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"Blabbermouth!" His mother was enraged. "You're nothing but a blabbermouth! Prattling to the neighbors about my new front teeth." "Blabbermouth!" His brothers wanted to kill him. "Blabbing to Mom and Dad we were smoking pot last night." "Blabbermouth!" His friend felt betrayed. "Tattling to Ms. Hocum I was making faces behind her back!" He had become a blabbermouth at an early age and now at seventeen he was even more the blabbermouth. Who was he? Little Benny Schwartz. "Benny the Blabbermouth" they called him. How did he become a blabbermouth? He had been a quiet baby who played by himself for hours at a time. Naturally, everyone assumed he was happy because he seemed to need no attention. Not like his brothers who were always up to something and needed constant surveillance. Yes, he played by himself, but he wasn't happy. He was lonely and he gradually discovered the only way he could win others' attention was by trading this or that bit of gossip for another's interest in him. Unfortunately, their interest lasted only as long as Benny had something spicy to tell about others or to the extent they felt they were the objects of his interest.

Benny went to any lengths to get the dope on anyone at any time. Sometimes hiding under tables while friends traded confidential comments; often perched precariously on a limb overlooking lovers exchanging intimate secrets; even deciphering notes scribbled on paper scraps he'd scavenged.

And no sooner had he pieced some bits of information together than he breathlessly broadcast it faster than the airwaves. Benny'd stop perfect strangers on the street and gossip about what they did or didn't care to know. "Wait till I tell you ..." or, "Excuse me, but did you know ..." or, "Have I got news about ..." and then he'd tell who slept with whom, who was getting operated on, or losing a job, or having mental problems, and so on. Benny couldn't keep anything to himself. He had to tell it all, and all because he craved attention. However, as soon as the high wore off he'd have to get the latest scoop for another fix of blabbering.

Benny blabbered so much that naturally no one trusted him. Everyone kept a respectful distance. Even inquiring minds avoided getting too close for fear of being inquired about themselves. So Benny grew more and more isolated. And as is often the case with loners, others began regarding him as quirky or strange, and spread strange stories about why he was always alone.

First it was, "He's a blabbermouth. No wonder no one talks or listens to him. No wonder he's a loner...."

Gradually, however, the stories about Benny got wilder. "I think he's hiding something: a rash nobody knows about," someone somewhere speculated. "The blabbermouth bit is just a cover. He doesn't want us to know the real problem."

"A body rash? C'mon, c'mon," someone somewhere else challenged. "The truth is his skin is silky white beneath his tunic. Notice how he hides his arms -- keeps them hidden deep in sleeves a size longer than he needs. A rash indeed! There's more to it than that. Believe me!"

Rumors built on rumors flared up everywhere. The word was out -- Benny the blabbermouth had leprosy! The town was buzzing as cliques of people chattered over coffee and imagined Benny's leprosy slowly consuming him. Benny picked up vibes that something wasn't right. But what?

Walking down the street, he strained to catch the drift of strangers as they spoke. "Leper! Unclean," they conspired underneath their breath. Benny cocked an ear and listened intently for the mention of a name. "Who? Who's a leper? Who's unclean?" "Benny, Benny the Blabbermouth's a leper," the word filtered in from somewhere somehow. "Wow! Benny the Blabbermouth," Benny echoed thoughtlessly. "Benny the Blabbermouth's a lep...." Realizing the judgment he was passing on himself, Benny was horror stricken and froze on the spot. "Benny?" he gasped. "They're talking about me! No, no, you must mean someone else. I'm not a leper," he protested. Voices from all directions assaulted him with warnings. "Keep your distance! Come near and we'll stone you! Unclean! Unclean! Leave us!" Stunned, Benny walked the streets for days and nights. One afternoon, studying himself reflected in a store window, he tried to convince himself. "It isn't true. I'm not a leper. Gossips! Rumor mongers! Blabbermouths. They're all blabbermouths, just like...." He stopped, looked long and hard, pointed slowly to himself, and said, "... like me?" He let the words sink in one by one. "They're blabbermouths like me ... like I've blabbermouthed to others." Benny sunk to the curb overwhelmed by what he had discovered. He hadn't been sitting there long when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Have they been saying things about you too? Things that haven't been true?" "Who?" Benny turned to look up into the eyes of a man smiling down at him. "Hi. My name is Jesus. It's maddening, isn't it?" He sat down next to Benny. "I mean having people talk behind your back about you. Saying things that aren't true."

