TRUTH BE TOLD (Vaguely Worried)

Keats famously wrote that beauty is truth and vice-versa (“…that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”). I do not believe he was referring to everyday honesty like ‘I’ve always hated your mother’, but rather the fundamental truths of God’s universe that bring us rare, extraordinary moments of clarity and peace. Truth is a valued piece of real estate on the moral high ground and telling it is promoted in our culture as a godly virtue. We’re assured that we’ll sleep better, that it can set us free, and that it is good for us to hear, even when it hurts.

Personally, my world of truth is more complicated than that -- I am not always sure when to share it, or how much I really want to hear. Sure, I can tolerate someone pointing out the glob of spinach in my teeth. After the first pang of humiliation, I am usually grateful for this information because I can rectify the situation. On the other hand, I do not appreciate being told I am tone deaf and sing too loudly in church, because my options are limited. And do I really want to hear from my neighbor that my 16-year old daughter’s alter ego on MySpace is 2Easy? Or, do I want to tell that neighbor the rumor I heard about his son hanging out behind the supermarket brandishing a quart of malt liquor?

The answer to the first question is an unequivocal ‘yes’. I may not want to know the truth (ouch, it does hurt), but that is my job -- to know everything and anything that involves my family, no matter how painful, humiliating or hurtful, and to deal with it as best as I am able. The operational word is ‘deal’. But when it comes to my neighbor’s son, I am less certain. My instinct is to speak up, but I must check my motives. Am I gossiping under the banner of Truth, maybe relishing the thought of shattering my pompous friend’s image of his perfect son? Or am I truly concerned for the boy’s health and safety? Truthfully, the answer is probably somewhere in between (ouch again).

And then there’s the question of my friendship with that neighbor. What is the quality of that relationship? Do I trust it enough to tell the truth and to receive it? Do we regularly share our most personal truths, or just the latest box scores? Do I really want to test it? I worry for the messenger. By sharing the truth with my neighbor, I risk an end to our Thursday night barbecues, and he makes such great chicken. And what about my tolerance for the truth? Perhaps if my neighbor tells me something deeply humiliating – albeit true -- our relationship will be irreparably damaged by resentment. Publius Terentius Afer (Terence to his friends) warned, “Obsequiousness begets friends, truth hatred.” There is more than a grain of truth in that statement.

It seems to me that honesty has wiggle room. Truth does not. So, maybe if any beauty is to be found in everyday truth, then how it is delivered, and how it is received makes all the difference. I like to think my moral compass functions pretty well where everyday honesty is involved. I also like to think I can digest anything served up with loving intention and good will. I like to think that. Just don’t tell me I can’t sing, because that really hurts.