And so autumn parachutes into Texas with all the confused timing of a stand-up comic at a funeral. An unseasonably warm autumnal equinox in Texas will peak at 90 degrees today. Year after year, this nation continues to defy all climatological norms. It is the drunken dinner guest at the dinner table of God’s seasonal calendar. And it’s slurring its way through an emotional speech. Get a refill; this might ramble for a while.
Like Autumn in Texas
I was thinking about how 90 degree weather in autumn in the fall is a lie and that brought to mind that verse in Ephesians 4, verse 25, where Paul says, “Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.” In literary context, he’s talking to Christians. He’s saying, in light of who Jesus is and what he has done for you, 1.) put away falsehood 2.) speak the truth.
The rational is relational. Put away falsehood and tell the truth because Christians are a part of each other. The Church is the body of Christ (see all of Ephesians:chapter 4). Just as the hand is apart of the foot by virtue of being in one body, so Christians are a part of each other by virtue of being in Christ.
What does this have to do with autumn putting on a sweating face and pretending to be summer? This verse is more than a condemnation of lying. Falsehood is the Greek word pseûdos from which we get the English word “pseudo”, meaning not genuine; pretended. It’s a broad term describing anything that is not what it seems to be.
Make-Believe. It Hurt Less.
This is one of the hardest things for me. I’ve never been blessed with social graces. It’s not because I don’t understand the social expectation to chitchat and to be superficial for the sake of polite custom. It’s just that I don’t have the patience for it. As T.S. Eliot wrote, “Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand”. Superficiality can be an sweet expression of falsehood.
And here’s where I play the sinner’s role to the hilt. Someone asks me, “How are you?” What do I reply? Like everyone in America who doesn’t want to engage deeply with another human soul, I reply, “I’m fine.” It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to talk to that person or that I don’t love that person or am trying to give them the run-around. But it’s disingenuous like this sweltering start of autumn.
But you do it too, dear friends. Each of us is just as aloof and noncommittal when it comes to extending our souls on weak and treacherous words. It’s the requirement of vulnerability. And if there’s one thing my fellow clay pots and I don’t like, it’s vulnerability. There’s always than danger you might shatter alive and watch pieces of the truth you are spin away like shards into the world.
I’m not suggesting we throw our dark agonies upon the barista when she asks how the day is going. It might kill her. I’m merely pointing the finger at myself and letting you see it. Perhaps, when those who a part of ourselves ask a question, we put away falsehood and speak the truth to them. God help us. Fear leans in when truth tries to fly.
