The bell over the door of The Shepherds Cafe chimed with its familiar softness, but the mood at the corner table wasn’t soft at all.
Barbara was already seated, scarf loosened, hands wrapped around a mug like she was anchoring herself. Elijah slid into the chair opposite her—rectangular glasses, short white beard, that calm expression that usually steadied other people before it said anything.
Barbara didn’t waste time.
“Christians don’t think slander is a big deal,” she said. “Not really.”
Elijah’s eyes didn’t flinch. “They say it’s ‘just talk.’”
Barbara nodded once. “Or ‘just venting.’ Or ‘just sharing a concern.’ And then they say, ‘Well I’m only telling you so you can pray.’”
Elijah let out a quiet breath. “A spiritual label doesn’t turn poison into medicine.”
Barbara leaned in. “It’s everywhere, Elijah. Everywhere. The media makes money on it. And the church—” she shook her head—“the church sometimes treats it like casual conversation.”
Elijah looked toward the window for a moment. The street outside was wet and reflective, and people walked past like they were trying not to be seen.
“It’s not just outside,” he said. “It’s inside. And it spreads faster inside because people assume Christian mouths are safe.”
Barbara’s mouth tightened. “That’s what makes it so damaging. People trust the setting. They trust the speaker. And slander rides that trust like a vehicle.”
Elijah rested his hands on the table. “Define it.”
Barbara blinked. “Slander is saying something that harms someone’s reputation—especially when it’s unproven, exaggerated, or malicious.”
Elijah nodded. “And even when it’s technically true, it can still be sinful if it’s told to the wrong people for the wrong reasons.”
Barbara’s eyebrows rose. “That’s the part Christians don’t want to hear.”
Elijah answered plainly. “Because it means you can sin with facts.”
Barbara sat back slightly. “So why do we treat slander like a small sin?”
Elijah didn’t sugarcoat it. “Because we don’t see immediate consequences. Nobody drops dead. Nobody gets struck by lightning. The slanderer often feels relief instead of guilt.”
Barbara looked down at her mug. “And the person who hears it feels important.”
Elijah nodded. “That’s part of the addiction. Slander makes the speaker feel powerful and the listener feel trusted.”
Barbara glanced up. “Give me Scripture. Not paraphrase. Scripture.”
Elijah didn’t hesitate.
“You shall not go about as a slanderer among your people” (Leviticus 19:16, NASB).
Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “That’s old covenant, but the principle is obvious.”
Elijah continued, “And the wisdom literature treats it like a weapon, not a habit: ‘A worthless person digs up evil, while his words are like scorching fire’ (Proverbs 16:27). And ‘The words of a whisperer are like dainty morsels, and they go down into the innermost parts of the body’ (Proverbs 18:8).”
Barbara’s face showed it—recognition and disgust at the same time. “It tastes good going down.”
“And then it poisons you,” Elijah said.
Barbara nodded. “What about the New Testament?”
Elijah’s voice stayed steady. “Paul warns about it as part of a whole culture of decay: ‘They were filled with all unrighteousness… gossips, slanderers…’ (Romans 1:29–30). And he doesn’t treat it as minor. He lists it with serious sins because it’s serious.”
Barbara sat forward again. “And it shows up in churches.”
Elijah nodded. “It does. And Paul addresses that too. When he lists sins that must be put away, he includes it: ‘But now you also, put them all aside: anger… slander, and abusive speech from your mouth’ (Colossians 3:8).”
Barbara’s voice lowered. “Put it away. Not manage it. Not make excuses for it.”
Elijah nodded once. “Put it away.”
Barbara looked past Elijah for a moment, as if she was replaying a memory. “I watched it happen recently. Not on the news. In the church.”
Elijah didn’t interrupt.
“A small conflict,” Barbara said. “A misunderstanding. Somebody didn’t get called back quickly enough. Somebody didn’t get invited. Somebody felt overlooked. And instead of going to the person, they went sideways—to three people. Then five. Then eight.”
Elijah’s expression tightened. “Sideways conversation is how slander spreads.”
Barbara’s eyes sharpened. “It was dressed up as concern. ‘I’m worried about them.’ ‘I don’t know what’s going on with them lately.’ ‘Have you noticed…?’”
Elijah nodded slowly. “That’s how the serpent talks. Indirect. Suggestive. Plausible. Not always explicit lies—just insinuations.”
Barbara exhaled. “And then the target becomes a shadow. People stop asking them questions. They start assuming motives.”
Elijah’s voice was quiet but firm. “Slander punishes a person without trial.”
Barbara sat still. “And it does it with words.”
Elijah leaned in. “That’s why Scripture treats the tongue like a fire. James says it can set a whole forest ablaze. ‘The tongue is a fire… it sets on fire the course of our life’ (James 3:6).”
Barbara nodded. “And the media does the same thing—but with microphones.”
