Division and Unity

The lesson

I don’t remember exactly when it started. Sometime between fifteen and twenty years ago, I think. I’m still struggling with it, though.

The Holy Spirit has been grabbing my attention, pulling me along, hitting me over the head with it. Convicting me. Also making it possible for me to respond the way God wants me to, even though it feels like my progress has been painfully slow.

And now, today, I’m so glad He began working on me way back then. Because that lesson is one I need to put into practice now more than ever.

What is it? “Love one another” (John 13:34).

It sounds so simple. And yet Jesus waited until His last day on earth to give His disciples this “new command.” Maybe they couldn’t really do it until they’d spent three years in close fellowship with Him. Or maybe they wouldn’t be able to do it until after they’d received the Holy Spirit.

I’m a critical thinker, which can be a good thing. It makes it easier for me to analyze a statement and get to the root of what’s true or false about it. I’m less likely to be taken in by propaganda and fake news.

But there’s a downside. I’m too critical of other people, including other Christians.

I’ve always found it challenging to appreciate and love certain believers. Especially the difficult or immature ones. The ones who’ve been saved for forty years or more and yet have grown so little.

God began convicting me of my need to love even them. He began teaching me and helping me to do it better.

The challenge

Ever since Trump’s rise to power in 2016, I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with the reality that some of the friends I’ve known and loved for decades are on the opposite side of the fence from me. I have a hard time understanding how they can believe the things they do about him.

My natural response would be to pull away from them. Or fight and argue, with the mental attitude that they have to see things my way or they’re bad people. In other words, follow the world’s strategies for dealing with conflict.

Several years ago, I was listening to a program on NPR (National Public Radio) shortly before Thanksgiving. A caller was expressing her dread of sitting down to the holiday meal with her extended family, since different members identified with different parts of the political spectrum. But what could be more interesting or more important to talk about than politics?

She knew from past experience that those who disagreed with her would never be willing to accept the truth when she presented it, and of course she’d never stoop so low as to agree with their faulty view of the world. The entire time was likely to be spent arguing, with increasing hostility and without any possibility of resolving anything.

The host of the show sympathized with the caller. She couldn’t imagine any other way to handle the situation.

God has been working in me for many years now to love others better, which includes changing my natural response to conflict. The response illustrated by the NPR segment.

I’m not supposed to regard a fellow believer from a worldly point of view anymore, but as a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:16-17).

God's ways are not the world’s ways (Isaiah 55:8). He “is kind to the ungrateful and wicked” (Luke 6:35)!

One time, as I arrived at a relative’s wedding, I immediately (and unexpectedly) ran into several guests who were gay or trans. Instant discomfort. What should I say? What should I do? The Holy Spirit soon reminded me that His fruit is kindness and gentleness (Galatians 5:22-23).

God's ways are not our ways and His thoughts are not our thoughts. But our relationship with Him includes growing in our knowledge of His ways and His thoughts. And in our ability to imitate Him.

So how am I supposed to deal with those believers who take a stand on Trump that’s completely opposed to mine? It wouldn’t hurt so much, it wouldn’t be so tough if I wasn’t firmly convinced by God’s Word and by the Holy Spirit within me that my understanding is the one most in line with His character. Unfortunately, believers on the other side are just as convinced of how right they are.

Preventing division 

The Lord has been teaching me for years now that I need to respond to all my brothers and sisters in Christ with love and grace. By doing so, I can contribute to greater unity among His people. Shortly after giving them the command to love one another, Jesus prayed for the oneness of His followers. How dare I splinter our unity for something as trivial as the politics of the day?

Every four years, I hear the declaration that this is the most important election in decades, maybe ever. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.

But how does one American election look in the light of eternity? It’s a very tiny drop in an infinite ocean.

What’s vastly more important in God’s eyes is Jesus’ new command, “Love one another.” Love my brothers and sisters in Christ in spite of their flaws. Love them even if they seem to be following the wrong path. Love will have a greater impact for eternity than any laws we can pass (especially when they can be changed or overturned so easily).

