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EVILS OF GOSSIP

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jun 29, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 26.

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EVILS OF GOSSIP.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.
Did you ever stop to think that the name of the first real gossip who ever lived was Lucifer.
Gossips are not apt to pause very long to discriminate between truth and falsehood. Lucifer never stops to find out whether his accusations are truthful or not; and he is called “the accuser of the brethren.”
Once, a good many years ago, there was a wonderful meeting. Many great and famous personages from all parts of the universe were present. The place of meeting was around the throne of the Most High—the audience chamber of the Almighty. Among these happy and intelligent worshipers, who is this strange being who comes from the regions of darkness on the wings of night, and presses his way among the loyal sons of God? Straight up to the very throne he urges his way. What wonder that the Almighty turns to this hateful, frowning presence, and questions, “Whence comest thou?” His business is as hateful as he—to accuse the brethren. One by one he croaks his evil stories which he has concocted while walking up and down in the earth, into the forbearing and long-suffering ear of Omnipotence.
But there is one—a dweller in the land of Uz—whom he does not mention.
At length the Almighty speaks: “Hast thou considered My servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?”
In fancy I can see the fiendish scowl of hate grow blacker at mention of that name. Ah, yes; he is well acquainted with the man of Uz. He has had many a battle with him and been defeated, until he has come to the conclusion that indeed “the angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him.” This he is forced to admit; for he has more than once vainly attempted to lay his hand on either the household, the property, or the person, of this godly man.
“Hast thou not made a hedge about him, and about all that he hath, . . . and blessed the work of his hands?”
Then, with a scowl of hate, he turns mockingly upon Jehovah, and defies Him:—
“This pious man of Uz is no whit better than the rest. He serveth Thee from motives of selfishness and gain alone. But put forth Thine hand now,” he hisses, “and touch all that he hath, and he will curse Thee to Thy face.”
This is not the language of charity, for charity thinketh, or mistrusteth, no evil. We all know the outcome of the narrative; how, when he has failed in this attempt, the arch-fiend still insists that Job will not stand the test of personal bodily affliction, still insists that this faithful servant of God is fickle and insincere. With what intense interest must the “sons of God” in all those worlds whose representatives attended this wonderful meeting, and heard this false accusation, have watched and awaited the outcome, until it is proved beyond doubt or question that the accusation of Lucifer is only the false and cruel gossip of the “accuser of the brethren.”
I wonder if there are any whom this narrative reminds of something in their own lives. Have we not all known people who have been followed to the very grave with persistent, cruel slander?
Happy is he whose nightly pillow holds no thorn of accusing conscience.
“Well,” says some one willing to justify himself, “I never tell tales about anybody unless I know they are true.”
One day I took my Bible to read my accustomed portion. I turned to the fifteenth psalm. Probably I had read the same scores of times,—at least, I could repeat it by heart. But somehow to-day it seemed invested with a new and sacred meaning, some message direct from the Master to me, seemed waiting to be found and appropriated:—
“Who shall abide in Thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill?”
“Now,” I said, “I shall see if I can pass inspection. I will see in what particular I lack preparation to dwell in the holy hill of the Lord.” Slowly I read the first requirement:—
“He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.”
The self-imposed answer quickly came: “Certainly I am trying to walk uprightly and to work righteousness; and surely I trust my heart is innocent of falsehood.” I went on:—
“He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbor.”
“That’s coming a little closer,” I said, “but still, I am perfectly friendly to my neighbors, and am trying to do them good,—no, I do not lie about them, I’m sure I don’t,” I exclaimed, virtuously patting my own back. I read on:—
“Nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbor.”
I stopped short. How many times I had heedlessly read those words, and gone on, taking up reproach after reproach, until now they stood out before me as if in condemning letters of fire. I was shorn of self-complacency in a moment. I had not thought so far as this. I had at least paused only long enough to ascertain the truth of a report before venturing to repeat it if occasion seemed to require.
Ah, we are all poor, unworthy creatures at best. Why should we find pleasure in repeating a tale of reproach, even tho it be the truth?
My brother, my sister, if you and I would dwell in the hill of the Lord, we must do this thing no more. We must cease looking for evil and defects in others, and look for something good in them. Depend upon it, we will find what we are looking for. Shall we, like the vulture and the buzzard, be carrion hunters? The bee finds plenty of honey even in the plainest flowers.
“But what can I do with Sister A——?” says some poor soul whose conscience is already pricked by the sharp needles of memory. “What can I do with Sister A——? She is so queer; she isn’t a bit like other people. It’s very hard for me not to take up a reproach against her. Why, she wearies me beyond endurance; she’s so unlike any one else.”
Across the street is the office of a skilful physician. Ask him to show you his case of operating instruments.
“What is that for?” you ask, pointing to a case apart from the others, and utterly unlike them.
“That?—O, that is a costly instrument, which is of no use except in very rare cases. I have owned it for a number of years, and never needed to use it but twice, but it has twice saved human life. A valuable instrument.”
Even so these queer people—these strange people, these people who seem so odd and disagreeable to us,—are perhaps filling their place in the Master’s great workshop,—who knows?
It is much better to speak of the virtues of our fellows, than of their evils; praise is better than censure; commendation than reproach.
When tempted to speak evil of any, even to tell only the truth, let us remember that the Book which says, “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor,” says also that if we would stand at last on the glorious hill of Zion with the redeemed, we must take up no reproach against our neighbor.
“Guard well thy lips; none, none may know What evils from the tongue may flow, What guilt, what grief, may be incurred By one incautious, hasty word.”