Taming the Untameable

Introduction

“The most dangerous weapon you carry isn’t in your pocket—it’s in your mouth.” Every day, without thinking, you take it with you to work, into your home, and into every conversation. James says this weapon—the tongue—has the power to bring life or to bring destruction, and once the damage is done, there’s no pulling the words back.

In James 3:1–2, he begins his discussion of the tongue with a sober warning: "My brethren, be not many masters, knowing that we shall receive the greater condemnation. For in many things we offend all. If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bridle the whole body."

James first addresses those who teach, warning them that their words carry greater weight and will be judged more strictly. But he quickly shifts his focus to all believers, showing that the ability to control the tongue is a mark of spiritual maturity—and that without control, the tongue can wreak havoc on our lives and relationships.

It’s a lot like the Wright brothers’ first flights. They quickly learned that getting off the ground wasn’t the hardest part—controlling the plane in the air was. A small, seemingly insignificant adjustment to the rudder could mean the difference between a smooth flight and a devastating crash. In the same way, the tongue, though small, can direct the entire course of our lives—for good or for ruin—depending on who’s in control of it.

James wastes no time in showing us that the tongue carries incredible force—force that can either build a bridge or burn it to the ground.

The Force of the Tongue

James 3:3–6 “Behold, we put bits in the horses’ mouths, that they may obey us; and we turn about their whole body. Behold also the ships, which though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whithersoever the governor listeth. Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth! And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell.”

A preacher once shared this vivid image:

"A tiny spark may seem harmless, but set it loose in a tinder-dry forest, and it becomes an unstoppable blaze."

As small bits in a horses mouth controls their whole body so our tongue controls our entire being (James 3:3).

As a small helm turns about a great ship so the tongue controls who we become in life (James 3:4).

Though the tongue is a small part of our body we can do so much with it James 3:5).

The tongue can be a fire starter in short order. Our tongue is the greatest source of sin in our lives (James 3:6).

I once heard of a teacher who began class holding a tube of toothpaste. Without saying a word, he squeezed it until every bit was out. Then he looked up at his students and said, “Now, I want one of you to put it back in the tube.” They laughed—because they knew it was impossible. He smiled and said, “This is exactly how our words work. Once they leave your lips, there’s no taking them back. You can apologize, you can try to make amends—but the words themselves are out there, doing their work, for good or for harm. What you do with them can either defile your character and stain your testimony, or build up your reputation as one who speaks life.”

The Fury of the Tongue

James 3:7–8 “For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind: But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.”

James warns that the tongue, though small, can be a source of devastating harm. It’s not simply about the words we say—it’s about the destruction they can unleash when left unchecked.

Illustration: The Cracked Mirror

Imagine someone receiving a beautiful handcrafted mirror as a cherished gift. Over time, a tiny crack appears in its glass—perhaps from a careless bump or an accident. It’s so small that at first, no one notices. But as days pass, the crack spreads, transforming reflections into distorted, fragmented images.

Words can be like that crack. What starts as a seemingly minor criticism—“Your ideas are silly,” or “You always mess this up”—might feel insignificant in the moment. Yet, those words can embed themselves deeply in someone’s heart, distorting how they see themselves. Over time, what was once a confident self-image becomes fractured, leaving their view of themselves broken and full of doubt.

One distorted reflection echoes in their mind: “I’m not enough.” What started small grows, shadowing every part of their life.

Many wild beasts have been subdued by man, James tells us. Creatures of great strength, once sovereign over their own domains, have been brought under the hand of their captors—trained, restrained, and made to yield through the art of taming.

Picture it: the year is 1833. A hush falls over the crowd as Isaac Van Amburgh steps into a massive iron cage. On all sides, lions pace, muscles rippling, golden eyes fixed on him. A panther crouches low, its tail twitching. The air is thick with the scent of raw power. One wrong move, and it’s over.

Van Amburgh doesn’t flinch. He cracks his whip, strokes a lion’s mane, and—unbelievably—places his head inside the beast’s mouth. The crowd gasps. These kings of the wild—creatures that could end a man’s life in a heartbeat—bow to his authority. The people watch in awe, witnessing the power of human control over what is wild and dangerous.

And yet James says, “But the tongue can no man tame.” If a man can walk into a lion’s den and command the obedience of nature’s fiercest creatures, yet cannot bridle his own words, then the tongue is truly more untamable than the wildest beast. Though mankind has subdued the strongest animals, the tongue refuses all restraint—small in size but great in power to destroy (James 3:7–8). If a man can step into a cage with lions and make them obey, but can’t control the words coming out of his own mouth… then we’ve just found the most dangerous beast of all.

TRANSITION ILLUSTRATION

ILLUSTRATION: Shipment of deadly snakes

In 1971, a shipment of deadly snakes—king cobras and vipers—was being transported for research. Somewhere along the route, a crate was damaged, and the snakes escaped into the cargo area. For hours, handlers worked in tense, breathless fear, knowing one careless move could mean a quick and agonizing death. Each serpent, coiled and ready, carried enough venom to kill in moments. The danger wasn’t in their size—they were small compared to many other creatures—but in the lethal poison they carried.

