I suppose that one of my pet peeves is observing how often we humans judge others. I’m not exactly a scholar of the Bible but there are certain words from Jesus that have inspired my behavior toward my fellow humans. One is his admonition, “Let he who is without sin throw the first stone.” In others words, there are few among us who have never done anything wrong and yet we all too often find it exciting to hear about the hidden secrets of people who we know or think we have a right to know. Perhaps because we are all too aware of our own failings, it is a relief to learn that even the mighty have feet of clay. 

People have gathered to gossip for all time. If that were not so Jesus would not have needed to remind us to “judge not lest we be judged.” Somehow we believe his words, but still take delight in hearing about someone’s struggles, particularly if we have never liked that person. History is replete with scandals made even more difficult by whispers. Alexander Hamilton might have been one of the most important individuals in the early days of our nation, but he was not immune from wagging tongues. 

So it has been with people both famous and ordinary. Many private lives have ruined by those who seem to believe that they are perched on the moral high ground. They pontificate about how they would do things differently from those whom they have judged to be among the fallen. They spread rumors and boast of how shocked they are by behaviors that they are certain they would never embrace. Instead of showing compassion and attempting to help they place individuals in judgmental categories ranging from angels to sinners.

I know countless people who have struggled with addictions or who have loved ones who are afflicted with untamed cravings for drugs or alcohol or food or gambling or even money. They are good souls dealing with a heavy burden of sorrow and confused feelings about why such things are happening in their families. They want to do what is right, but knowing exactly what that should be is often confusing. They exist in a constant state of anxiety wondering whom they might trust and who will use their tragedy against them. 

There was a time when we were not bounded with twenty four hour news publicly analyzing every aspect of famous peoples’ lives. Perhaps the story of Princess Diana should be a parable of warning to all us who encourage and devour journalism that invades and judges the most private moments of an individual. Even the most elevated among us are ultimately human. Having their innermost secrets on display tears them down, often leading to tragedies that needn’t have happened. The salacious stories of Diana and the rush to get a headline by stalking her led to her death and in many ways to the emotional difficulties of her son, Harry. 

When we attack someone for our own entertainment we include all of those who love that person in the misery. The feathers of gossip fly everywhere  making it almost impossible to ever again gather them back. Just as we would not want to be on trial for each of our mistakes or for the times when we failed to be our best selves, so too is it wrong for any of us to think that we have a right to spread tales about the people around us or even famous folks whom we don’t really know. How can any of us ever understand the feelings of another or the reasons why they have behaved in certain ways that confound us? Why do we link the actions of one member of a family to others?

My Uncle William was one of the kindest most empathetic people I have ever known. He somehow understood the need for compassion even toward the most evil actions that people perform. He demonstrated this to me time and again. 

Uncle William was a mailman who worked his entire career in the same neighborhood. One of the homes where he left mail belonged to a widowed woman whose son was convicted of a heinous crime. The young boy had ultimately gone to the police to admit that he had been bringing victims to a man who would torture and then kill the innocents. The story of the crimes was almost unbelievable in its depths of depravity and made even more real to Uncle William by the fact that he had often stopped to talk with the boy on his route. 

In his usual mode, my Uncle William grieved for those who had been so viciously murdered, but he also found sympathy for the widowed mother of the boy who had been so heavily involved in the tragedy. He told me that she was a good woman who had struggled to keep her home and to provide for her son, but she pushed on in spite of the challenges. He revealed that the incident had broken her heart and his as well. He even opined that if he had known how desperate the family’s situation had been he might have done more to help both the mother and her son. What Uncle William did not do is attempt to repeat more rumors or judge anyone involved. His response seemed to be an understanding that circumstances can become so dire that terrible choices are sometimes made.

If only we encouraged more kindness and less revelry over the downfall of those around us, perhaps we might begin to heal as families and nations. We never really know what it may be like for those who are dealing with incredible problems. We only intensify the difficulties when we speculate or lay blame. Instead we might simply love those who are attempting to deal with the kind of tragedies that we hope we will never have to endure. We need to set down our stones and first consider our own defects before making ourselves judges and juries.