I have always believed that God expects us to be truthful.
That seems simple enough.
But the older I get and the more seriously I try to live my Catholic faith, the less simple I find it to be.
There is telling the truth, and then there is deciding when the truth needs to be told.
Those are not always the same thing.
I am naturally non-confrontational. I keep a relatively small circle of people around me, and because of that, the relationships I do have mean something to me. I don’t particularly enjoy arguments. I don’t enjoy creating tension. And I certainly don’t enjoy losing someone over something that, perhaps, could have simply been left unsaid.
But lately I have wondered:
Is that prudence, or is it cowardice?
If someone misunderstands something, am I obligated to correct them?
If someone says something about me that isn’t entirely accurate, do I defend myself?
If a friend is doing something I believe is wrong, am I obligated to say so?
And perhaps the most uncomfortable question of all:
When I feel compelled to say the difficult thing, is that courage or is it pride?
The Truth Matters
Christianity certainly doesn’t give us permission to become indifferent toward truth.
Christ tells us:
“Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’”
— Matthew 5:37
And St. Paul tells us to speak “the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15).
That last part has become increasingly important to me.
In love.
Because I have encountered people who seem extraordinarily comfortable speaking the truth or at least what they believe to be the truth without giving much consideration to what happens afterward.
They pride themselves on being brutally honest.
They will tell you exactly what they think.
They aren’t afraid of offending anyone.
And sometimes I have admired that quality because I don’t naturally possess it.
But I’ve also begun wondering whether fearlessness in speaking is necessarily a virtue.
A person can speak the truth and still enjoy the feeling of being right.
A person can correct someone and secretly enjoy occupying the higher ground.
A person can defend “truth” while humiliating another person in the process.
At that point, perhaps truth hasn’t changed.
But we have.
Silence Isn’t Automatically Cowardice
For much of my life, I think I have associated confrontation with unnecessary conflict.
Why say something that doesn’t need to be said?
Why risk a friendship over something relatively insignificant?
Why correct every misunderstanding?
Why defend myself against every criticism?
There are times when I have kept something inside rather than respond immediately. Sometimes I needed time to think about it. Sometimes I eventually decided it wasn’t worth responding to at all.
I’ve occasionally wondered whether this was weakness.
Scripture, however, doesn’t seem to treat restraint as weakness.
James tells us:
“Let every man be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.”
— James 1:19
And Proverbs says:
“When words are many, transgression is not lacking, but he who restrains his lips is prudent.”
— Proverbs 10:19
That doesn’t sound like cowardice.
It sounds like discernment.
Perhaps courage isn’t demonstrated by saying everything that could be said.
Sometimes courage may require speaking.
Sometimes it may require remaining silent.
The difficult part is figuring out which one God is asking of me.
But Silence Can Become an Excuse
There is another side to this that I can’t ignore.
I can call my silence “prudence” when what I really mean is:
I don’t want this person to be angry with me.
That’s different.
If I remain silent because I fear losing someone’s approval, then perhaps I need to examine that.
Christ never promised that truth would make us universally popular. In fact, quite the opposite.
There are circumstances where charity may require saying something uncomfortable, particularly when someone we care about is heading toward genuine harm or serious sin.
Jesus Himself gives us a model for correction:
“If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone.”
— Matthew 18:15
I notice something important there.
Christ doesn’t say to embarrass him.
He doesn’t say to announce his fault publicly.
He doesn’t say to prove that you’re right.
He says to go to him alone.
Even correction has dignity built into it.
Maybe the Question Isn’t “Should I Tell the Truth?”
Perhaps I’ve been asking the wrong question.
Maybe the question isn’t:
Do I have the courage to say this?
Maybe I should be asking:
Why do I want to say it?
Do I want to help this person?
Do I want to correct a misunderstanding that genuinely matters?
Am I protecting someone from harm?
Am I defending something that ought to be defended?
Or do I simply want the satisfaction of being understood?
Do I want the last word?
Do I want someone to admit that I was right?
That is where things become uncomfortable for me.
Because pride can disguise itself remarkably well.
It can even disguise itself as courage.
And fear can disguise itself as prudence.
Truth Needs Charity
I don’t believe Catholicism asks us to become people who walk around correcting everyone.
Neither does it ask us to become so afraid of conflict that we never stand for anything.
It asks something considerably harder.
It asks us to become discerning.
Before speaking, perhaps I need to ask myself:
Is it true?
Is it necessary?
Is it charitable?
And am I saying it for this person’s good or for my own satisfaction?
There may be times when speaking costs me something.
There may even be times when speaking the truth costs me a friendship.
If conscience and genuine charity demand it, perhaps that is a price I have to accept.
But I don’t believe God asks me to manufacture those sacrifices unnecessarily.
Not every misunderstanding needs correction.
Not every criticism needs a defense.
Not every disagreement requires a response.
And not every truth entrusted to my understanding needs to come out of my mouth.
Sometimes courage speaks.
Sometimes humility remains silent.
Perhaps wisdom is learning the difference.
And lately, I find myself praying more often for exactly that.
Lord, give me the courage to speak when truth and charity require it. Give me the humility to remain silent when my pride simply wants to be heard. And give me the wisdom to know the difference.
