We talk about the pursuit of Truth, of Veritas. When will we admit that Truth rarely comes dressed for dinner parties? It does not arrive ribbon-tied, polished, or polite. Think instead of Jesus on the cross: disfigured, broken, utterly human. Not a sight we would post on our Instagram feed or even on Facebook. And yet this is the greatest Truth of all.
The truth about a person is just as raw. To love is to love, not to curate, edit, or demand. Mel Robbins says it plainly enough: it’s not our job to change someone else. Every person carries ways of being that resonate with us and ways that jar against our sensibilities. Maybe the holier practice is not in reshaping others but in learning to sit with the jarring. Because running off to complain and demanding someone change? That doesn’t transform them, it simply breeds falseness. And falseness is a thin disguise that always wears through.
Jesus warned: take the plank out of your own eye first. Not a metaphor reserved for ‘those other people.’ He meant me. He meant you. We all drag around planks of our own: blind to their weight, yet others can see them clearly. Are we prepared to let Truth confront us? To be humbled by what it reveals? It hurts. But humility grows there, and humility – real humility – is aspirational, a trait worth pursuing with every fibre of our being.
Truth matters and is grounded in fact. Vanity does not and it crumbles under the weight of the cross. Truth endures, scars and all. Truth emerges from our brokenness. Truth is reflected in what we do SO much more than what we say. So ACT for Truth. And leave your fragile hang-ups at home.
As a friend once said, with more wisdom than I can muster:
It is a sad fact that the populous today try to make themselves look good by making other people look bad. They do not achieve anything themselves just mince around in their entitled angry little bubble. Trying to knock down everyone who achieves more than them, which is pretty much ‘everyone’. There is no sense of honour or majesty in those people, they wander around with superior self-importance while their soul shuffles around like a diseased rat.
Truth.
The Female Theologian 