James says the tongue is just like that—small, yet deadly. In the wrong moment, with no restraint, it can inject venom into a conversation, a relationship, or a reputation, leaving ruin in its wake. And unlike snakes, our words can strike from far away and still deliver the poison. James speaks of that unbridled member which, loosed from all restraint, pours forth a torrent of evil and corrupting speech. Such is the fury of the tongue when governed not by grace—it becomes an instrument of ruin, scattering destruction in its path. And what, I ask, could be more perilous than placing a vial of deadly poison in the unsteady hands of man without restraint? (James 3:8)

The Fickleness of the Tongue

James 3:9–12 “Therewith bless we God, even the Father; and therewith curse we men, which are made after the similitude of God. Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not so to be. Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter? Can the fig tree, my brethren, bear olive berries? either a vine, figs? so can no fountain both yield salt water and fresh.”

James exposes the fickleness of the tongue in this—that with one breath a man praises God, and with the next he curses those around him. He warns us against such hypocrisy, for to bless the Lord while cursing those made in His image is to reveal a divided heart and an unstable faith. The tongue shifts with alarming ease from holy praise to harmful speech, from blessing to bitterness. Such inconsistency cannot be ignored, for as James reminds us, a spring cannot pour forth both fresh water and bitter. The tongue that serves two masters will prove faithful to neither.

James points out in James 3:10 that blessing and cursing coming from the same mouth is inconsistent with how Christians ought to speak. With one breath, a man praises God; with the next, he curses those made in His image. This is the mark of a double-minded tongue—one that sends mixed messages about the heart that controls it.

Illustration: The old weather vane

There’s an old weather vane on top of a farmhouse that’s been there for decades. From the ground, you’d expect it to always point in the same direction as the wind, faithfully telling you which way it’s blowing. But over the years, the mechanism inside has rusted. Some days it points east when the wind blows east—but other days, it points completely the wrong way. If you depended on it, you’d get lost in a hurry.

The fickle tongue is like that weather vane. One moment it points heavenward, praising God with beautiful words of worship. The next moment it spins around and hurls insults, criticism, or gossip toward someone made in His image. It’s unreliable, sending mixed signals about the condition of our heart.

Just as you’d never trust a weather vane that can’t decide which way the wind is blowing, no one will trust the testimony of a Christian whose words swing between blessing and cursing. The tongue’s inconsistency not only confuses others but also damages our witness for Christ.

The verses that follow (James 3:11-12) give us a clear picture of how impossible such fickleness truly is. James asks if a fountain can pour forth both sweet water and bitter at the same time. He asks if a fig tree can bear olives, or if a vine can bring forth figs. He concludes that you cannot draw both salt water and fresh from the same spring. So it is with the tongue—its fickleness cannot produce peace and a good testimony while also unleashing fury with such force that it drives people away. Blessing and cursing cannot flow from the same source without revealing the corruption within.

Conclusion

James lays before us the heavy truth about the tongue, leaving the weight of it to rest on every hearer. He makes us face the reality: every one of us, possessing this small yet powerful member, has felt the sting of its force, the burn of its fury, and the shame of its fickleness. We know too well how impossible it is to tame, and we live with the regrets of words spoken that cannot be taken back.

It reminds me of the Hindenburg disaster of 1937—the largest airship ever built, the pride of German engineering. Massive, majestic, and seemingly unstoppable, yet fatally flawed because it was filled with highly flammable hydrogen gas. On May 6th, as it prepared to dock in New Jersey, a single spark ignited the gas. In less than a minute, the great ship was consumed in flames. Thirty-six lives were lost. One small, unseen danger brought down something so great in seconds.

Our tongue is like that. Small, often underestimated, but capable of devastating destruction when left unchecked. Without God’s control, it’s filled with the kind of dangerous potential that can burn down relationships, reputations, and trust in moments. And just like the Hindenburg, it doesn’t take a storm—just a spark.

So how can we change? How can we learn to speak with love and grace, and back our words with actions that uphold them? If the tongue is so untamable, if it leaves such destruction in its wake, what hope do we have?

James leaves the answer plain—there is no taming the tongue apart from the help of God. Only through His Spirit can we learn to speak as Jesus spoke, with mercy and truth on our lips. When we yield our speech to Him, our words become as sweet water flowing from a pure fountain, not bitter water that brings harm.

And so James leaves us with but one alternative to the force, the fury, and the fickleness of our tongues: to submit ourselves wholly to God, allowing Him to do in us what we could never do in our own strength—so that the vessel is filled, not with the volatile gas of sinful speech, but with the life-giving breath of the Spirit, making our words safe, steady, and strong for His glory.

Taming the Untameable is not our work—it’s God’s. And it happens only when we place the reins in His hands, submit to His Word, and let His Spirit speak through us. Only when God masters our hearts can He master our words—turning the force, the fury, and the fickleness of the tongue into a fountain of life.

So, whose hands are on the reins of your tongue—yours, or God’s?

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"One moment it blesses. The next, it burns. James says the tongue is untamable—so what hope do we have? This Sunday: Taming the Untameable — The Force, the Fury, and the Fickleness of the Tongue."