Living in Truth
I admit it. I worry about the weight of the cross I carry for the Lord. Is it too light - am I not fully contributing? Is it too heavy - am I doing half-hearted work? Are my efforts meaningless - like giving up toothpicks to stop deforestation? Or fighting against the wind?
And when I stand before our King and He burns away all the lame excuses, justifications, rationalizations, and the delusional work I offer as my “contribution” to the Kingdom, what will remain? What is dross and what is pure after divine smelting? What are my genuine “good works” for the Lord?
I know, I know. Stop worrying. I get it - I’m a handwringer. But I am not worried about being forever rejected by the Lord. He already promised me that will not happen - ever. But I worry about the current spiritual trajectory of my life - am I doing enough/too little? Do I need to pick up the pace? Has my faith dulled to the point where I could unintentionally overlook the opportunity to contribute to the Kingdom in a meaningful way? Am I awake enough to see a Holy Spirit “this is your moment” chance to do something of significance for the Lord? Or will I whiff the pitch?
Christians struggle to live in confidence in a faith where so much is at stake. We think we’re not supposed to have to struggle, but many of us do. Perhaps life is blissfully peaceful and serene for some folks, somewhere, but for me, it’s a Mad Max highway and something is always popping up to run me over.
While some have no worrisome spiritual thoughts, whatsoever, our “thousand-yard stares” tell of our worry that we won’t make an impact for the Lord. Worry that our walk doesn’t match our talk. Worry that we are serving ineffectively. Worry about how little we evangelize.
Even in our own homes, we worry what others think. Worry whether others will criticize where we live or the way we live. Worry what will a guest will think of my mismatched furniture? Worry what a surprise guest will say about my lunch dishes in the sink or the dirty towel in the bathroom. Worry that a church member will launch a “prayer circle” for me because I live in a way that is markedly less than the faith I profess. Worry that others will think we’re spiritually deficient - rocky soil or thorny ground.
In reflecting on this, I began thinking about the images that I create about my life for others - all the impressions of me that I want others to have. Snapshot at church, pious and anointed me. Snapshot at work, professional and brilliant me. Snapshot at a restaurant, charming and worldly me. Snapshot at home, paternal and domestic me. Snapshot in prayer, intercessory and passionate me.
In prayer, I was recently reminded that the truth of me is markedly different than most of the impressions I present to others. Pious? I get drowsy in church. Brilliant? I downplay my faith at work and regret it later. Charming and worldly? I’m awkward with small talk and do not connect easily with others. Intercessory and passionate? I get easily distracted and start daydreaming during prayer. My daughter claims I am a study in contradiction or in her vernacular, “a hot mess.” I suspect that most people are.
I began wondering what portion of my every conversation was spent tending to inaccurate impressions that I give to others - the portion of conversation I spend on posing and posing maintenance. The Lord helped me realize that most of my negative worry was fundamentally from trying to protect a frail reputation created with less-than-accurate impressions.
I worried about what would happen if everyone knew I was not as pious and anointed as I let on. What would they think if they knew I kept my mouth shut about faith at work because I was worried about keeping my job? What would they think if they knew I struggled to connect with people because I am fundamentally shy? What would they think of me if they knew this or they knew that? And how much conversation, time, and energy have I spent worrying, maintaining, and protecting these impressions?
I was living a life brooding over reputation instead of living a life focused on truth. Wow. More time preserving a less-than-accurate reputation than time simply living in truth. How in the world did I end up there?
As blogger Jennifer Becker poignantly said, “When we live in a spirit of fear, especially of judgment, we tend to live in the flesh and make sinful choices.”[1]Isn’t that the truth?
But for perspective, I was reminded that most people are forgotten after three generations. Think about it. You probably remember your grandparents, but things fade going back beyond that. So, unless your great grandchildren remember you, the entirety of your life will be forgotten after three generations. Given that our lives are as fleeting as “withering grass,” and I want to contribute to the Kingdom before my final reward, I went to the Lord in prayer and asked him for some help with all of this.
I asked the Lord to help me to live in the truth of who I am and discard all false impressions I had created or was managing. I asked Him to capture the wasted time, energy, and focus on posing and posing maintenance (take it all from me), and allow me to apply that time, effort, and focus to a good work; a work that would not burn off when tested by divine fire. (Yes, my asks are bold and specific.)
Oftentimes, the Lord responds to me in ways I do not expect.
Scripture teaches that the Holy Spirit compels us to see ourselves in truth.[2] The truth of our sin, the degree of our fallenness, the corruption of sin to our lives, the truth of our need for salvation and ongoing forgiveness, and the truth of our only path to righteousness. The Lord sees us in truth, we see ourselves in truth, and we live transparently in the truth of God’s grace and our fallenness.
The point? Christians live in truth. We live in the truth of who we were before Christ found us. We live in the truth of our daily shortcomings and ongoing need for forgiveness. We live in the truth that we’re fallen but saved by grace through faith in Christ. We live in the truth that we act like knuckleheads sometimes and get drowsy in church. But the point is that we live in the truth of who we are. God’s Kingdom functions on truth.
Sounds great. And the “good work” I prayed about?
