my research, I would have given myself a solid eight. Listening is a big part of my job — people come to me for counsel and prayer. I've got to be at least an eight.
After going through those ten? I'm somewhere around four. And I suspect I'm not alone.
What surprised me most was how little listening actually has to do with our ears — and how much it has to do with self-awareness, emotional regulation, body language, and family history. If you're feeling brave this weekend, ask someone close to you to give you a score and see what you learn.
The Bible talks about speech a lot. But it talks just as much about listening. James 1:19 — Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. Proverbs 18:13 — To answer before listening is folly and shame. Proverbs 19:20 — Listen to advice and accept instruction, and at the end you will be counted among the wise. I'll confess: most of the arguments in my closest relationships happen because I'm hearing but not listening. My wife says something. Instead of asking clarifying questions and extending grace, I'm already forming my response to the story I've told myself she's telling.
Just being quiet is not the same as listening. Listening is about being present, not just silent.
Unwholesome Talk
Back to verse 29: Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths.
That word — unwholesome — appears in a few other passages, translated slightly differently. In one place, the same word describes moldy fruit. In another, a rotting, decaying fish. That's Paul's point. This kind of language is rotten. Corroding. Vile.
And it hurts three different people.
First, it hurts us.
Mark 7:15 — It is not what goes into a person that defiles them, but what comes out. Our words reveal what's inside us. They aren't a response to our circumstances — they're a reflection of our hearts.
Think of yourself as a cup filled to the brim with something. Grace. Kindness. Love. Or anger. Cynicism. Resentment. Malice. All of us are full of something. And it only takes a small bump for whatever's inside to spill out.
My first instinct when that happens is to point to the bump and say, see what you made me do. But the bump didn't put that in the cup. It was already there.
I once heard a father give his daughter advice about the man she was dating. He seemed wonderful — kind, humble, practically perfect. And the father said: You've only ever seen him in controlled environments. Take him to the grocery store at 6 p.m. on a Friday. Get stuck in rush hour traffic. Miss your exit. Get a flat tire. See how he responds then.
Because whatever is really in the cup will show up eventually. That's true in romance and in every other relationship. The honest picture of who I am isn't the version you see at birthday parties or when I'm saying goodbye at the door in the morning. It's what shows up when things go wrong. I'm the parent of the year for the ten minutes before I leave the house. But the dad who appears when I've asked the kids to stop doing something for the fifth time, and then all the rice ends up on the floor — that guy also exists. And his words reflect what's really in his cup.
Second, it hurts others.
Remember that nursery rhyme — sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me? Whoever came up with that was not paying attention to human beings.
Words haunt us. I'll be lying in bed and for no reason at all my mind goes back to a conversation from years ago — a piece of feedback, an offhand comment, the thing my first boss said when he fired me, essentially telling me I wouldn't amount to anything. I'm not a 41-year-old man in that moment. I'm back in that room, hearing it again.
Emily Dickinson wrote: A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day. She pictures a person feeding the hurtful thing someone said, keeping it alive, finding a kind of comfort in the familiar misery of it.
Paul gives us a list of what unwholesome speech looks like in community: bitterness, rage, anger, brawling, slander, every form of malice. A couple worth lingering on:
Slander — which is another word for gossip. We talked about this last week: gossip in the church tends to dress itself up as prayer requests or advice-seeking. Hey, can you pray for Bob and Susan? They really need it right now. And everyone knows what comes next. Or, Can I just get your perspective on something someone did? We already know what we think. We just want an audience. This is gossip. And it wounds people who aren't even in the room.
Anger and rage. Jesus says in Matthew 12:36 that we will give account on the day of judgment for every empty word we have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned. Words have the power to create and the power to destroy. The universe itself was spoken into existence. And we carry that same capacity, in smaller and human ways — to give life or to take it away, emotionally, spiritually, mentally.
I have a friend whose stepfather spent years calling her terrible names. Eventually she stopped fighting it. She took on the word he used as her identity. It would take years to undo.