Does this mean that I never correct an error in other believers’ thinking? No. But that’s not where He usually leads.

It means I need to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (James 1:19). Quick to listen to the other person and to the prompting of the Holy Spirit. Slow to correct my opponent.

Several years ago, a Christian who I’d always found annoying was complaining to me about another believer. She’d asked the woman to do something for her that could benefit both of them. The other believer said no.

My initial internal response: Here we go again. Once again, instead of acting like a mature woman in Christ, this lady is griping and gossiping about a good friend of mine. I just wanted to put her in her place as firmly as possible.

But God was working on me. I knew that wouldn’t be right. Or loving. Or effective. I’d be betraying my own standard of “acting like a mature woman in Christ.”

I knew I couldn’t appear to agree with her either, though. She was wrong and I couldn’t affirm, even in subtle unintended ways, what she was saying and doing. I sent up a quick, desperate prayer for help. (I’ve never been good at handling sudden conflict. I need time to find the words to say.)

The Holy Spirit responded by bringing to mind an experience that I’d had recently. I was able to share it with her, identifying with her in her disappointment and frustration, but suggesting that maybe God had something better in store for her (as He did in my case) when our mutual friend turned down her request.

When it comes to Trump, during the last ten years I’ve stumbled over how to deal with the issue, but I’ve made some progress. I started out being too outspoken, too ready to fight. Most of the time now I simply don’t bring up the subject with other believers, especially if I don’t know them very well.

If someone else mentions Trump, I try to focus first on listening, as James recommends. I’m thrilled if we agree. In my natural human weakness, I need their support and encouragement and wisdom.

If we disagree, I remain silent to begin with. But if they seem to be mistaking my silence for approval, I try to be matter-of-fact in briefly stating my position. If I share more openly, it usually drives a wedge between us.

We can be friends. We can talk, and even debate, about other topics. But in this area, it’s better to agree to disagree. I’m thankful that this seems to be the unspoken policy in my church. And I’m so thankful that the Lord has been leading me for many years to the point where I can respond in a more godly way than I naturally would.

The hardest part now is handling my internal turmoil regarding the conflict and the negative feelings it generates toward my opponent. But I’m finding that the more I treat people as if I love them, the more I’m able to genuinely love them.

I never intend to state in this blog which side of the Trump issue I stand on. I won’t post any comments supporting one view or the other. It would only distract from a more important message. The message of love and unity triumphing over the division we see all around us.

 

 

 

Praising and Cursing

Thankfulness and bitterness

Jeremiah 20:13-14: “Sing to the Lord! Give praise to the Lord! ... Cursed be the day I was born!”

In just two verses, Jeremiah expresses the extremes of thankfulness and bitterness. Unlike the psalmists, he pours out the thankfulness first, then the bitterness.

Isn’t that backwards? Aren’t we supposed to work our way up from pain and doubt to singing and praise? Are we allowed to follow Jeremiah’s example?

Yes! That’s one of the reasons I’m so thankful to the God of the Bible.

He knows who we are. He knows how quickly we can plummet from praising Him to wanting to die. So He gives us the examples and the encouragement in His Word to express ourselves honestly (even when it means venting anger and self-pity) and to keep coming back to Him no matter how low we’ve fallen.

The Christian life is never a smooth and easy road from repentance and conversion to Christlikeness and glory, always walking in perfect faith, with no setbacks and no stumbling. We shouldn’t expect it to be. We shouldn’t expect it in ourselves or in other believers.

And yet, Christians seem to feel a certain pressure to believe that we can defeat our fears and doubts effortlessly, trust God completely in all circumstances, and shun sin every time. Doesn’t God promise us that He’ll enable us to do all that right from the start (1 Corinthians 10:13, 2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 4:22-24)? And if we do slip up, all we have to do is repent and it will never happen again.

When I was participating in a small discussion group at a church several years ago, the pastor leading us defined repentance as a total 180-degree turn-around. Period. Permanent. Anything less isn’t true repentance.