It starts with my dining room table.
Wait, what? My dining room table?
Yes. In our homes, others plainly see the truth of our lives and our persons. Poser images and impressions vanish and others see the truth of who we are and the impact of faith on the life we actually live - a life without the deceit of false impressions.
This transparency, vulnerability, and honesty perfumes the relationships we develop in our homes and God is able to powerfully minister to others through us. It is the very truth of our lives - the very authenticity of life in our homes - that supports powerful ministry. The relationships we develop in truth will thrive in a Kingdom that functions on truth.
The Lord responded to my petition with Scripture. Matthew 15:16 says, “[L]et your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. ”
I read, “Live in truth before others so they may see your good works and glorify our Father in heaven.”
The Reality of Living in Truth
My paternal grandparents were deaf mutes. My grandfather lost his hearing from a fall at young age and my grandmother lost her hearing after contracting Scarlet Fever. My dad, third of seven siblings, was raised in on a small farm in Central Illinois where American Sign Language was the parent/child form of communication. He grew up with sign language and was fluent. And as my siblings and I grew up, we were encouraged to learn ASL so we could communicate with our grandparents.
When we were younger, as it happened one visit, my grandparents greeted us at the door to welcome us in. My brother, trailing my parents, quickly stiff-armed me aside to walk through the door ahead of me (smirking as he did). Anyone who has a sibling is familiar with the “doorway challenge” as well as the “getting into the car challenge” and the “first up the stairs challenge.” It can get amusingly brutal.
As our family entered the home, my parents and grandparents began rapidly signing to each other the first hellos. Everyone paused in the living room to greet each other before heading to the dining room to sit down at the table as they usually did. Finishing up a couple of quick comments, my grandparents suddenly directed their attention to my brother (who had been first into the house) and began signing very slowly to him as my parents watched.
My brother froze for a split second and put on his best “polite young boy” smile and began nodding his head in a wide-eyed “yes” fashion as they continued to sign to him.
But I could see it.
He had absolutely no clue what they were saying.
And the moron was still nodding and smiling anyway.
As my grandparents continued to sign to him, my brother got too wrapped up in the sincerity of his nods and smiles and bypassed the point where he should have stopped them if he didn’t understand (as routinely coached by my dad). He passed the point of “wait, wait” or “slow down” or any other reason to get out from under the impression he understood.
Fatal mistake.
It would be beyond awkward to admit ignorance now, so he stuck with it - continuing to smile and nod to everyone that he understood what was being said.
Then he looked at me and our eyes locked.
I knew he didn’t understand anything they said.
He knew I knew.
I smiled menacingly.
Time for a conversational depanting. “Depanting,” for those of you who aren’t familiar with this term for a brotherly act of affection, is where you yank your brother’s basketball shorts down to his ankles, so his underwear is exposed for full public viewing - he is de-panted or without pants. (For good results, accomplish it in front of girls, in general. For best results, accomplish in front of a girl your brother likes).
Yeah, we did that to each other.
So in my wide-eye innocence, I reasoned that my grandparents knew what they said to my brother. My parents knew what my grandparents said to my brother. My brother claims he knew what my grandparents said. Seems only right that I should know what they said to my brother, agreed? I’m younger and don’t know sign language as well as my big, strong, smarter older brother.
His nod was turning slightly frantic.
All I needed was a break in the conversation. I chambered up the final-nail-in-his-coffin question, a four-worded innocent question that would verbally depant him in front of everyone: “What did they say?” I just needed the chance to ask.
His smile was turning slightly constipated.
He knew what was getting ready to happen.
When they finished signing, my grandparents, my parents, and my smiling face looked to my brother for his answer.
My brother continued to smile and then blinked. He said or signed absolutely nothing. The silence hung thick in the air as everyone stared at him.
I busted out laughing.
My parents were annoyed by my laughter, but as I knew would happen, they were more interested in my brother’s silence, his pasty grin, and his failure to answer.
My brother looked at the floor, but after a brief moment my parents tersely ordered him to sign an answer back to his awaiting grandparents immediately. And being raised in a military household, that meant, “forthwith.”
I was howling.
I could see my brother’s mind blazing to figure out how to answer; what to say.
The irritation in my parents’ face started to get serious with each silent second that passed and just as I opened my mouth to utter that four worded drop-the-mike question, the question that would be my piece de resistance of brotherly pranks, I was interrupted by my father who figured out what was going on and answered my grandparents for my brother.
In an instant, it was all over. An epic depanting ripped from the clutches of my hands by my well-meaning father. Bummer.
And after looking at the floor and sighing for a second, my brother looked up at me and smiled.
My brother and I walked into the house snickering with each other about how close he’d come to a depanting.
Point of the story? The boys on the picture at the start of this article are my grandsons. Can’t wait to hear how they teach each other to “live in truth.”
Matthew D. Summers is the Director of Adult Education at Bethel Church of Houston.
[1]Jennifer Becker, “The Hope of Sanctification: Growing Up in Christ,” Christ Chapel Baptist Church accessed at https://ccbcfamily.org/20288-2/ on August 10, 2021. [2] See, John 14:17; 1 John 4:6 (NET Bible).