Elijah didn’t disagree. “The media has industrialized it. Entire business models are built on suspicion, outrage, character destruction. But the church should be the one place where truth, restraint, and directness are normal.”
Barbara’s eyes locked on his. “So why do people typically slander? Why do Christians do it?”
Elijah counted on his fingers, slow and blunt.
“First: envy. Someone has a role, a marriage, a reputation, a blessing—and slander becomes a way to level the field.”
Barbara nodded once.
“Second: insecurity. If I can shrink you in the eyes of others, I feel bigger without actually growing.”
Barbara’s jaw tightened.
“Third: fear of confrontation. It’s easier to talk about someone than to talk to them.”
Barbara exhaled. “That one is common.”
“Fourth,” Elijah continued, “the craving to belong. Sharing ‘inside information’ buys social connection.”
Barbara’s eyes narrowed again. “A false intimacy.”
Elijah nodded. “Fifth: bitterness. Slander becomes revenge with clean hands—or at least it feels like clean hands.”
Barbara sat back. “So what does the Bible tell us to do instead?”
Elijah answered plainly. “It tells us to shut the door before the fire starts.”
Barbara didn’t laugh. “Meaning?”
Elijah pointed gently, like he was placing the responsibility where it belonged.
“Proverbs says, ‘For lack of wood the fire goes out, and where there is no whisperer, contention quiets down’ (Proverbs 26:20). If you don’t feed it, it dies.”
Barbara nodded slowly. “So prevention isn’t complicated. It’s courage.”
Elijah continued. “Also: refuse to participate. Don’t be the audience. Proverbs says, ‘A perverse man spreads strife, and a slanderer separates intimate friends’ (Proverbs 16:28). If you listen, you become part of the separation.”
Barbara’s voice got sharper. “So we need scripts. Practical scripts. What do you say when someone starts?”
Elijah didn’t hesitate.
“You say: ‘Have you spoken to them directly?’”
Barbara nodded.
“If they haven’t,” Elijah said, “you say: ‘Then I can’t hear this. You need to go to them.’”
Barbara leaned in. “And if it’s serious—real danger or sin?”
Elijah nodded. “Then you follow biblical channels, not social channels. You go to the appropriate people who can actually address it. But you don’t spread it like news.”
Barbara’s eyes held firm. “That’s where Matthew 18 matters.”
Elijah nodded. “Yes. Jesus gave a framework for resolving sin and conflict that protects truth and protects people: go to your brother privately first (Matthew 18:15). Slander is what happens when we skip that step and choose the crowd.”
Barbara’s voice softened. “And if I’m the one tempted to talk?”
Elijah didn’t soften the answer. “Ask yourself: ‘Is this true? Is this necessary? Is this loving? Am I the right person to say it? Is the person I’m telling the right person to hear it?’”
Barbara nodded. “And if the answer is no…”
“Then it’s not yours to say,” Elijah replied.
Barbara stared at the table. “So what’s the spiritual reason slander is so serious?”
Elijah’s gaze was steady. “Because it’s the opposite of Christ. Jesus uses truth to redeem. Slander uses words to destroy.”
Barbara looked up. “And it violates love.”
Elijah nodded. “Love protects, not poisons. ‘Love does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth’ (1 Corinthians 13:6). Slander rejoices in suspicion.”
Barbara’s voice tightened. “It also harms the speaker.”
Elijah nodded. “Yes. Jesus said we will give an account for our words (Matthew 12:36). Christians should tremble at that—not because we’re hopeless, but because we’re accountable.”
Barbara sat still for a long moment.
Then she said, “So if slander is everywhere—in the media and in the church—what do we do this week? Not theoretically. This week.”
Elijah answered like an elder who’d had to clean up the aftermath of too many words.
“Three things,” he said.
“First: refuse to be the audience. If you stop listening, you stop the supply chain.”
Barbara nodded.
“Second: go direct. If you have a concern, speak to the person involved—calmly, respectfully, with facts, and with the goal of restoration.”
Barbara’s eyes held.
“Third,” Elijah said, “practice a holy suspicion of your own motives. If what you want is to vent, to be validated, to recruit allies—don’t call it ‘discernment.’ Call it what it is and repent.”
Barbara’s mouth tightened in agreement. “And when we repent, we stop pretending it’s small.”
Elijah nodded once. “Because Scripture doesn’t treat it as small.”
Barbara looked out the window again. The world outside would keep talking. Headlines would keep selling outrage. People would keep broadcasting suspicion like it was wisdom.
But inside the café, at one table, there was a different choice being made.
Barbara’s voice was quiet, but firm. “If we’re going to be different, it starts with our mouths.”
Elijah’s eyes stayed steady on hers. “And with our courage to love people enough to be truthful without being cruel—and silent when silence is righteousness.”
Barbara nodded once.
Because Christians don’t need more commentary.
They need cleaner speech.
And the courage to stop paying the whisper tax.