One semester in college, I took a personal writing course, which ended up being one of my all-time favorite college classes. Because basically, it was one big peer writing group facilitated by a gifted and insightful professor. We were able to write essays on pretty much anything, as long as there was a personal tie to our actual lives and experiences. And each week, we would read, evaluate, and kindly critique the essays of our classmates. Really, that was it. A full-credit course, and that’s what we got to do. It was so much fun and something I looked forward to each and every week of the semester.

One of the books we were assigned to read as part of the class was called, Sin and Syntax: How to Craft Wicked Good Prose by Constance Hale. To this day, it remains one of my favorite writing companions. I’ve always loved words and I’ve always appreciated the craft of writing words well. And this book deepened that appreciation. It taught me to better notice and pay attention to the subtle yet impactful shifts we can make as we weave our words together, creating messages of beauty and meaning. I don’t always follow its guidance as well as I should {that should be obvious by now}, but the book certainly gives me plenty to think about and aspire to.

It’s interesting though, because really, it goes back to the basics. On a very practical level, the book highlights the importance of the grammar we use. It reminds us that spelling matters. Punctuation matters. Sentence structure matters. Word choice matters. And if a writer is going to break a grammar rule, it better be intentionally and with very good reason. Needless to say, for much of my life, grammar has been something that matters—I’m a grammarian, for sure, and Sin and Syntax definitely reinforced that part of my identity, maybe even a little too much ;)

I share all that because, yes, grammar is important on a page. But lately I’ve been considering how grammar might also have something important to say as it translates into our actual lives.

In Sin and Syntax, we read, “The flesh of prose gets its shape and strength from the bones of grammar.”

And I wonder if the flesh of life could also be shaped and strengthened by the bones of the grammar we choose to use.

I know this all might sound a bit strange, but stick with me. Here’s what I mean.

For some time now, I’ve found myself noticing how we are prone to use the words, “who” and “that” interchangeably in some cases. As if they carry the same purpose and bear the same weight. But here’s the thing: grammatically speaking, they are not one and the same.

Both are relative pronouns, meant to refer back to something or someone previously mentioned in a sentence. But still, while, it’s subtle, for sure, “who” and “that” are distinct words.

“That” is meant to refer to inanimate objects, events, places, etc. A familiar example would be, “The flat tire was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” Now, there is a caveat, because the English language is anything but straightforward. Depending on your official style guide, “that” could also refer to a type of person or a group of people. Okay. Fair enough. While that may technically be correct, I wonder if it’s true.

Because “who” on the other hand, is always meant to refer to a human. A person. A beloved being who bears the image of God. And if it’s an option, I want to be intentional about choosing the word “who.” Because maybe “who” is more true. And maybe, choosing to use good and truer grammar on the page could be its own sort of spiritual practice for our lives—a practice that reminds us of the way of Jesus.

While I highly doubt Jesus cared much about using correct grammar in his teaching, and while I also highly doubt he would ever chastise us today for mixing up the words “who” and “that,” I do think his life and ministry reflect good grammar usage.

To Jesus, treating a person like a “that” was never an option. We see evidence of this all throughout the gospels. To name just a few…

I think of Zacchaeus, a tax collector, who was despised and rejected in the community, but seen and befriended by Jesus.

Or the unnamed woman at the well—a Samaritan, an enemy—who was worthy of Jesus’ time and attention and compassion.

Or the disciples—unqualified societal nobodies—who were invited to follow and take part in Jesus’ ministry.

Or the woman caught in adultery, whom Jesus defended and advocated for.

Or the many sick and unclean outcasts, who were healed, dignified, and welcomed into the Kingdom-fold.

The list could go on, and the good news is, it does. Good grammar lived out doesn’t stop there. Each and every day, we are invited to follow Jesus’ way. To recognize and remember the “who” in each person we encounter.

In the friendly barista who makes us our lattes and cold brews;

the lonely neighbor who needs us to check in;

the single mother who does the best she can;

the anxious student who feels lost and overwhelmed;

the discouraged pastor who could use a kind word;

the tired clerk who helps us with our groceries;

the difficult co-worker who drives us crazy.

Constance Hale writes,

“Language remains an adventure, if sometimes a somewhat mysterious one: We are drawn to reliable narrators and find that metaphors lift us. We are transported by soaring vowels. The cadence of sentences acts on us like the rhythm of an ancient drum. The music of language leads us to meaning, to our own humanity.”

And I would add that maybe, language has the potential to remind us of the humanity of others, too. That perhaps, there is value in being mindful of and intentional about the grammar we use. Because maybe good grammar is more than a lesson or skill—maybe it could also be a spiritual practice, reminding us of the way of Jesus and helping to shape our interactions all throughout our lives.

Today, remember to use good grammar. In word and in deed. On the page and in life. As we do, may we learn to choose “who.” And may we learn to recognize and honor the image of God in each person we meet, as, together, we seek to become the people God calls and invites us to be.