aspersions

Years ago, I contributed to a book of Advent devotions for my church. I was telling a good friend, who went to the church but didn't know I'd contributed, that she should really pick up the book. She immediately got defensive. In the ensuing discussion, it became clear that she thought I was saying she needed to read the book of devotions because I thought she wasn't devoted enough. I, of course, merely wanted her to read my spiffy article and be impressed by it.

Ah, relationships. Meanwhile, just this very day I came across a word that perfectly describes what was happening: I was unwittingly casting aspersions on her. You and I have used that phrase and encountered it all our lives. But what if someone asked you what an aspersion is? Now you'll know: it's the sprinkling of baptismal water on the head, in substitute for immersion in a river or baptismal font. Baptists baptize by immersion; Catholics (usually) by aspersion.

My guess is that our sense of an aspersion as an attack on a person's good name comes from the same connection made by my friend. There's something about the offering of blessings to someone that can backfire: it can seem like a judgment, a statement that the person is in need of some purification. Certainly it's common for atheists and other nonbelievers to get prickly when told that an evangelical is praying for them. And not just nonbelievers: Catherine was incredulous when her pious roommate informed her she'd been praying for her for some time, convinced as she was that Catherine — Catherine! whom she lived with every day! — was lost in spiritual peril. By sprinkling the holy water of praying for her friend's salvation, she was in fact standing in judgment on her friend.

So. That's what casting aspersions is all about.