I understand that that’s the literal meaning of the word. I know that God expects and enables me to continue becoming more like Jesus. But I look at real life and wonder if anyone has ever truly repented, if that pastor’s definition is accurate.

How often do my thoughts and behavior turn around completely, never to turn back again? How often does my genuine sorrow and regret for having fallen short of my Lord’s high standards result in never again disappointing Him in that same way? How often does my turning away from doubting His love and provision result in never again facing that same doubt? Not very often. We’re all slow learners.

Jesus seems to take the opposite view from that pastor when He says in Luke 17:3-4, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, ‘I repent,’ forgive him.” Sounds like Jesus expects us to keep repeating our sins, even after truly repenting.

Reality

One of the strengths of Alcoholics Anonymous is the recognition that an alcoholic in recovery usually returns to his old habit at least one more time. Do they kick him out of the group at that point? Do they tell him that he never really repented of his drinking in the first place, since he’s doing it again?

No! They help him get back on his feet. After additional falls, and with the group’s support, he can eventually stop drinking. He can look back and tell you the number of years that he’s been sober. Initially, he could only give you the number of days he’d made it through before starting over at square one again.

The Bible is real. In Jeremiah chapter 20 we have a prophet, chosen and trusted by God to preach His word to the people, saying in one breath, “Praise the Lord!” and in the very next breath, “Cursed be the day I was born!” That’s an example I can follow.

Not because I want to. Not because I don’t really care about pleasing God. But because I’m human.

Jeremiah’s example

Verses 1 through 6 of this chapter describe how Pashhur the priest, “the chief officer in the temple of the Lord,” has Jeremiah beaten and placed in the stocks for the prophecies that he’d declared. As soon as he’s released, Jeremiah pronounces a scathing rebuke against Pashhur and a dire prophecy about Judah.

At this point, I’m filled with admiration. This guy’s got guts. He’s speaking God’s truth to one of the most powerful religious leaders in the country when he’s just been released from a painful and humiliating punishment for his earlier offensive prophecies. Don’t think I could do that.

This is a great man of God. I want to be just like him.

Until I read the next section (vs. 7-10). Depending on the translation, Jeremiah starts out by accusing God of deceiving, persuading, enticing, fooling, tricking, or forcing him to do what he’s been doing. The general sense is that God isn’t playing fair and Jeremiah feels used. How could the same man who stood up so bravely for his Lord suddenly turn on Him and question His very character?

Jeremiah then complains about the life God has called him to. Because his message is one of violence and destruction, he’s ridiculed, mocked, insulted, and reproached. Including by his friends. And yet he can’t help proclaiming that message.

Verses 11-13 express his faith and hope and thankfulness. He knows that the Lord is with him and that justice will prevail in the end. He asks the Almighty God to avenge him for his undeserved suffering. He praises Him in his gratitude. Back to the good-guy, this-is-what-a-prophet-should-be personality.

Until he steps off the cliff and curses the day he was born. He continues along that line for the next four verses. The passage ends on a negative and depressing note.

What are we to think of this waffling prophet? His great courage in facing Pashhur. His bitter complaint as he questions God’s trustworthiness. His praise for the Lord’s faithfulness. His height of brief but intense thankfulness. His plunge into despair.

Should we try to be like him? Yes, when he’s at his best. But I’m not sure that that’s the right question to ask. I should be asking, “Am I like him?” Honestly, I’m more like him when he’s doubting and grumbling than when he’s speaking boldly to the one who has so much power over him.

But even in his complaining, Jeremiah sets a good example for me. He addresses his words to God as a sort of prayer. He doesn’t go to the people around him, badmouthing Pashhur and telling others how the Lord has disappointed him. He works through his confusion and bitterness and weariness in God’s presence. And those moments of strength and conviction follow. Even if they don’t last.

So I’m thankful for this book of Jeremiah. It’s a hard read. There’s so little in it that’s uplifting. Unlike the book of Isaiah, there are few promises of a glorious future. But there’s the example of a great prophet expressing exuberant thankfulness, only to fall into despair in the very next verse. I can relate to that.

