Upon the face of this world, it might seem as if niceness and kindness are kin. Both worn as badges of decency, as if to say, “Here is a person who does right by others.” Yet niceness — well, it’s nothing but a veneer for what might cover the hollow tooth underneath.

A man may tip his hat, may offer up a smile, may keep his tongue sheathed in the company of others. That’s well and good to a measure. But niceness, it asks no more than the least of us. The man’s handshake may be warm, but his tongue could be the whipcrack of a scorpion’s tail. A woman’s words may be honeyed to your face but poisonous as she spits upon the trail of your departure. Trust walks blind in a world saturated by malice’s blackened well. Niceness may be nothing but a farce. Be wary and let not others play you like a flute.

But the heart of kindness beats to a different rhythm. It is a creature of sinew and soul, bearing the weight of another’s pain, seeking to ease it. Kindness is the hand extended in the dark, the water shared in the desert, the coat given to a shivering stranger. It’s not the road of least resistance; it asks for the sweat of your brow, the strength of your back.

Consider the man who wears the mask of niceness, yet his eyes pass over the beggar in the street as if he were looking through glass. Or the woman whose laughter rings hollow at the jest that cuts another to the quick. The faces of these folk beam when fronting you, but their words reek of foulness to your back. They are but actors on a stage, and their script is a shallow one.

But then there’s the one whose kindness might, in the eyes of some, be mistaken for rudeness. He is the man who’ll plant his feet firm and speak a truth that burns like a brand, because to lie would be the greater sin. She is the woman who’ll tear the fabric of propriety to bind up the wounds of injustice. For them, nice is a word to be tossed aside when goodness calls.

In a world that tells us to dance to the tune of easy lies and false faces, we’re in sore need of those with the grit to live kindness. To be agreeable is a poor ambition. To “play the game” is an insult to the God who breathed life into your lungs. It’s a sin greater than any we can commit. Betray the soul God gave you? Nay, not and risk Heaven’s Damnation.

It is the kindness that is born of a brave empathy, that asks us to look upon our brother and our sister and see more than flesh—it asks us to see their very humanity, and to act with a heart that knows the cost.

Niceness keeps the peace in moments as fleeting as breath on a mirror. But kindness—it’s the force that carves canyons and raises mountains. It is the call to lift our eyes from our own reflection and to expect more from each other, to demand more from ourselves. Let us then cast off the easy cloak of niceness and gird ourselves in the armor of kindness. For it is this, and this alone, that has the power to mend the fabric of our collective soul, to change lives and to elevate the spirit of mankind.

Herein lies our charge, and let it not be said that we shrank from it. Niceness may smooth the day’s passage, but it is kindness that shapes the world.

(Josh Beavers is a teacher and writer. He was named as a semifinalist for Louisiana Teacher of the Year in 2020. He has been recognized five times for excellence in opinion writing by the Louisiana Press Association.)