But it isn't only the obvious forms — raised voices, slurs, direct attacks on character. There are socially acceptable versions of unwholesome speech that we barely notice:
Sarcasm. Someone once told me that sarcasm is the lowest form of humor — cowardly commentary. That landed. I am a deeply sarcastic person and I still struggle with it. The harmless kind — ribbing a friend who air-balls a shot — I'm not talking about that. What I mean is using sarcasm as a hiding place. When my notoriously late friend shows up twenty minutes late to something important to me and I tap my watch and say don't worry about it, take your time — what I actually want to say is that it hurts me when he doesn't show up, that it makes me feel like I'm not a priority to him. But that's uncomfortable and vulnerable and difficult. Sarcasm is easier. It lets you say something true without having to mean it out loud.
Grumbling. Paul writes in Philippians 2:14–15: Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation. Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky. He says grumbling and complaining is simply the way of the world. And standing out as a light doesn't require anything elaborate — it just requires holding the word of life and not complaining. Because when we complain constantly, the people around us who don't know Jesus are quietly asking one question: what difference does Jesus make? If a Christian's posture looks identical to everyone else's bitterness and grievance — that's a legitimate question.
And for those who need one more reason beyond Philippians and Jesus: neuroscience tells us that frequent complaining physically rewires the brain. The story you tell yourself about the world eventually becomes the story you live in.
When we say it. Verse 29 adds an important qualifier — according to each other's needs. Sometimes a person needs a compliment. Sometimes they need correction. Sometimes loving confrontation is exactly the right thing. But other times, it's not the time or the place.
I'll never forget preaching my second sermon ever — at a real church this time, not a homeless shelter. I finished, feeling pretty good, and a guy named Monty came up to me about thirty seconds later and said, good sermon, but all I could think about were your armpits. He was right. I was wearing a tan shirt. Instantly, all I could think was that no one had heard a single word — they'd all been staring at Dominic's sweat problem.
Or consider: I'd been engaged less than 24 hours when a well-meaning friend congratulated me and immediately added, but you know, the first couple years of marriage are the hardest. Could you not have waited a few months? When Megan and I announced we were expecting our daughter Jolie, every parent I knew felt compelled to find me and explain how sleep-deprived I was about to become. They weren't wrong. But couldn't it have waited?
Part of speaking lovingly is asking not just is this true? but is this what this person needs right now? And I've talked to too many people who were grieving or hurting and received a dismissive anecdote or honestly useless advice at exactly the wrong moment.
Third, it grieves the Holy Spirit.
We often imagine God as close to us when we are hurting, and somewhere far away when we are doing the hurting. But the Spirit grieves when God's children wound one another. Like a parent who watches their kids not bicker — but cause each other real, deep pain. That's what our passage says. It grieves God.
The Heart Behind the Words
Our words build up or burn down. They cannot do both.
They are, in that sense, a check engine light. The light itself isn't the problem — it's pointing to something underneath. When I find myself snapping, when I have no patience, when I'm halfway through a conversation and already composing my response instead of listening — that's not the problem. It's a symptom of a heart issue. And it's an invitation to pause and ask: what is discipling me right now? What am I taking in? What's filling the cup?
Psalm 116 says: I love the Lord, for He heard my voice. He heard my cry for mercy. Because He turned His ear to me, I will call on Him as long as I live. There's a picture of God turning toward us — not too busy, not distracted. And we see it even more clearly in Jesus, who was doing the most consequential work in human history and was, by every account, remarkably interruptible. Most of the miracles happen on the way to somewhere else. He stops. He sees the person. He listens. And then he speaks life to them.
We get to do that for one another.
Let's pray.
Lord Jesus, help us to see the power of our words. To remember that they can serve as testimony, as an extension of grace, as an opportunity for renewal. But also that they have the power to tear someone down, cause division, and paint a picture of you that isn't true.
Help us to grow not just in hearing one another, but in truly listening — and to see that as a way of loving each other well and loving you too.
Holy Spirit, if our words and actions can grieve you, then I have to believe the opposite is also true — that they can bring you joy. May this service, our worship, our gatherings, our relationships, our speech, and our listening all bring joy to you.
In Jesus' name, amen.