And I’m thankful that at this time of year, nearly every year, I can honestly celebrate a day of Thanksgiving without immediately following that thought with cursing the day I was born.

 

  

The Ridiculous and the Sublime

Ridiculous me

I’m embarrassed. I go to God in prayer and I think about the things I’ve asked for in the last few years and I wonder if my face is turning red with shame. How can I face this big, glorious, all-powerful God who is above and beyond all that exists and who created the universe out of nothing, when my prayers have been focused on the selfish, the trivial, and the mundane for so long?

There are people all over the world who don’t know where their next meal is coming from, who’re living in war zones, who’ve been sold into slavery, who’re being abused and tortured. And I’m begging God to take away the minor annoyances in my life?

How can I be so self-centered after all these years of following Jesus? Doesn’t God have better things to do than to micromanage all my little complaints? I’ve been praying to the sublime about the ridiculous.

(Had to look up the exact meaning of the word sublime. I like Wikipedia’s description the best: “the quality of greatness, whether physical, moral, intellectual, metaphysical, aesthetic, spiritual, or artistic. The term especially refers to a greatness beyond all possibility of calculation, measurement, or imitation.” That’s God.

While dictionary.com defines ridiculous as “causing or worthy of ridicule or derision; absurd; preposterous; laughable,” I’m using it more loosely here to mean trivial. But I imagine that some of my requests could seem absurd or laughable to God compared to the really important issues that He deals with every day.)

My life started falling apart in 2019. The stresses just kept coming until, by the end of 2021, I was pretty well wiped out, physically, mentally, and emotionally. All I could think about, all I could pray about, was how to take the next little baby step. My prayers became self-centered and small.

The healing began in 2022. Today I’m much better than I had been, even though I’m not completely back to “normal.” I can look beyond my self. I can deal with the minor challenges in life without feeling overwhelmed and sending up panicky pleas to God.

I thank Him frequently for this improvement. But as I sit down to pray I’m embarrassed by my immature thoughts and requests over the last few years.

I have to wonder how God sees me. Has He been rolling His eyes and sighing with impatience every time I’ve prayed about the problems that a really big God might consider ridiculous? It’s easy to imagine that He might have been. But then I turn to the Bible for a better understanding of who He is.

The depth of God’s compassion

In Matthew chapter 6, Jesus encourages His followers to stop focusing on all their physical necessities. Sounds like maybe He’s telling me I shouldn’t be praying the way I have been. But why does He say not to worry? Because He doesn’t care? Because all those things are too small for Him to even think about?

No. He tells us to relax because He’s so deeply concerned about our needs that He’ll provide for them. God feeds the birds of the air. We’re much more valuable than birds. He clothes the lilies of the field. We’re much more precious than lilies.

The spiritual aspect of our lives is far more important than food and clothing, and yet He has so much compassion for our material side that He gladly gives us nourishment and protection. The most sublime Being in the universe really cares about even the most ridiculous things.

Jesus says in Luke 12:7 that the very hairs on our heads are all numbered. That’s not just a specific count that He can learn once and tuck away somewhere in His vast mind while He moves on to more important issues. How many hairs have I lost in the time that it’s taken me to write this article? How many new ones have begun growing in? And God’s keeping track of all of them? How trivial is that?

Jesus’ point isn’t that the God of the universe lets Himself get distracted over unimportant details (like I do). It’s that He knows me so well and loves me so much that He’s fully aware of even the most minute, ever-changing facts about who I am.

Peter writes that “with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8). In God’s eyes, a little thing that we all experience (the ridiculous day) is no different than a span of time that goes well beyond our life expectancy and our comprehension (the sublime thousand years).

According to dictionary.com, either Napoleon or Talleyrand made the famous comment, “From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step.” Quora.com explains the quote as referring to “a sudden negative change in condition.” The fall of the mighty.

But maybe it’s also true in another way. The sublime God, who is great beyond all possibility of calculation, measurement, or imitation, by His nature is but a step from things that are trivial, absurd, and laughable, things like me and my minor concerns. Not that He could ever fall to my level, but that He chooses to meet me there.

