I have an admission to make: I have a problem—and not in the Frank-Costanza-Festivus-airing-of-grievances sense. My problem isn’t with you people. My problem is me.

The nature of my problem causes me great shame. So, it’s not easy to talk about … especially in public … from the pulpit. I mean, who likes to get up and be vulnerable to a room full of people?

But I’ve beaten the drum of truth and honesty for so long, talked about how this is one of the rare congregations where it feels safe to be the same person you are in public as you are in private—not to have to worry that if people actually saw the real you, they’d judge you.

As I say, that’s an amazingly rare gift in this age where people are so busy hiding their truest selves from the invasively censorious glances of a world feverishly looking for any opportunity to judge you. So, I want to keep faith with y’all by practicing what I preach.

So, here goes: I have a problem: My mouth gets me in a lot of trouble.

Now, this might seem to you—who probably never have to worry that your mouth has the potential to make your life miserable—like a pathetic admission.

Lucky you.

But me, I’ve got to stay vigilant, lest I talk my way into situations I can’t easily talk myself out of.

Now, you may also be thinking: “Of course, you have a problem with your mouth. Did you think we’d never noticed?”

Oh … well … yeah, sure. I do let my mouth get me into good old-fashioned trouble because I can’t shut up about stuff many people in our culture would just as soon not talk about. But that’s not the problem I’m talking about.

The word that gets me into the biggest messes isn’t some rhetorical bomb-throwing I may engage in. The word that so often makes my life miserable is “yes.”

Yes. It’s such a simple word, but saying it can be like pulling the pin on a grenade: if you don’t keep a tight grip, everything will blow up.

Here’s how it happens. I’m sitting in my office, and I check my email and see something from somebody I know with a subject line that says something like: “Can you help?” or “Urgent request!” or “I need to ask a favor.”

What follows is usually—though not always—something legitimately important. Could you help with rent for a single mother of two toddlers?

Do you think we could use the church building to host our fundraiser, and you would agree to clean up afterwards?

Would you consider chairing the state committee to preserve Hello Kitty socks and Pokémon arm bands in our schools?

And me, either not wanting to let people down or thinking that it would be really cool to be the state Hello Kitty and Pokémon chairperson, look at my calendar—certain that five more meetings a month shouldn’t be that big a commitment. And I say, “Yes. Sure. I’m your man. Just tell me what you need.”

And often, it’s only after I wake up in the middle of an unmanageable life of sprawling commitments that I think, “You know, maybe I didn’t think this through.”

Saying “yes” can get you into trouble you might otherwise have avoided by coming clean that some commitments that look reasonable, important, or vocationally advantageous just ask more of you than you have to give.

Following Jesus down all the dark alleys he frequents, for instance, falls into this category of a life filled with potentially unintended consequences.