You Can't Handle the Truth

This post is actually a reply to a friend's blog. It turned long, and I thought perhaps you all would enjoy some of these thoughts as well. He was pondering the nature of truthfulness and how it looks in our daily lives and our relationships. He asks if an honest person is necessarily one who reveals all of himself and, conversely, if a person who in some way conceals or holds back the truth of his reality, does that make him a liar? His post hits close to home for me and has inspired many of my own thoughts and questions, as I often struggle with the idea of truth and full transparency in relationships and what it means for me as an individual in general and a Christian specifically. In fact, it has illuminated another facet of a verse on which I've been meditating: He who has My commandments and keeps them, he it is who loves Me. And he who loves Me will be loved by My Father and I will love him and disclose Myself to him (John 14:21 NASB; my italics).

My friend's post seems to be somewhat inspired by the American courtroom pledge to "tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" (my italics). Pulling the idea of honesty versus falsehood entirely out of the courtroom, I am left wondering: is there a difference between truth and fact? And is there a difference between honesty and truthfulness or honesty and the "whole truth"? It seems to me that an honest man is one who is straightforward and truthful in spirit and word to the best of his ability when it is asked of him, but he must not volunteer all potentially relevant, though unasked, information in order to remain honest. Indeed, he is still honest because he is not false in his answers (my caveat here is that his honesty is consistent in spirit and in word and not just in word, that he does not come by truthfulness on a technicality).

And what of the virtue of Christ's own partial concealment of self that we find so frequently in John and elsewhere? Can we apply similar tactics in our own lives without fault? There are innumerable instances where we are expected, by God, to understand and live in faith on what could be argued to be a "half truth." We are told what we need to according to His wisdom, not to our own, and often times that leaves us with what we may perceive to be a partial truth of a situation. Furthermore, I see that the more faithful we are with the truths He offers, the more truths He will reveal. In this sense, it is a trust to be guarded and doled out wiselyand over time. I feel that we can and should do likewise in our own lives. What's more, in adult relationships (for Christians specifically), a reassertion in the place of God in individual lives releases the pressure to bring about full disclosure the facts at all times.

Finally, I wonder what is more true: who or what we are or who or what we desire to be, and is this not a possible difference between fact and truth? First the truth must be known by us before it can be offered to someone else. Often it is not a matter of dishonesty to not reveal it so much as it is a matter of appropriate timing. Some things that are not or should not be known by another in the present may or must be known later, and tempering the revealing of intelligence in this way does not always equate guile. I think knowing that timing can be the difference between a wise man and a fool, perhaps, instead of a liar and an honest person. Ultimately the question for me is: "Am I a lover of truth through and through and do I feel something die a little when (not if) I bend or break it?"”. That sort of existential system of accounting may be just the ticket.

One Step Closer to Knowing

About six years ago, a friend of mine was killed in a car accident. He was only 18 years old. Though he was not my closest friend, his death was the first over which I grieved. When I learned of his passing, I was wrought, confused, and angry. I wept for days; I prayed angrily and without ceasing; I wrote bitterly in an attempt to exorcise the intense feelings I encountered. Through his death, I found a glimpse of my own purpose. I was finally given peace in spite of my lack of understanding.

A few years after that, another acquaintance passed on from this life. I barely knew him, but I know that his life was marred with physical pain and hardship including blindness and several severe illnesses. Everyday of his life on this earth was a struggle beyond anything I could even feign to comprehend. In spite of his own tortures, he dedicated his life to bettering the lives of others around the world. His life’s work supported and eased the bitter lives of enslaved Christians in Sudan. For him on his death day, I wept tears of joy. What a beautiful picture: that after over twenty years of physical blindness, he opens his eyes and see his Savior. Even today, my heart is overwhelmed with this amazing thing.

Two years ago, a good friend mine lost her brother to a rare and evil disorder that was only revealed after his death. I never met him, but I knew and loved my friend deeply. And so I mourned for her. I prayed that a portion of her pain would be given to me, that she might be sustained through my intercession if it should be. The pain was mysterious and complete, and I have hope that it helped bring about her healing even in a small portion.