And so I realize that I don’t need to feel ashamed. Yes, my prayers were selfish and mundane. But I’d been battered by so many stresses that my body, mind, and emotions were in a bad place, where the ridiculous overwhelmed me and it took a great effort to catch a glimpse of the sublime.

If God knows the number of hairs on my head at this very moment (oops, there goes another one; now He has to revise His count), then surely He understands my weakness at those times when I can’t see beyond all my little problems. Our sublime God stoops to embrace the ridiculous.

 

 

Words

A painful loss

Opening the email app in my phone one morning. Kind of in a hurry. Skipping over the promotions and the daily news feeds. Spotting a note from my church. These don’t come often, so it must be important. Reading it.

“Francine died today.”

Crashing. Aching. Burning. Crying.

No, God, no. No, no, no. Not Francine. No. This can’t be. The pain is too great.

I’m not hurting for myself. I barely knew Francine. I’m grieving for her two children, both in their early twenties, one with special needs. Her mom was her advocate.

Francine’s husband just died three months ago. In their fifties, without any life-threatening health issues that they were aware of, both losses were unexpected.

How can their daughters possibly cope with their deaths? How can they possibly live with the trauma?

Trying to pray

I’ve never met the two of them. It sounds like they have plenty of support. Trying to contact them might be more intrusive than helpful.

The best thing I can do is to lift them up in prayer. But how do I pray? My words feel too shallow, too sterile. Like giving God a to-do list. Words seem too small to cover the enormous breadth and depth of their heartbreak and shock.

The news affects me physically, not just in the intellectual and emotional realm of words. I cry. My stomach tightens up. My breathing becomes sighing. I need something more than mere words to pray with.

But I don’t have anything more. Words are the highest form of expression that God’s provided for us. How do I go beyond that?

For the next few days, I use whatever words I can in my prayers for these two dear young people. Although I don’t do it to be selfish, it also helps me. It’s a good outlet for my own grief and horror and anger. I need to bring my emotions to God, rather than letting them come between us.

Today, as I try once again to pray, and once again feel helpless in finding the words to express my greatest concerns and desires for Francine’s daughters, I feel a certain freedom to forget the search for words and simply sit before God with an open heart. Could there be anything wrong with that?

Maybe.

The importance of words

There’s a danger in praying without words. The threat of laziness. Especially in a lazy culture where we’re always looking for shortcuts and conveniences rather than depth and meaning. Avoiding words lets me avoid the struggle.

If I don’t have to struggle to find words, then I don’t have to struggle to understand and come to terms with the tragedy that’s hit these two young women. I don’t have to struggle to deal with and work through my anger and confusion. I don’t have to struggle to understand how God can be present in this situation. Without words, prayer can become a time to just sit and wallow in my feelings, in my self, rather than turning to God.

My friend Kyle, who was one of the best pray-ers I’ve ever known, once asked me if I thought it was possible to pray without words. (Posing the question, as usual, before even hinting at his opinion. And, as usual, I responded without stopping to ask or wonder what his opinion might be.) I immediately said yes, but it should be rare so it doesn’t become a cop-out.

Because of the dangers and pitfalls that can occur, Kyle stated very strongly that we should never attempt to pray without words. Such an exercise couldn’t even be labeled prayer.

In response, I cited my first depressive episode. There were times when I was completely mentally unable to string two words together. But I needed to pray. And I did. Without words. And somehow I knew that God heard me.

God sees into the depths our hearts. Even when we do use words, they’re not enough to convey the fullness of our experiences. They’re so inadequate that we need the support of the Son and the Holy Spirit, as they pray to the Father for us (Romans 8:26 and 34). Our words are so inadequate that the Holy Spirit “intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.”

And yet the Bible is full of prayers written out in words. The Psalms contain many examples of working-through prayers. They start out in anguish or fear or anger. But as the prayer continues, it becomes praise to God for who He is and what He’s done. Without the words used in the early part of the psalm, could the writer ever reach the joy or comfort expressed at the end?

