Speaking the Truth
01/08/12 05:18
There is a challenge for every person who speaks in public. The challenge is to say something of substance in such a way that it can be heard. If you bore people or make them angry, they will stop listening. If you fail to tell the truth, you have squandered the opportunity of communication. If you talk only of the trivial and keep it simple, you risk not having said anything of substance. If you try to present an idea in its full complexity, you may communicate only part of the picture.
I am being especially aware of this in the news coverage of the current campaign for the presidency. It seems that the papers, Internet and television are focused on just a few words. They love to find some place where a candidate has misspoken. The term they love to use this year is “gaff.” If they can find a gaff in the words of a candidate, they will report that instead of the substance of what was said.
Since I began my day by reading the news of the death of Gore Vidal, it seems appropriate to quote him on the subject:
“In America, if you want a successful career in politics, there is one subject you must never mention, and that is politics. If you talk about standing tall, and it’s morning in America, and you press the good-news buttons, you’re fine. If you talk about budgets, tax reform, bigotry, and so on, you are in trouble. So if we aren’t going to talk issues, what can we talk about? Well, the sex lives of the candidates, because that is about the most meaningless thing that you can talk about.”
For a preacher – and for many others – the problem is that the truth is not always on the surface. Telling the truth is difficult. Elie Wiesel is said to have once been confronted by a Rabbi over the fact that he wrote novels about the Holocaust. Wiesel responded, “Sometimes in order to tell the truth, you have to tell a story.”
Jesus spoke in parables. He told stories in order to tell the truth. The parable of the Good Samaritan isn’t about whether or not the incident actually occurred – it is about how a neighbor behaves toward others.
I think we are called to speak the deeper truths – the truths that are not always on the surface.
Margery Williams got it right in The Velveteen Rabbit:
“What is REAL?" asked the Velveteen Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.”
I aspire to talk about what is real for the people that I serve. And sometimes what is real can hurt. But I am also called to be compassionate to those people. It is not in anyone’s best interests for pain to be doled out for the sake of pain. If I am going to use words that have the potential to hurt, I must choose them very carefully. Only when the words equally carry the power to heal are they the right words to speak.
Ephesians 4:15 invites people of faith to “speak the truth in love.” The passage refers to the process of becoming mature in faith. It understands that it takes practice to live one’s faith in the midst of a complex world.
Throughout my career, I have been surprised at how often I have been called to intervene in situations where my instinct is to be silent or to walk away. Sometimes people of faith can be amazingly cruel to each other. Sometimes good church people need a moment of correction. I usually wonder, “Who am I to speak to this person?” My preferred course of action is often silence. I’m likely to get silent when I am angry or have my feelings hurt. Indeed silence is often the best course of action. In the range of choices between silence and speaking, silence is often the better part.
But there are times when we are not called to be silent. Moses found this out at the burning bush. Jeremiah found it out in a conversation with God. Isaiah was confronted with a vision of burning coals. God calls people not only to the silence and listening of prayer, but also to speak courageous and prophetic words.
When I speak I want to tell the truth – even the truth that lies deep below the surface.
When I was a young preacher, I thought that preparing and delivering sermons would become easier as I gained experience. Indeed some aspects of the process have become easier. But some parts of the process are more difficult. Churches can become set in their ways and fail to open themselves to change. People can hurt others’ feelings without knowing what they are doing. In the joy of fellowship there can be the failure of hospitality. I am called to address these very real parts of our lives together.
So I continue to hone this craft of speaking. I don’t have it completely right yet. There is much for me to learn. One thing I do know: when my words make the congregation squirm – they have already made me squirm. It isn’t easy to find the right words.
So, from time to time, I re-read familiar old stories as well as the new ones. As I look in the mirror and notice the receding hairline, I am reminded of what the Skin Horse said to the Velveteen Rabbit: "Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off.”
Maybe I’m not supposed to have as much hair as I once did.
I am being especially aware of this in the news coverage of the current campaign for the presidency. It seems that the papers, Internet and television are focused on just a few words. They love to find some place where a candidate has misspoken. The term they love to use this year is “gaff.” If they can find a gaff in the words of a candidate, they will report that instead of the substance of what was said.
“In America, if you want a successful career in politics, there is one subject you must never mention, and that is politics. If you talk about standing tall, and it’s morning in America, and you press the good-news buttons, you’re fine. If you talk about budgets, tax reform, bigotry, and so on, you are in trouble. So if we aren’t going to talk issues, what can we talk about? Well, the sex lives of the candidates, because that is about the most meaningless thing that you can talk about.”
For a preacher – and for many others – the problem is that the truth is not always on the surface. Telling the truth is difficult. Elie Wiesel is said to have once been confronted by a Rabbi over the fact that he wrote novels about the Holocaust. Wiesel responded, “Sometimes in order to tell the truth, you have to tell a story.”
Jesus spoke in parables. He told stories in order to tell the truth. The parable of the Good Samaritan isn’t about whether or not the incident actually occurred – it is about how a neighbor behaves toward others.
I think we are called to speak the deeper truths – the truths that are not always on the surface.
Margery Williams got it right in The Velveteen Rabbit:
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.”
I aspire to talk about what is real for the people that I serve. And sometimes what is real can hurt. But I am also called to be compassionate to those people. It is not in anyone’s best interests for pain to be doled out for the sake of pain. If I am going to use words that have the potential to hurt, I must choose them very carefully. Only when the words equally carry the power to heal are they the right words to speak.
Ephesians 4:15 invites people of faith to “speak the truth in love.” The passage refers to the process of becoming mature in faith. It understands that it takes practice to live one’s faith in the midst of a complex world.
Throughout my career, I have been surprised at how often I have been called to intervene in situations where my instinct is to be silent or to walk away. Sometimes people of faith can be amazingly cruel to each other. Sometimes good church people need a moment of correction. I usually wonder, “Who am I to speak to this person?” My preferred course of action is often silence. I’m likely to get silent when I am angry or have my feelings hurt. Indeed silence is often the best course of action. In the range of choices between silence and speaking, silence is often the better part.
But there are times when we are not called to be silent. Moses found this out at the burning bush. Jeremiah found it out in a conversation with God. Isaiah was confronted with a vision of burning coals. God calls people not only to the silence and listening of prayer, but also to speak courageous and prophetic words.
When I speak I want to tell the truth – even the truth that lies deep below the surface.
When I was a young preacher, I thought that preparing and delivering sermons would become easier as I gained experience. Indeed some aspects of the process have become easier. But some parts of the process are more difficult. Churches can become set in their ways and fail to open themselves to change. People can hurt others’ feelings without knowing what they are doing. In the joy of fellowship there can be the failure of hospitality. I am called to address these very real parts of our lives together.
So I continue to hone this craft of speaking. I don’t have it completely right yet. There is much for me to learn. One thing I do know: when my words make the congregation squirm – they have already made me squirm. It isn’t easy to find the right words.
So, from time to time, I re-read familiar old stories as well as the new ones. As I look in the mirror and notice the receding hairline, I am reminded of what the Skin Horse said to the Velveteen Rabbit: "Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off.”
Maybe I’m not supposed to have as much hair as I once did.