Calvin Coolidge was the thirteenth man to hold the office of President of the United States . We won’t find his name on any historian’s list of “The Top 10;” Coolidge remains a historical footnote, as one of the prelude presidents to FDR.
Although Coolidge held over 500 press conferences and was the first President to speak over the radio, Silent Cal gained a reputation for being a man of few words. His credo was that words carry weight, as does the presidency; therefore a president shouldn’t use words indiscriminately, but should mete them out with measured meticulous care.
He became famous for being terse. Stories of his being succinct abound. Once, Dorothy Parker, seated next to Coolidge at a dinner, said to the President, “Someone bet me that I can’t make you say three words.” Coolidge replied, “You lose.”
Coolidge wasn’t much for the social life of Washington , but you could find him at many a Washington dinner party. When someone asked him why he was at so many a socialite’s dinner party, he answered, “Got to eat somewhere.”
The same Dorothy Parker, upon being told of that Coolidge had died, asked, “How can you tell?”
Coolidge decided not to seek another term in office, believing that no one should be President for ten years. He wrote the announcement of his decision and gave it to the members of the press. What he wrote fit the mold of Silent Cal: “I do not choose to run for the office of President.”
To the point. Clear. Or was it? Look at the statement again. Just what was he saying? Did he mean, “I do not choose to run?” (That is, “I do not choose to run, but there are so many wanting me to do so. Others have thrust this decision upon me; I must run for their sake.”) Or did he mean, “I do not choose to run?” (That is, “Duty calls; I have no choice in the matter; I am under an obligation to run.”) Or did he mean, “I do not choose to run.” (That is, “If I’m nomin ated, I won’t actively campaign to win the election.”)
Just how did Silent Cal intend the press to take his words? It depends on where one puts the emphasis.
Calvin Coolidge was right—words carry weight, just as the book of Proverbs says. Historians have had academic fun by turning what Coolidge intended to be rock-solid- definite into the putty of ambiguity.
We read and remember Jesus’ three famous words from the Cross: “It is finished!” Succinct. To the point. Clear. He meant His work, not his life, was finished. The cross-work of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was done. Mission accomplished! All that was necessary to be done for man’s salvation, He did.
As clear and as to the point as that sentence is, people have a terrifically terrible time understanding it. Two of the three words are of one syllable. None of the three words are words of an academic in an Ivy League ivory tower brandishing an ostentatiously pedantic vocabulary. Jesus’ words come in the vocabulary of the Koine, the words of Joe Average, Mr. Man on the Street.
And yet, by man’s ingenuity, those three words have become the theological putty of ambiguity. Instead of taking Jesus’ words as face-value-literal, people make putty of them with works.
The triumphant shout of, “It is finished” somehow comes to mean, “It’s not finished because a person has to add his own works to Christ’s work. It’s not finished; a person has to add the quitting of sin to what He did. It’s not finished; a person has to add his feelings to it, such as feeling sorry for all the bad things he’s done. It’s not really finished because a person has to add his vows to it. It’s not finished because a person has to give something in return for it, like his life.”
What they’re saying is, “Yes, We believe Christ’s work is finished, but it isn’t.” This is like saying, “He’s so tall, he’s short.”
Christ’s work is either finished or it isn’t. If it isn’t, then everyone has to add some thing(s) to it. If it is, then we add zero.
How crucial is this? It all hangs on a single word. Words have weight. "It is finished!"
