In the last evenings of two of my daughters being home, we enjoyed a few movies. Among them was Much Ado About Nothing. We laughed at the ridiculous guards on their invisible ponies, and the barbed banter between Benedick and Beatrice. The ease with which those two defiantly single people are swiveled to lovesickness is comical. Which is the point.
Yet the sting of watching Hero's spotless character be stained in a matter of seconds breaks my heart. Shakespeare is painting the actors as giddy, and fickle. But it happens off stage as well.
I can recall the swivel within me, as a coarse report of someone not present led me like a bridled mare. When I climb onto such a hobby horse I can ride down paths of disdain. I am as gullible as the man who threw Hero to the ground on her wedding day.
Still an even darker possibility exists. When have I been the one to carry an ill report? Sullied someone's reputation just because I could?
At times I had remorse for spreading gossip. But retracting it is like trying to regather the seeds of a dandelion once you have blown them to the wind.
Perhaps you know that the scheme for Hero's redemption was death. As her accusers felt the impact of their slander, they experienced regret. My prayer is that I can hold my tongue without anyone's spirit having to die.