This month, my grandmother passed away. She was almost 82 years old and died from the sickness that old age enables. I am almost ashamed to say that I did not cry on her passing, but I did cry the last time I saw her alive. I mourned then over years and love lost, never to be regained in this stage of eternity. I mourned then over this person, this spirit, being brought to the brink with the flesh and being overwhelmed with her own failings, her deep need and love for her Savior. By the time of her death, I had already released her.

As an adult, I barely knew her though I spent a few summers of my childhood in her old Florida home eating sandwiches made on the most delicious Cuban bread. I remember her small, yellowish kitchen (perhaps it was not yellow but is yellowed by years of memory like an old photograph or love letter) with an old linoleum floor and a simple wooden table. Attached to it was a bathroom, aged and rusted from years of use. I remember the cubby-hole tunnel that ran beneath the staircase from her room to the dining room. Hidden there were treasures of a porcelain dolls, old photographs and yearbooks, and my own imaginary world of mischief and intrigue. I remember the black, sooty sand hidden beneath her barely-grassed lawn and the pungent sea odor that wafted through the palm trees surrounding her house.

The last time I saw my grandmother, my mother sat next to her fragile body, holding her hand, and encouraging her as she overcame her feebleness to speak. I was impressed by the magnitude of the moment, three generations of a family—grandmother, mother, daughter—occupying the same time and space. I felt my spiritual, emotional, personal inheritance from these two women almost tangibly. I yearned for the intimacy that should be present, but is not always, amongst individuals whose existences are so profoundly intertwined. I saw in us all the same desires and the same fears, the same weaknesses and the same strengths, the same love, and the same anger. In this moment, I felt sorrow. In this moment, I felt closure.

Two weeks later, she went on from this life. At her funeral, she was honored as a matriarch of her church, her community, and her family, and I think I somewhat understood the meaning of that because of my experience two weeks prior. That weekend was spent mourning her death, recognizing her life, and learning from her mistakes. As her children and grandchildren move forward, they are left to find their way without her help or hindrance. In that is freedom and responsibility. And so with her end, we are granted a fresh start and healing and understanding and hope.

Remember: All Chairs Are Musical

This is one of my recent favorites found on www.mcsweeneys.net. Stay tuned below because there is a second small nugget of McSweeney's goodness immediately following "The Pretentious 17-year-old's Guide to Dating." Gracious me, I love Timothy McSweeney's Internet Tendency. (www.mcsweeneys.net)

THE PRETENTIOUS 17-YEAR-OLD'S
GUIDE TO DATING.

BY JEFF BARONSKY

- - - -

Talking to a Cheerleader

She is standing next to her locker, wearing her uniform and shuffling her books. You stare at her tanned, muscular thighs. There are rumors, almost credible, that she thinks you're cute. Last night, you could barely read Proust because you kept imagining Odette in a cheerleader's outfit, cheering for Marcel:

Marcel! Marcel! That cough will be your death knell!

"What's up?" she says to you, her eyes glittering like the lights of Combray. Or is it Rue de Flamb??

"Nothing," you say.

"Cool."

"Have you ever watched the flowers bloom on the Champs de Rue?"

"What? Champs Street?" she asks.

"What?"

"I take French. You asked me if I've ever seen the flowers bloom on Champs Street? Did you mean the Champs-?lys?es?"

You can't hear her last question, because you are already halfway down the hallway, longing for the moment when you can rest your head on your pillow and succumb to the sweet regret of a broken heart, waking only to hear if Mother has come back from her job as a night-shift nurse or to see if they are playing Emmanuelle on Taboo Island on scrambled Cinemax.

Breaking Up With Your Girlfriend

Bebop music plays as French-movie versions of you and your girlfriend walk down the streets of Paris. One of you is wearing a long, black trench coat with khaki pants and a turtleneck. The other is wearing a short skirt with knee-high boots and a beret. Both of you dangle short cigarettes from your lips.