Some might argue that using words can be just as shallow as praying without them, and I would agree. Repeating the same phrases without thinking. Simply saying, “Lord, I pray for John,” without mentioning what John needs.

I once sat in a Bible study where the leader asked for prayer requests. We brought up some very specific concerns. Instead of laying each of them before the throne of God, the leader just went down the list name by name, and asked for His will to be done in that person’s life. It felt so empty.

These types of prayers cater to our laziness as much as praying without words does. Words need to be backed by thoughtful awareness, and sometimes even struggles. They need to be spoken (if only in our heads) with the recognition that we are in the presence of the almighty God, the creator of all that exists, the One who is above and beyond all that we can comprehend. A big God who expects and encourages us to go deeper and higher in our communication with Him.

Words are important to God. He created all that exists through words (Genesis 1). The Bible is called His Word (e.g. Matthew 15:6). In John chapter one, Jesus Himself is referred to as the Word. Words aren’t just a human construct that we can dispense with or rise above in our prayers. They relate very intimately to the triune God.

Praying

And so I usually make every effort to put my prayers into words. Sometimes it takes a very great effort. But, as with the psalmist moving from anger and depression and disappointment to joy and praise, it’s well worth the work.

Right now, in this moment, though, I don’t know how to express all the anguish and fear that I feel for Francine’s daughters.

Right now, while the wound is so fresh, I sense that it’s okay to spend a bit of time simply praying without words, letting my grief for those two young people touch the heart of God and leaving the rest up to Him.

Later, I’ll return to the struggle to find the words, because that’s the example God gives us in His Word. But I’ll also trust Jesus and the Holy Spirit to pray more deeply and effectively than anything my puny words can express.

 

 

What Would People Think?

My fear of others’ reactions

I’m getting dressed in the morning, knowing I’ll be going in for my allergy shot this afternoon. It’s late winter/early spring. Still too cool for short sleeves. I’ve got exactly two tops with long sleeves that can be rolled up high enough to expose my shoulder for the shot. I pull one off its hanger, but I know it won’t keep me warm enough by itself.

A few years ago, I bought some cheap undershirts to use in this kind of situation. They do the trick, but I’d be embarrassed if anyone knew I was wearing one of them. I don’t think it’s an acceptable fashion nowadays.

As a nerd, I’ve never been comfortable with this whole idea of style. I’d been ridiculed and deeply shamed a few times in high school when I’d stepped over some invisible line that I didn't even know existed. So I hesitate before putting on an undershirt beneath my long-sleeved top. It might show when the nurse exposes my shoulder to poke me with the needle. Will she laugh at me?

Why would I care if she does?

I don’t want to care. I don’t want someone else’s opinion about something as trivial as the clothes I wear to have any impact on me at all.

The shame of nakedness

And yet we can’t get away from this type of thinking. It started with the Fall and it’s been with us ever since.

When Adam and Eve sinned, one of the first consequences that they experienced was knowing that they were naked, and feeling ashamed. They began to fear that they couldn’t measure up to each others’ expectations. What if the one they loved so dearly saw their flaws and imperfections (or even just their differences) and laughed? Or looked down on them. Or rejected them. That would hurt too much. So they covered themselves.*

The Bible doesn’t say they should have been ashamed, as if their bodies were somehow impure in and of themselves. God created those bodies and pronounced them very good. The author simply states the truth of their brokenness—they were ashamed because they were naked.

And what was God’s response? He rebuked them for disobeying Him, but not for covering themselves. He didn’t try to convince them that their bodies were beautiful and nothing to be ashamed of. He knew that in their fragile fallenness they were incapable of tolerating being naked in front of each other as they went about their everyday tasks. They didn’t have that kind of emotional strength.

They must cover themselves in order to cope with their new reality. God even provided better coverings for them—animal skins instead of fig leaves. (These last three paragraphs refer to Genesis 1 through 3).

My need for a pseudonym

In describing my writing, three words come to mind: authentic, transparent, and vulnerable. And yet I’m using a pseudonym. Doesn’t that sound sort of self-contradictory?

