In life, some of us more than others, some more than me, do not carefully plan to speak the truth, but rather cannot help but speak what they feel.
And what they feel is always the truth in that it is real, although not always right.
Anyone of us who always insists on being right will not hear those being real and in the end, will be no more successful at being right.
Those speaking what they feel will suffer longer if they cannot in turn allow their feelings to be tempered by what is right. For example, righteous anger can only be righteous for so long, before it becomes hatred. In our feelings, as real as they maybe, we sometimes need to be led by someone who is right. But you can only lead, or be led, when there is mutual respect. And respect usually comes from a deep hearing of another.
As for truth that encompasses realness of feeling and rightness of knowing, it is not abstractly known in our universe but is personally discovered in the One whose feelings are always right and real and words always true.
Which is why we find such a home, such comfort in Jesus, who knows us, hears us, is not afraid of our feelings, is not in need of correcting us, who truly respects us and covers us in righteousness by grace as he leads us into truth.
So as you listen to people today, are they trying to be right or are they just being real? The right ears will help you understand.

It’s hard having a Saviour who remained silent and weaponless even though he knew it would end with nails through his limbs.
Instead of raising his voice and his might in vindication he quietly accepted crucifixion.
Instead of shouting ‘you’re to blame!’ he whisphered ‘Father forgive them’. When he could have denounced them with ‘You are all wrong!’ he excused them with ‘they know not what they do’. Rather than marshalling his forces for a devastating counter attack, he quietly committed his spirit into his Father’s hands. What do you do with a Saviour like that?
Not that I think for a moment that the anguish I’ve experienced or the worthiness of my cause is anything to compare. My anguish and worthiness are nothing. If you think I think I’m somehow Jesus in my own story and others are Judas and Pilate and Pharisees and soldiers, then you don’t know me at all.
The real problem is that we are all so much more these others than we are Jesus. We are all the betrayers, spectators, legislators and perpetrators. It’s when we forget this and place ourselves above another that the crucifying begins.
Still, it may be that we can find some comfort in discovering how Jesus bore his infinetely greater pain while being infinetely more worthy. There truly is some comfort, but mainly a crushing, overwhelming worship when we realise how far removed from his level we really are. In such a place it should be hard to do others harm. Should be.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Jesus’ example is his awareness of other’s suffering in the midst of his own. He was not nurturing his own pain to the exclusion of others nor pretending all was well.
‘John, here is your mother…’ He tends to the wounds of others while no one can tend to his.
He recognised that his suffering would be shared by others but was also humble and selfless enough to want God to work good in it.
And yes, of course, there was resurrection, but I don’t recall an angel flitting down and glibly mentioning this when nails and thorns and spears pierced him. Rather the skies grew suitably and ominously black, divine acknowledgment and truth telling on display. But yes, on another day, resurrection. Bring it on.