I still feel ashamed when I remember it.
I was 14.
That moment in a church camp dorm, talking with two other teenage boys, about another boy who was not present. There is no nice way to put it: I was making fun of him. I was regaling the other two with a tale of something this other boy had said in a separate conversation. I would like to say I don't even remember what it was, but I do. I remember exactly what it was, and my ridicule was just mean. My story climaxed with a quotation, delivered in mimicry of the absent victim of my ridicule.
Yes, the other two boys were laughing, but this was all me.
And just as I delivered the hilarious rendition of our fellow camper's voice and words, we heard the sound of a toilet flushing, then the sound of water running in a sink, and then footsteps, bringing out the very boy I had just been impersonating, who walked past us without a word, without looking at us, down the length of the dorm room, and out the door.
I am 47 years old, and my head still drops when I remember this moment.
I still hope against hope that somehow this boy didn't hear what I said, or that maybe, from inside the bathroom, he heard voices, but didn't understand that he was the butt of the joke, and that maybe his silent walk out of the dorm was just awkward, but not connected to what I had done.
But I know that's a long shot.
Chances are, he heard it all, and understood.
I never brought this up to the boy, never apologized, avoided him the rest of that week at camp, moved on to other things, and had minimal contact with him thereafter.
I was a coward, and left him to nurse this wound on his own.
I hope somehow he has forgotten this moment, but I still remember it, so...
*****************************
People often say that one of the main reasons to tell the truth is so that you don't have to keep track of what you have said to whom. A liar has to keep a lot of bases covered.
I see a similar truth in play with the practice of ridicule.
For a long time, I lamented the fact that I had failed to make sure the coast was clear before entering into my impression of this boy. If I had only thought to delay gratification for just a moment to make sure no one would overhear!
But even when we take a moment to glance over our shoulders to make sure no one is eavesdropping on our salacious conversations, haven't we all experienced our words coming home to roost after being repeated by one of our appreciative audience members? Just as telling the truth is the only sure protection against being caught in a lie, the only way to ensure our ridicule remains harmless is never to deliver it in the first place.
For many years, ridicule made up the bulk of my sense of humor.
Whenever I was in a position to be socially secure in comparison to another person, I was quick to find laughs at their expense. Of course, I kept a low profile, because I never wanted to pay a price for offending anyone.
But still. Ridicule was my game. I really shouldn't say "was". The instinct is still as sharp as ever. I can make fun of others just as well now as I ever could, maybe even better.
Yes, many friendships include mutual ridicule among equals who love each other and safely keep each other's egos in check, and there is also a place for gentle social correction delivered openly to a person behaving awkwardly, given the encounter is safe and the person's acceptance is still affirmed, even with shared laughter.
What I'm addressing is laughing at the expense of another, without the knowledge or participation of that person, without the kind of relationship that would give you a right to comment on that person's faults, and without an opportunity for that person to respond or maintain their dignity. Laughing at someone in a way you would be ashamed for them to overhear or find out about, treading where you have no business treading.
That was indeed my game, for many years.
But something is different now, and it's more than just the difference between adulthood and adolescence. Maybe an awareness that I am just as ridiculous as anyone else? An awareness of how badly it hurts a parent to see their child hurting? A conviction of the hypocrisy of scoring social points by saying things I wouldn't say in front of certain people? Finally understanding the truth that every person is created in God's image, and that God might have something to say about how I speak of His creation?
Certainly all of the above, but also something else:
Right now, at this moment, it is clear that a great many Americans feel there is a gulf between "us" and "them". We are speaking freely about "blue" and "red" without contemplating the days when "blue" and "gray" were deadly distinctions. We have fallen into the temptation of thinking we can speak hatred of each other, view each other as enemies, consider each other worthless, and fantasize about living without each other, without the body we seem to take for granted suffering any mortal compromise in the process. We are laughing scornfully at and about one another, making fun of one another, rolling our eyes about one another, openly attacking one another, and considering one another worthy of painful ridicule. Often what we are laughing at and scorning is not a real person, but a caricature, a composite of assumptions, memes, memories, flags, tweets and tropes.
Surely we are not really as far apart as we think we are.
No, we are not in a moment where everyone is going to get what they want.
But we are in a moment where the way we celebrate victory, and the way we nurse the wounds of defeat, the way we view those celebrating while we hurt, and those hurting while we celebrate, is going to make a generational difference in the health of the body we seem to take for granted.
Toxins taken into the body and allowed to flourish there eventually take their toll.
And ridicule toward our neighbors, toward strangers, toward co-workers, toward our loved ones, toward our political opponents, and toward those we think are so delusional they are dangerous, is one of the most potent toxins of all.
Ridicule takes a human being, created in the image of God, and turns that person into a thing, a target for our aim, something we need not lose sleep over, something we can tear up and cast aside as we walk away laughing and rolling our eyes.
If we were to walk up on a stranger who was bleeding, we wouldn't let a political slogan on their shirt or hat slow us down in rendering aid. Their humanity would be all we could see.
People are bleeding right now, we all are, and we need more than anything to be seen as human, made in God's image, in need of patience and grace, and more similar to than different from everyone around us.
I am repenting of ridicule, and I pray for God's help in changing this habit.
Oh, I will still think of ways that people around me could be made fun of. I probably always will. But, I understand now that making fun of other people, laughing derisively at their expense, actually costs something...of them, and of me.
And I think I've run that credit card up high enough for more than one person's lifetime.
