Spinning out of Control
Dave Faust
Recently I conducted an informal survey and asked people to finish the sentence, "It's hard to tell the truth when . . ." Nearly 200 people responded, ranging from age four to age 79.
Some responses were amusing. "It's hard to tell the truth when you return from a fishing trip" (male, age 50); ". . . when someone asks your age and weight" (female, age 49—presumably!); ". . . when your mouth is full" (male, age 5).
Others made some thought-provoking points. "It's hard to tell the truth when a boss makes it obvious what the answer should be" (female, age 57) . . . "when it's easier to lie than sit through another lecture from your parents" (female, age 15) . . . "when you don't know what the truth is" (male, age 22) . . . "when you want to fit in" (female, age 18) . . . "when the truth is not what people want to hear" (male, age 19) . . . "when my family members don't agree with my Christianity" (female, age 70) . . . "when I feel like people are going to laugh at me" (female, age 5).
Truth-telling can be difficult. But if there's anything today's world needs, it's truth. Three out of four Americans don't believe in absolute truth at all. (Just ask them—they're absolutely sure about it!) Yet four out of five Americans say our nation's moral values are weaker than they used to be. We've sacrificed truth on the altar of tolerance, then wonder why we're floundering around in moral confusion.
It's like erasing the boundary lines and taking down the goal, then trying to play basketball. It's like removing the steering wheel, the speedometer, and the brake pedal, then trying to drive a car.
Honest speech has given way to "spin" that manipulates facts to put the speaker in the best possible light depending on his audience. This problem isn't new. Moses came down from Mount Sinai with commandments carved in stone that said it was wrong to worship false gods, make graven images, or bear false witness—only to find the Israelites worshiping a golden calf. Moses angrily confronted Aaron, who concocted a response that could make modern spin-doctors smile. Aaron blamed his followers, implied that Moses himself shared the blame since he'd been gone so long on the mountain, and finally blurted out. "So I told them, 'Whoever has any gold jewelry, take it off.' Then they gave me the gold, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!" (Exodus 32:21-24).
Aaron's flimsy excuse seems laughable, but dishonesty is no laughing matter. God never lies (Titus 1:2; Hebrews 6:18). Satan always does. Lying is the devil's "native language" (John 8:44). It shouldn't be ours. When Ananias and Sapphira lied to God, they may have called it spin, but God called it sin. Their punishment was immediate and severe, and "great fear seized the whole church and all who heard about these events" (Acts 5:1-11).
God calls us to "put off falsehood and speak truthfully" (Ephesians 4:25). He desires "truth in the inner parts" of our lives (Psalm 51:6). When our churches become honest households of faith where people consistently speak the truth in love, we'll communicate the gospel more effectively to a generation desperately seeking authenticity. And we'll bring God's grace to strugglers who consider the church the last place they can admit their weaknesses.
To save a world spinning out of control, God sent his Son "full of grace and truth" (John 1:14).
It's the perfect balance—truth to show us what we are, grace to make up for all we aren't. There's no need to pretend, no need to be anything but real.
The truth will set us free.
This column first appeared in The Lookout on Aug 2, 1998.
Speechless in Seattle
One of the wonderful things about my job is that I get to write 52 articles a year with the confident assurance that the editor will decide to publish them all! To be honest, that's also one of the frightening things about my job. The discipline of writing a weekly column keeps me searching God's Word, pondering our readers' needs, and prayerfully evaluating what really needs to be said.
Still a Live Issue
Andy Metas works as a building manager for a Manhattan skyscraper on New York's Third Avenue. His grandparents came to the United States from Greece soon after World War I, and his dad was a building manager before him. A lot of gray sparkles from Andy's black hair, but his darker features still contrast sharply with his wife Laura's blonde hair and fair Irish complexion.