CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter
It is getting harder to write this column. Partially because I never leave the house, so there is nothing to write about. Also, because I am becoming better about not saying stuff that does not need to be said.
My new driving license has one of those stars so we can use it as an ID to get on an airplane. It also has a sideview mirror requirement. I told Helen that the next time we got on a plane I would have to ask the pilot if the plane had side view mirrors, since that is a requirement for me. It turns out that is another thing that I won’t be saying. It’s good to have folks who will help you know what not to say.
Several years ago, I was at an out-of-town church event and ran into an old friend. We were never close, but we were always cordial, and it was nice to see him. I knew that his wife had died not long before, and I asked him how he was getting along.
“Not well,” he said. “As she was dying, she decided there were things she needed to tell me. I wish she hadn’t. I don’t want to know those things. I’d be better off without them.”
Yes, it’s okay to take some things to your grave. If you need to confess, do it to a priest or pastor or therapist or someone else who is covered by “the seal of the confessional.”
A funeral director I knew always quoted his father as saying, “Nobody ever got into trouble by keeping his mouth shut.” Actually, that’s not true, but it’s a good reminder.
Keeping quiet about private stuff is not just about staying out of trouble yourself, though. It’s also about not making trouble for others.
That is what gossip is all about. Old people are especially prone to gossip precisely because, as I noted in the opening paragraph, there is not much going on in our lives. So we make stuff up. Or pass along stuff that we ought to know is unlikely, or hurtful.
Some talk about people is just conversation, the passing of information. That can be useful and helpful. “Did you know Harold’s wife went to the hospital?” Knowing that, I might take Harold a casserole.
“Harold’s wife is acting like she’s drunk all the time.” That is not helpful, to Harold or to his wife or to me. That is gossip.
I once inherited a church secretary who was a gossip, about the worst trait a church secretary can have. Several friends would gather in her office each morning to tell tales of others. One day I overheard them talking about competing funeral directors. I’ll call them Don & Rick.
“They don’t get along, you know. I heard that Don threatened Rick, went to his funeral home, backed him up the stairs…” I knew both Don and Rick. It sounded far-fetched to me. So I called Rick. “I understand that Don threatened you, came to your funeral home, backed you up the stairs, etc.” “Good grief, no,” Rick said. “I haven’t even seen Don for months.”
So I went to the gossip office and told them I had called Rick and what he said. They stared at me in sullen silence. I went back into my office. As I did, I heard one of them said, “Well, it’s the kind of thing Don would do…” and they were right back at it.
Gossip is addictive, because it makes life more interesting. It’s good, before we open mouth at all, to ask, “Is this something that really needs to be said?”
“Nobody ever got into trouble by keeping his mouth shut.” It’s a good reminder. So don’t ask me about why the BMV claims I need sideview mirrors.
John Robert McFarland
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