grace and lies

A character from Albert Camus’ novel, The Stranger, recently called my attention to a significant problem in my life: dishonesty. I had to read the book for one of my French courses here, and as we discussed the main character, Meursault (pronounced Mer-sew, not Mer-salt), I was struck with the realization that I am not a very truthful person.

In the novel, it is Meursault’s inability to tell a lie that sets him apart from everyone else, and eventually leads to his death. Meursault feels no need to color the truth to his own advantage, nor to tell people what they want to hear. He says exactly what he thinks, and tries as best as he can to portray things as they really are. One side effect of this commitment to truthfulness is that he doesn’t talk very much.

As I followed this character through the storyline of the novel, I came to the realization that I am not at all like Meursault. I do have a tendency to color the truth to my own advantage, and my interactions with others are often influenced by what I think they may be expecting of me. I also tend to talk way too much. I have started to pay more attention to my words, and have been surprised at the number of times that I have said things that didn’t really reflect what I genuinely thought or felt.

Interestingly, one reason why Meursault is so free to speak the truth is because he is entirely indifferent to the opinions and feelings of others. He is a very isolated person who has no real concern for his fellow man beyond what they might contribute to his own temporal happiness.

In comparison, I tend to be very concerned about the opinions and feelings of others, which is one reason why I am often tempted to slant the truth. I can excuse myself for this slanting by thinking that what I am really doing is giving grace. In other words, I am usually quite anxious to encourage and build others up (my real motives for this will probably be the subject of another entry). I often look to construct relationships and establish stronger connections with those who cross my path regularly (again there are motive issues here, but I'll explore those at another time). I may consciously or subconsciously console myself with the thought that my intentions are genuine, even if the means may be a bit shady. After all, what is wrong with wanting to make people feel better or wanting to open relational doors wider?

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the midst of a relational conflict with a husband and wife from our church here in France. They are a couple that Annie and I have spent a significant amount of time with, even though they are very different from ourselves, and even though the relationship is sometimes uncomfortable. One afternoon, I was on the phone with the husband and the conversation was not going well. At one point, I heard myself expressing the desire for authentic friendship with him and his wife. The moment the words came out of my mouth, I knew that they were not true. My wife, Annie, heard the statement that I made, and she knew that the words were not true. I imagine that the man to whom I spoke the words knew that they were not true. So, why did I make that statement?

Twisted though it may seem, in my desire to “give grace” to this person, to mend the relationship, to keep him from sliding further away from the Lord than he already has, I made a statement that was intended to encourage and perhaps supply a way forward. The problem was that the statement was simply not rooted in truth. Though I do want to see this person grow in the Lord, and though I am willing to partner with him in various ways toward that end, I honestly do not find any evidence of a genuine desire for friendship with this person in my heart. What is really warped is the idea that I could possibly contribute to someone’s spiritual growth by lying to them. And yet, if I took some time to reflect on it, I imagine I could come up with a sizeable list of encounters in which I attempted to do just that: to give someone grace by lying to them.

As I reread the line that I just wrote, the thought strikes me as simply absurd. And yet, I know that I have done this numerous times in the past.

In the novel that I mentioned above, Meursault was described as someone who understood the value of words. He chose his words carefully, and this was disconcerting for many around him who were accustomed to careless and even untruthful speech. Though I don’t want to be indifferent like Meursault, I do want to be someone who understands the value, I might even say the power of words.

This entry is already getting long, so I need to reserve that topic (the power of words) for another day. But I will close with this simple thought: the nearer I draw to my Lord, the Word of God spoken to mankind with grace and truth, the more I will come to value timely and truthful words. As Jesus is formed in me, I believe I will naturally speak less and listen more. I will weigh my words, and wonder before I speak if there is something the Lord would have me say. As a statement is being formed in my mind, I will ask myself whether this statement is rooted in truth or falsehood.

And as the Lord accomplishes this transforming work in me, my hope is that I will become more like the prophet Samuel. 1 Samuel 3:19 says, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” May the Lord be with me in such a way, and with you, my friend. And may we be men and women whose words do not fall to the ground.