I know it is not the perfect standard by which to judge, but I often find myself thinking it: If others speak of me the way I speak of them, I would be devastated. If I could hear what people say about me, and if they could hear what I say about them, I don’t know that I would have a friend left on earth. Why do we do this? Why are we so endlessly cruel?

I spend a lot of time with people. At least, judged by an introvert’s standards I do. Recently, after attending a couple of major conferences, I’ve spoken to more than ever. I count that a blessing, as I love talking to people and getting to know them. I love hearing about their lives and their experiences. People are endlessly fascinating.

But today, I think back to some of those conversations with a measure of regret, a measure of shame. I think back and realize how quickly so many of those conversations turned to people—to people who were not there.

It’s not that the conversations were all full of gossip. Not quite. It’s not that the purpose of our conversation was to tear apart other people. Not quite. But so often other people’s names came up, and so many times I walked away thinking a little bit worse of another person rather than a little bit better—someone who was not even there. And so many times I fear the person I was speaking to also walked away thinking worse of another person, another brother or sister in Christ. If we didn’t actually gossip, we at least tiptoed along that line.

I am responsible, to be sure. But it’s not only me. Wherever I go I hear people talking about people, people joking about people, people muttering about people. That’s true at conferences, it’s true at church, it’s true in my own living room.

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