"Why, yes," Benny answered. It had been so long since anyone had spoken directly to Benny, he was at a loss for words.

"Makes you feel so alone you want to cry. It might even make you determined not to do that kind of thing yourself. Right?" Jesus looked directly into Benny's eyes as he waited for an answer. Benny's face flushed. "Do you know me?"

"No, but I'd like to know you. Not what others say about you, but the real you." The man had a warmth about him which disarmed Benny.

"I feel so lonely," he confessed.

"I know the feeling," Jesus assured him.

"Can you help me?" Benny pleaded.

"Maybe we can help one another," Jesus responded.

Benny remained silent. Then slowly, "I want you to know right off I've got a reputation for being a blabbermouth. Nobody trusts me."

"Tell me more about yourself, Benny." And Jesus was genuinely interested.

"About myself?" Benny shook his head. "You wouldn't want to hear about me. But I can tell you about others. I can tell you lots about others ... who slept with whom, who...."

"No," Jesus waved his hand, " I want to hear about you." Benny scratched his head. No one had ever asked Benny to talk about himself. He had never thought of himself as being interesting. Others, yes. But not himself and now this man wanted him to talk about himself. And that he did. He told his life story and poured his heart out -- his fears, his hopes, his growing isolation. As he opened up more and more, he felt cleansed, purged, strangely different. More importantly, Benny didn't feel isolated. He was not a leper anymore.

After Benny had finished, Jesus put his arm around Benny. "There is one thing I have to ask of you. Don't tell anyone what has happened between us. Or at least keep my name out of it. Do you think you can do that?" Jesus winked at Benny and rose to his feet.

"Oh, yes, yes," Benny assured him.

Jesus laughed warmly, knowingly. "I've got to go. My friends are waiting for me. Perhaps you'd like to join us later at the park?"

"Yes, yes," Benny answered enthusiastically. Jesus waved and was on his way.

Benny was elated. He jumped to his feet and ran down the block, crying to anyone within hearing distance, "He listened to me. He really did. I'm cured! I'm cured! I don't feel alone anymore." Benny repeated his message over and over until he reached the corner. He shouted to passersby, "I don't need to talk about anybody else anymore. I just want to tell you what's happened to me."

Soon, one, then two, three, four, and finally about fifteen persons had gathered to listen to Benny. They had never heard him speak about himself so openly before. At first they had cautiously kept their distance. But then a hand reached out and patted Benny on the back. Before long others did the same. "Benny's no longer a leper!" someone cried.

"Or a blabbermouth," another added. "Three cheers for Benny!" "Hip, hip, hurrah!" the crowd yelled. Benny's eyes filled with tears. Actually, he had blabbed again, but his news was good news and he knew Jesus would forgive him. And from that time on good news was the only news he ever blabbed.


Reflection


"Once a blabbermouth, always a blabbermouth!" True, but Benny the blabbermouth at the end of the story isn't the same Benny the blabbermouth we read about at the beginning. He is a blabbermouth with a difference. And that difference points to a very important fact about conversion experiences. People who undergo a change of heart aren't brainwashed. They don't stop being themselves. Benny's change is a change in direction. His talent for broadcasting is redirected, not annihilated. Jesus didn't want him to blab and in that sense Benny didn't change. However, the blabbing he did was on behalf of the good news and not simply out of his need for a "fix." But Benny got his fix proclaiming the good news in a way similar to recovering alcoholics at an AA meeting get a high on witnessing to their recovery. Something of the old makes its appearance in the new but that doesn't mean the experiences are not genuine conversion experiences.

It ought to be consoling to people who have lived fifty or sixty years to realize the hot temper or impatience they had at age twenty and continue to have at age sixty need not mean they haven't changed or matured. The hot temper and the impatience might signify indignation over injustices perpetrated on others rather than adolescent pouting or earlier self-centered tirades. It is the entire gestalt or context which we need to understand when we speak of a change of heart and not the eradication of this or that peccadillo. And of course it is only through being converted over and over that change becomes lasting. After all, a recovering alcoholic is recovering, never recovered. Accepting the ongoing nature of the change rather than worrying about the presence of an undesirable trait promotes a deeper appreciation of the place of conversion in our lives.