Truth Like Whiskey

Truth Like Whiskey--July 4, 2016

"And the Word became flesh and lived among us; and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.... From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed came through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ." [John 1:14, 16-17]

Truth is like whiskey: it is potent stuff, but most folks can only handle small draughts of it at a time or else they get sick to their stomach.

Or, as T.S. Eliot put it, "Go, go, go, said the bird. Humankind cannot bear very much reality."

We have all been the nervous patient, sitting and stewing in some doctors' office on that butcher paper and waiting to hear a report back, and afraid of hearing an unpleasant truth.

We have all been, at one time or another, the fearful child who wants to cover up the broken shards on the floor that were once the cookie jar we were told not to reach for, anxious about the moment that our clumsy disobedience will be found out by a grown-up.

We have all been there on tenterhooks, kept in uncomfortable suspense while waiting for a friend to actually break the bad news to you in words that you could already tell was coming from the look on their face. We know what it is like not to really want to hear the truth.

Truth is strong stuff--but we cannot bear very much in any one sitting.

The trouble, of course, is that ignoring the truth and living in our own little worlds, like proverbial ostriches with our heads in the sand, is hardly a livable arrangement.   I may not want to hear the diagnosis from the doctor, but I need to know what it is if I am going to deal with it.  I may not want to own up to breaking the cookie jar, but I need to face what I have done if I want to grow up and be an adult, and for that matter, we need to sweep up the shards and broken pieces of pottery off  the kitchen floor so that nobody cuts their toes on them.  And even if I am dreading the dropping of a shoe from my pensive-looking friend, I need to hear what it is, even if I don't like hearing it, if I am going to get to share what is going on in their life--which is what a friend is, after all.  Beyond that, I need to be able to face the truth about how my actions affect other people, or how my privileges and comforts often come at the cost of others who did not get a choice.  I need to hear, and to deal with, how I have missed the mark or been complicit in systems that hurt others--so that there can be the hope of change. In other words, I need to be able to bear the truth, even if it makes my throat burn a little to swallow much more than a sip at a time.

The question, then, for us as we try to live authentically and thoughtfully in the world, is, What will make it possible for me to bear a little more reality?  What will give us the courage to hear and receive the truth about things without running away from it, ignoring it, or pretending?  What will enable me to see myself honestly, neither thinking too much nor too little of myself?  And what will enable me to own my mess-ups rather than covering them up?

The opening of the Gospel of John points us in the direction of Jesus, in whom "grace and truth" are intertwined. Grace and truth, apparently, go together.  And that makes all the difference.  I cannot bear very much reality straight up--I am too fragile for that (and so are you).  But grace is what makes truth-telling possible.  Grace makes it possible for me to hear the truth about myself, and to tell the truth about things as well.  Grace in the voice of Jesus says, "No matter what the reality is, I will not abandon you."  Grace in the person of Christ says, "There is nothing you have done, or could yet do, that will undo the grip and the claim I have on you."  Grace says, "If it's a scary diagnosis, I have an ace up my sleeve called resurrection.  If it's facing your sins, there is nothing you can do that I cannot forgive.  If it's the fear of being abandoned by your friend, I will not leave you nor forsake you."  Grace makes it possible for us to own the truth about ourselves, and to tell the truth about the world around us.

That means we no longer need to run from the truth, water it down, or switch it out with some saccharinely sweet substitute.  We can indeed (all apologies to Jack Nicholson's famous movie character from A Few Good Men) "handle the truth"--or at least we can get increasingly better at bearing it, because grace makes truth-telling possible.  Both comes from Jesus, who lets us face the day and the world as it is, and to know we face it with the One who does not leave us to face it alone.

Lord Jesus, assure us of your grace so that we can be people who tell and live truthfully.