Words on words

THE PARTY WILL BE OVER IN A FEW HOURS. Mardi Gras will wind down and transform into the sobering observance of Lent. A 40-day journey of Christianity leading up to the betrayal, execution and resurrection of a humble carpenter's son.  Earlier this morning as I slugged down my first much-needed cup of coffee, I pondered briefly on what this season means. For some, it's a time to give up some pleasure or pledge some temporary sacrifice geared walking a more focused path to the Creator.

After my routine scanning of news sites and the wires, it occurred to me how powerful words can be. In myriad ways, words can encourage, build others up, inspire and energize us to strive to be better folks. In other ways, words can tear down, hurt and devastate. 

And then there are those seemingly innocent words all of us use; the quietly delivered unsubstantiated "secrets" we share from time to time: Gossip.

Got me to thinking about an old Hebrew bit of advice I once read: What you don't see with your eyes, don't witness with your mouth. Suffice it to say that Mosaic memo about bearing false witness against your neighbor was not a suggestion.

Mid-way through John Patrick Shanley's play "Doubt," one of the lead characters, Father Brendan Flynn, is delivering his Sunday homily. It comes at a time when the affable priest's church and community are caught in the swirl of change of the early1960s. The good padre, too, finds himself under suspicion and attack by the disciplinarian principal of the church's school, Sister Aloysius. The harsh headmistress suspects him -- without any shred of evidence -- of having an inappropriate relationship with the school's newly admitted and first African-American boy.

Father Brendan's short message is directed at the Sister, but I suspect it resonated among all of those sitting in the pews.

".... A woman was gossiping with her friend about a man whom they hardly knew - I know none of you have ever done this. That night, she had a dream: a great hand appeared over her and pointed down on her. She was immediately seized with an overwhelming sense of guilt. The next day she went to confession. She got the old parish priest, Father O' Rourke, and she told him the whole thing.

'Is gossiping a sin?' she asked the old man. 'Was that God All Mighty's hand pointing down at me? Should I ask for your absolution? Father, have I done something wrong?' '

Yes,' Father O' Rourke answered her. 'Yes, you ignorant, badly-brought-up female. You have blamed false witness on your neighbor. You played fast and loose with his reputation, and you should be heartily ashamed.'

So, the woman said she was sorry, and asked for forgiveness.

'Not so fast,' says O' Rourke. 'I want you to go home, take a pillow upon your roof, cut it open with a knife, and return here to me.'

So, the woman went home: took a pillow off her bed, a knife from the drawer, went up the fire escape to her roof, and stabbed the pillow. Then she went back to the old parish priest as instructed.

'Did you gut the pillow with a knife?' he says.

'Yes, Father.' 'And what were the results?'

'Feathers,' she said. 'Feathers?' he repeated. 'Feathers; everywhere, Father.'

'Now I want you to go back and gather up every last feather that flew out onto the wind.'

'Well,' she said, 'it can't be done. I don't know where they went. The wind took them all over.'

'And that,' said Father O' Rourke, 'is gossip!'

 SO, AS I PREPARE for my own humble Lenten journey, I seek to do a better job of keeping my mouth shut. Don't whisper softly about others based solely on perceptions, or rush to snap judgments. Let my eyes guide my opinions.

By the way, let's just keep this pledge between you and me, shall we?.