Maybe. But it’s based on a simple fact of life. Like Adam and Eve, we all need some type of covering. I knew from the start that I could not write the way I do if I attached my real name to my book and blog. No matter how hard I might try to be truly authentic, no matter how much I might bravely attempt to accept being naked, I would subconsciously and unintentionally recoil from completely baring myself for total strangers to see. I would be incapable of sharing freely. I had to use a pen name.

I need that kind of covering in order to survive emotionally and psychologically. We cannot be totally, one hundred percent, nakedly honest with each other without facing serious consequences.

Our inner censor

I read several years ago about a study that identified certain regions of the brain that act as mirrors when we’re talking to someone else face-to-face. We were created to automatically, subconsciously reflect the other person’s facial expression, body language, and use of words. In a way, it sounds like we’re being manipulated by our own brains into being inauthentic. Tricked into acting like the other person instead of being ourselves.

But what would happen if we didn’t have this basic mechanism? Would we still have the capacity (or desire) to understand and relate to another human being if we weren’t constantly, irresistibly putting ourselves in their shoes? Could we do anything other than selfishly cling to our own feelings and ideas? Would every attempt to communicate end in anger and frustration? Could we carry on any kind of meaningful conversation at all? Could civilization exist?

What happens when people are able to voice their thoughts openly and “authentically” without activating this inner censor by actually seeing or hearing the other person? We get millions (or is it billions?) of vicious, uncensored online screeds. If we didn’t have this natural bent to mirror each other, to feel in our own bodies what the other person feels, we couldn’t speak the truth with love (Ephesians 4:15).

And how authentic is it really, when I pour out my anger and scorn without concern about how it might hurt someone else? The part of me that cares about others is also an authentic facet of my personality. That’s why I used quotation marks in the paragraph above. There’s something darker behind those screeds than a genuine desire to be real.

The challenge of being honest

At the same time, God calls me to be truthful. How do I obey Him in this area while also protecting myself and others from the damage done by exposing my nakedness?

Maybe it starts with deliberately being honest with God. Confessing my sins. Sharing my doubts and frustrations. Even admitting my anger with Him instead of trying to hide it inside.

Not because He couldn’t see the truth if I didn’t reveal it to Him. But because I need to face that truth myself. And I need to experience the wonder that He knows that truth and still loves me dearly. Once I have this foundation of unconditional love from the One who sees all and knows all, an unconditional love even for ugly naked me, I can start to expose my more difficult truths to those around me.

But I have to be careful. I have to set wise boundaries.

I need to discern who among my friends can bear my nakedness without scorn or disdain or repulsion. (That terrible pain that my fig leaves are designed to protect me from.) Not that they won’t ever rebuke me or question my thinking. But it will be done with gentleness and concern for my spiritual health.

They’ll have to remove their own coverings of pride and judgment in order to minister to my needs. Our relationship will grow deeper as we each peel back some of our layers of clothing. Which means that I’ll have to become someone who can lovingly bear another person’s nakedness, too.

I’ll also have to be discerning about what I share. I’ll need to resist the selfish impulse to pour out my soul without discretion simply for the relief it brings me. One friend might be able to bear a particular truth better than another. Some truths might be best left with God alone.

That doesn’t give me a license to intentionally deceive, though. I’m very upfront with letting my readers know that I’m using a pseudonym. I’m also very careful to be completely, totally, nakedly honest about the thoughts and emotions that I choose to reveal. To protect my identity, I put on certain additional coverings—using fake names for any people that I refer to in my writing and modifying the circumstances that I describe. But the message remains real and true.

Just as we need our clothing to protect us from the shame we feel when others see our imperfect bodies, we also need coverings to protect us from the psychological damage we would sustain if others saw every facet of our personal imperfections or if they exposed all their ugly nakedness to us. We cannot live any other way in this fallen world. But we can be totally nakedly authentic with God. And we can, and should, be taking wise steps toward being more open and authentic with each other.

*My thanks to Jordan Peterson for describing this aspect of Adam and Eve’s reaction in his book, Twelve Rules for Life.