Hiding Hatred In The Dark
There are sins that strike openly—bloodied hands raised in rebellion, fangs bared, fists clenched. They are loud, vulgar, and easy to name. The murderer, the adulterer, the thief—these transgressors charge the gates of heaven without disguise. But then there are other sins, more insidious, more decorous, more polite. They do not come roaring. They come whispering. They do not strike in daylight. They hide in the shadows. They smile while they wound. They hold Bibles in their hands while daggers lie hidden beneath their cloaks. These are the sins of concealment—sins that wear the mask of righteousness to cover the rot of hatred. And among them, perhaps none is more common—or more cowardly—than bearing false witness.
When God spoke the ninth commandment—“You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor”—He did not limit it to the witness stand of a courtroom. He issued a law that governs every context in which a neighbor’s name is spoken. Whether under oath or over coffee, whether in public discourse or private conversation, whether from a pulpit or a prayer chain—the commandment is clear: you must not speak against your neighbor in any way that distorts the truth or damages their name. The courtroom of God’s justice has no exit. It encompasses all of life.
This is what makes the sin of gossip so deceptive. Gossip is false witness with a hymnal in its hand. It often contains facts, but delivers them in such a way that truth itself becomes a weapon. It does not shout lies from the rooftops—it spreads them in softly spoken tones. It does not always fabricate. Sometimes it simply selects, arranges, and tones a story in a way that serves a hidden motive. But every word that needlessly injures the reputation of another—every word not spoken in love and not intended to build up—is a lie, even if it is technically true.
Gossip is not a verbal accident. It is hatred in disguise. And because it disguises itself well, it survives in places where open sin would not. That is what makes it so dangerous. It thrives in churches precisely because it wears a suit and speaks Christianese.
This hatred is rarely admitted. It prefers the dark. It does not confront—because confrontation would require courage. It does not rebuke—because rebuke would demand Matthew 18. It whispers. It triangulates. It carefully sows seeds of doubt, then steps back to let suspicion do the rest. This is hatred in its most refined and religious form: hidden hatred. And it is utterly incompatible with the law of God.
The Bible is unflinching in its indictment. Proverbs 26:24–26 says, “He who hates disguises it with his lips, but he lays up deceit in his heart. When he speaks graciously, do not believe him, for there are seven abominations in his heart. Though his hatred covers itself with guile, his wickedness will be revealed before the assembly.” Hatred, the text says, does not always come with clenched fists and red faces. Sometimes it comes with gracious speech. Sometimes it wears the scent of sympathy. But its end is always destruction.
What makes gossip particularly damning is that it not only conceals hatred, it institutionalizes it. Churches begin to operate on a diet of distrust. Ministries falter not because of theology, but because of hallway whispers. Leaders grow timid, members grow cold, and relationships wither under the weight of half-known facts and full-blown assumptions. The body of Christ begins to devour itself—not with swords, but with syllables.
Gossip is the darkroom where Satan develops division.
It turns sisters into competitors and brothers into suspects. It makes every absence suspicious, every decision personal, every flaw weaponizable. And worst of all—it makes its hosts feel righteous while they rot.
We must recognize gossip for what it is: a form of spiritual cowardice. The gossiper will not go to the person. The gossiper will not look the offended in the eye. The gossiper prefers a safe room, a sympathetic ear, a carefully curated narrative where they are always the hero or the victim—but never the villain. And in this, they are not imitating Christ, who is the Truth. They are imitating the serpent, who twists truth to suit an agenda.
The ninth commandment stands as a fire-wall against this. It calls the people of God to a higher standard—not just to abstain from lying, but to become guardians of our neighbor’s name. Calvin wrote, “The sum of this Commandment is that the good name of our neighbor is to be sacredly respected.” To gossip, then, is not just to sin with words. It is to profane the sacred. It is to trample upon an image-bearer’s honor as though it were cheap and disposable.
And yet, how casually we violate it. How easily we wrap our hatred in the language of concern. “I’m worried about her.” “He needs prayer.” “I just thought you should know.” But no—let’s strip away the veil. These are not acts of love. They are acts of violence dressed in white linen. This is hatred hiding in holiness. And the longer it hides, the more emboldened it becomes. Gossip, once allowed, never stays a guest. It becomes a tyrant.
So what hope is there for those of us who have spoken this way? Who have listened to such speech? Who have smiled at slander, nodded at deceit, and taken satisfaction in the subtle ruin of others?
Our hope is in the only One who never bore false witness.
Christ was condemned by liars so that liars could be redeemed.
He was surrounded by whispers, dragged through courts of injustice, and pierced by the words of false friends. He knows the wounds that hidden hatred inflicts—because He bore them. He was hated without cause, slandered without defense, and crucified without guilt. And He endured it all without ever speaking a crooked word.
He stood in the light. He welcomed exposure. He bore the full weight of sin without hiding from it. And now He calls us to do the same. To drag our gossip into the light. To uncover the hatred we’ve masked with niceties. To name our sin for what it is—not frustration, not venting, not concern—but hatred concealed in a whisper. And to repent with tears.
Because the gospel does not merely cleanse the mouth. It transforms the heart that fuels it. Christ gives us more than silence—He gives us sanctified speech. He calls us to be people who protect, not profane; who build up, not break down; who defend names, not desecrate them. He makes us instruments of peace in a world addicted to cutting words.
So let me ask you:
Have you spoken in ways that distorted or diminished someone’s name?
Have you allowed your frustration to fester into storytelling?
Have you harbored hidden hatred and disguised it as insight?
Then you must repent—not just of what you’ve said, but of who you’ve become while saying it. You must walk into the light—not the harsh light of judgment, but the healing light of Christ. You must allow the Spirit to retrain your tongue, to teach your heart the sacredness of speech, to make your words a refuge instead of a sword.
There is no place in the kingdom of God for hatred in the shadows. It must all be brought into the light. There is no place for holy people to speak in hellish tones. The gossip must die. The whisper must cease. And the name of your neighbor must be treated as holy, because it is engraved on the palms of the same Savior who died for you both.
Let the church be a place where names are safe. Where reputations are protected. Where speech is guarded. Where Matthew 18 is not optional, but instinctive. And let the ninth commandment no longer be seen as a footnote in the Decalogue, but as a flaming sword guarding the peace of the body of Christ.
May your mouth no longer be an echo of the serpent’s whisper, but a trumpet of truth. May your speech be so filled with light that every shadow of hatred flees before it. And may your heart be so ruled by Christ, that you cannot help but speak peace—even in private.
Amen.