You and your girlfriend appear to be out of sync with the picture, as in a badly dubbed foreign film.

YOU: I would enjoy having sex with you.

GIRLFRIEND: And what of the movie star?

YOU: Katrina? Oh, I desire sex with her also. Sex is pleasurable and sorrowful.

GIRLFRIEND: The pain.

YOU: C'est la vie.

GIRLFRIEND: What's that mean?

YOU: I don't know. It's French.

GIRLFRIEND: Let's rob a bank.

YOU: OK.

You pull out guns and run into a bank. Soon you run back out, chased by police into the street, where you are both shot hundreds of times, for a ridiculous amount of time. As you die, you speak to each other.

GIRLFRIEND: If I believed love was possible in this crushing void of an existence, I believe I would express love for you.

YOU: Nothingness. The void.

GIRLFRIEND: Darkness.

You die, and break up.

Losing Your Virginity

This one will probably take a while, especially since you've been spending too much time on your novel, The Singularity of the Muscle Called Heart, which is written in the fourth person??except for the Uzbekistan sections. It took forever to invent the fourth person, but it was necessary if you wanted the novel told entirely from the perspective of the protagonist's nonsurviving twin's fetus. When your parents are away in Las Vegas, and Olivia Martinez calls and starts telling you her sexual fantasies, save what you've written, turn off the computer, and invite her over.

Going to the Prom

Of course, this is first and foremost the place to discuss class warfare. Marx will clearly enter the conversation, but be sure not to forget about Warner (specifically, in the context of American society) and Bourdieu. Consider why you are driving your 10-year-old Corolla to the dance with your brother's girlfriend ( Northwestern sophomore!) while the girl you wanted to ask is in a limo somewhere sitting on the lap of Hamilton Parker, probably promising him a hand job later. In the middle of the dance, after you sit through seven slow dances talking to the guy who brought his mother about the validity of comic books as an art form, you notice that a group of future country-club members and ex-frat boys have started to mosh to "It's the End of the World As We Know It." Of course, they're not moshing. They're standing together with their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders and are sort of bouncing up and down. They've taken an expression of proletarian rage about low wages and no future and turned it into a glorified conga line. You walk over to them, stare for a minute, and then shove them. They tumble like true bourgeois, controlling the means of production but not the dance floor.

Sleeping With Your Teacher

She may have studied with Helen Vendler at Yale, and is able to recite Chaucer in Middle English from memory. She even knew Susan Sontag, once, after she published a piece in The New Criterion about the radical aesthetics of prewar Hungarian puppetry, and even though you've always looked at the photo of the young Sontag on the dust jacket of Against Interpretation and thought you'd totally hit it, come on. Dude. It's Mrs. Kessler. She smells like bologna, like, all the time. And she wears her pantyhose rolled at the knee. Not even you are that pretentious.

AND FOR GOOD MEASURE

IF POETS NAMED
BREAKFAST CEREALS.

BY JOSH MICHTOM

- - - -

Orgasmic Clusters of Searing Pain

Bran and Plump Raisins, Pregnant With Earthy Promise

Opalescent Flakes of Lonely Night

The Sharpness of a Breath of Winter Air (with real strawberries)

Cookie-Crisp

(c) Copyright 2006 McSweeney's Internet Tendency

Stuck in the middle with... my other self

How am I? you inquire.
I am not in a good place.
My eagerness has turned to anxiety, my excitement to frustration, and my idealism to cynicism.
I am frustrated by how alone and how much *in the middle* I feel right now.
I'm too intelligent and learned to be ignorant but too common and lazy to be extraordinary.
I'm too righteous to be hedonistic but too sinful to be holy.
I'm too idealistic to not care but too hypocritical to get involved.
I'm too impatient to sit still but too fearful to get off my butt.
I'm too pessimistic to be positive but too optimistic to throw in the towel.
I'm too of this world to be heaven-minded but too of the next to enjoy this one.
I'm too tame to swear aloud but too angry to not swear in my head.
I'm too conservative to be liberal but too liberal to be conservative.

