The Closet Professor

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”

—Ephesians 4:29

Words matter. For those of us in the LGBTQ+ community, we know all too well the pain that can come from words spoken carelessly—or cruelly. Many of us grew up hearing slurs hurled at us, sermons that condemned us, or even loved ones telling us we were “wrong.” These words linger. They can cut deep, echoing long after they are spoken. Ephesians 4:29 calls us to something radically different: to use our words not as weapons but as instruments of grace, to speak in ways that build up rather than tear down.

Proverbs 18:21 reminds us, “The tongue has the power of life and death.” That verse feels very real when you think of young people—especially LGBTQ+ youth—who are struggling with identity, acceptance, and belonging. We all know the statistics: depression, bullying, and suicide rates are higher among LGBTQ+ youth. In such cases, a kind or encouraging word isn’t just nice—it can literally mean the difference between despair and hope, even between life and death.

As a former teacher, I lived this reality. I could not be openly gay in the classroom, but my students suspected. They knew they could come talk to me. And many did. Sometimes all they needed was a listening ear or a gentle reminder that they mattered. Today, some teachers can be more open about their sexuality, but in too many states, laws are being passed that forbid even mentioning it. In some classrooms, a photo of a teacher’s spouse on a desk is considered “illegal.” Yet the presence of a safe adult—someone who is open, or at the very least welcoming—is a lifeline.

That’s why I proudly display a Safe Zone sign by my office door. It’s a silent but powerful word of welcome: “You are safe here. You are seen here. You are valued here.” Teachers have always had the ability to change lives, but in today’s climate, it is especially important to let students know: It Gets Better.

Jesus himself was often called “Teacher,” and his words reflect the very heart of Ephesians 4:29. He used his voice to uplift the poor, to comfort the outcast, and to challenge those who abused their power. His Sermon on the Mount gave hope to the weary; his parables painted visions of justice and mercy; his rebukes exposed hypocrisy and oppression. To be like Christ is to use our words in the same way—to heal rather than to harm, to invite rather than exclude, to proclaim God’s love in a world that too often echoes with condemnation.

And whether or not you stand at the front of a classroom, you have that same power. Words are not confined to teachers—they belong to parents, mentors, co-workers, supervisors, and friends. If you are guiding a child, mentoring a young adult, or training an employee, your words carry weight. A simple encouragement can inspire confidence; a harsh comment can wound deeply. Each of us has the power to change someone’s life through the way we speak. The question is whether we will use that power to tear down or to build up.

Scripture offers us a vision of speech that heals. Proverbs 15:1 says, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” James 1:19 adds, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” Imagine if our leaders, our schools, our churches lived out those verses. Imagine if public discourse sought to build up those most vulnerable instead of exploiting them for power.

In Colossians 4:6, Paul exhorts us: “Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.” Grace-filled speech doesn’t mean silence in the face of injustice—it means that even when we speak hard truths, we do so with the goal of healing, of justice, of love. And for teachers, mentors, and leaders of all kinds, that means modeling kindness and affirmation in every interaction, showing others by example that their worth is non-negotiable.

Ephesians 4:29 is not just about avoiding “bad language.” It is about cultivating a culture of love. It is about recognizing that our words can be lifelines—reminders of hope, courage, and belonging. When we choose words that build up, we are declaring to the world: we are here, we are loved, and we are worthy.

May we guard our tongues not out of fear, but out of love. May we speak words that carry the fragrance of Christ, words that heal the wounds so many of us have endured, and words that remind one another of the deep truth: we are made in God’s image. And may we especially use our words to build up the next generation, who are longing to hear that their lives matter and that their future is worth holding onto.