A friend chimes in with this encouragement:
"I think the majority of us feel that way. I envy people who seem to have it all together and figured out. Then I remember, yeah, they probably don't. :-) They're just better at hiding it than I am."

If you have it all figured out, let's have a heart-to-heart.

Fate

stumbling through thick night air
light eaten by rain
cannot reach beyond shadows,
instead:explodes, cascades, hope

falling-buried in a wet grave
clamoring up liquid ladder, pushing on
blind / groping / gasping.
suffering the wet sting. victory.

it will come, it will come

(c) Copyright 2004 Rachel Osterhage

Unfettered allegiance: subjects of the King?

The ideas of "king" and "kingdom" are very important to the Christian faith. Christ is heralded as the "King of Kings," and we are instructed to seek His kingdom first with our lives and our hearts. Often I employ this jargon in my prayers and in my praise without giving it a second thought; it is so enmeshed in me as a part of my identity as a believer. And yet, it is very contrary to my identity as an American.

This thought occurred to me while I was singing a line in a familiar praise song that pledged allegiance, fidelity, and subjection to Christ as king. What does this actually mean? I, as a 21st-century American, do not have the experience to give such an idea anything beyond a poetic meaning. Sure, I am know of kings, monarchies, and kingdoms through history stories, but they are no more intimate or real to me than the golden emperors of ancient China or mystic chieftans of tribal Africa.

I realized that I did not truly know what I was saying with my mouth and my heart, so I attempted to translate the language. I thought of patriotism for my country instead of allegiance to my kingdom or respect for my president instead of fidelity to my king, but neither modern-day example seemed to fit. Unlike in the relationship of subject, king, and country, I am not behoven by society or mannerly impulses to maintain or act on feelings of patriotism or respect because the source of my identity, particularly in a democratic republic, is almost entirely removed from the successes or failures of my country or president. Ours is a society focused on the comfort and happiness of the individual. As opposed to the glories of the kingdom or the majesty of the king, the individual's right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is the highest good.

Without making a direct judgment on this, let me say that one result is that we do not know, as a society (and perhaps as Christians in and of this society) how to subjugate our modern values of independence to the higher good of glory of kingdom and king. And an ultimate ramification of this is that we do not know all that it means to submit these desires, as a habit and manner of living, to Christ as king and the glory and good of His kingdom. Whatever good things may or may not come from our current form of government, it has rendered impotent the ideas of "king" and "kingdom" in the vocabulary of American Christians and stripped us of our ability to understand ourselves as subjects and Christ as King.

I am far from an historian, but from my understanding of a monarchial society as gleaned from literature of such periods, the honor of a citizen in such a society was inextricably tied to the reputation and success of his country and king. The idea of adopting the honor of a king and his goals as one's own and ultimately seeking his pleasure seemed not only common and expected, but necessary for one's own contentment and worthwhile living. Obviously, with a fallen and flawed king, this could lead to great injustices. But with a perfect and just king, his glory would come to mean the glory of his subjects, and the flourishment of his kingdom would come to be for the benefit of his subjects. Unfettered allegiance then becomes wise and natural and above all righteous. Without an example of such subject-king a relationship in our contemporary culture, I feel that we miss the richness of the analogy in the Scriptures and the hymns and cannot bring ourselves to such a prostrate state.

Obviously, I have not meted out all of these thoughts in a clear manner. I definitely welcome input from those who see my point but could make it better or those who see my point and wish to respectfully disagree. It is late, and I am several days removed from when these thoughts were freshest (should've written them down then).

A Time to Search. A Time to Repent

Ash Wednesday. It is the first day of the Lenten season for the Western church; it is the beginning of a forty day physical, mental, and spiritual journey that prepares us to perhaps better understand and appreciate the gift of Christ'’s life given on the Cross. In preparation for my second year recognizing this season, I am contemplating its relevance, both historically and currently, to the church as a whole and to myself as a Believer. Does the overtly religious nature of Lent overshadow the professed end of introspection, repentance, and self-sacrifice? What kind of power, if any, is present in participating in a long-standing church tradition?

In the evangelical church, the holy seasons of the Roman Catholic Church have, by and large, been rejected along with the iconography, liturgy, and stained glass windows. The dangers which reformists detected in them some five hundred years ago are legitimate--—idol worship and religious pomp substituting a transforming personal relationship with Jesus Christ. And so the windows were broken, the statues were burnt, and the confessional walls torn down, and with this destruction, 1500 years of church tradition were determined irrelevant to this new body of Believers.

The practice of religious feasts and practices pre-dates Christianity, of course, with various ancient Judaic practices. Ordained by God in the original covenant, these feasts were acknowledged by Him in sending and sacrificing His own Son. Christ'’s birth is commonly understood to have taken place during the Hebrew Feast of Tabernacles, and His death coincides with the Feast of Passover. It seems, however, that even in the earliest stages, these religious habits were rejected by some facets of the church, the Hellenists in particular, and marked as unnecessary and perhaps even harmful to a righteous life as an obedient Believer.

So I suppose the question remains if Lent has any place in the life of one who relies upon a real, life-altering relationship with Christ and who should strive towards self-sacrifice, reflection, and penitence year-round on a daily basis. My instinct and spirit say yes for many reasons.

First and foremost, it would be remiss, I feel, to not specially mark the unique and glorious nature of this holy season and the amazing sacrifice and message it represents. Unlike the season of Advent, which becomes about worldly goods and material satisfaction more often than not, Lent provides an opportunity to make a conscious decision to seek higher things. The habit of fasting and praying during this time calls Believers to turn away from earthly distractions that have found a way to the top of the priority list and re-throne Christ as Lord and God.

Secondly, participating in long-standing traditions and honoring age-old symbols is a healthy and beneficial practice, particularly in the modern fragmented and disjointed culture. I feel that the protestant church is missing now, more than ever, wonder, mystery, and tradition. As mega-churches abound and Willow Creek-like church franchises arise around the country, a call back to a solemn, unified, long-standing church (as opposed to corporate) tradition seems a pure and refreshing antidote. In a structured way, we join Christians around the world as they meditate on the personhood and godhood of Jesus and His ultimate sacrifice. It is charged with a history thousands of years old, and in it I find a truthful repose from these times.

Finally, walking with Christ, even in a metaphorical sense, through the wilderness and on the road to the Cross can prepare us to once again praise Him for His death and resurrection. The forty days of Lent mirror the forty-day fasts of Moses, Elijah, and most importantly Jesus Christ. Jesus was led by the Holy Spirit into the wilderness to commune alone with His Father and to be tempted by the Devil. The Scriptures tell us that He was full of the Spirit before being led in, and He was sustained without food until the end of that time (Luke 4). Likewise, we, as followers of Christ, should seek Him in during this time of sacrifice and, perhaps, isolation from worldly activities, and therein we may find strength in the Holy Spirit.

I was raised in a Christian home, but it was not until recently that attended a church that encouraged the recognition of and participation in Lent. This is only my second year in joining Believers around the world in this practice, and as I prepare myself for this period, I will continue to ponder its history and its relevance to a dynamic walk with Christ. One of my prayers is that Lent may never become a supplement for my salvation or an excuse to forget who I am in Christ the rest of the year. May it serve as a time of heightened awareness of Christ's sacrifice and of my own deep and desperate need of it; a time of introspection and symbolic self-sacrifice, no matter how paltry, which prepares me to receive the great gift He gives.

Some of the information above came from the following articles, which contain even more fascinating and learned information regarding Lent not included here:
http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2000/110/33.0.html
http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2000/110/34.0.html
http://www.slate.com/id/2137092/?nav=tap3&GT1=7932

Bible passages referenced were Luke 4 and Acts 6 & 7 (New American Standard version).

What's Willow Creek? Check out their website here.