Then we will no longer be like children, tossed around here and there upon ocean waves, picked up by every gust of religious teaching spoken by liars or swindlers or deceivers. Instead, by truth spoken in love, we are to grow in every way into Him—the Anointed One, the head. He joins and holds together the whole body with its ligaments providing the support needed so each part works to its proper design to form a healthy, growing, and mature body that builds itself up in love.
—Ephesians 4:14-16 (The Voice)
Back in my college years, I spent many summer days installing eavestroughs. Working from the roof, my partner and I would start in on the noisy work of hammering off the old paint-peeling galvanized metal to make way for the new, baked-on-enamel steel rolling off the machine at the back of our truck. On more than one occasion, the clatter would bring a child out of his or her home to ask us what we were doing. With a gleam in his eye, my partner would invariably respond, “Your house is broken, we’re taking it apart so that we can bring it into the shop for repairs.” I clearly remember one panic-stricken youngster’s fearful reaction: “But where will I live?!”
While moments like this brought some levity to our otherwise monotonous days, something in my heart could not let these children persist in their anxiety for very long. My partner always teased me about how quickly I cracked, as I rushed to assure them that their house was not going anywhere, and we were just doing some small restorations around the edges.
There is something both beautiful and fearful about the trustfulness of a child. We would be very different creatures if such trust were not our starting place. But because this trust can be abused, we learn as we grow older that we can’t believe everything we hear, and that we need to develop and practice the art of discernment. We call “gullible” those adults who seem to have failed to learn this lesson, and “suspicious” those who have learned it all too well.
It seems to me that Paul wanted to help the church in Ephesus chart a course between these two extremes. As an educator, I find it intriguing, and not a little terrifying, that in so doing he warns these parishioners against being seduced or misled—literally being “wave tossed” or “wind blown”—by the “religious teaching” or “doctrine” (didaskalia) put forth by deceitful schemers. Even otherwise authoritative teaching, it seems, can be put to destructive purposes if it is not spoken in love.
But there’s the rub: what does it mean to speak the truth in love? How do we know that we are doing so? What does “in love” add to “speaking the truth”? When I told that little kid that her house wasn’t going anywhere, was I doing anything more than simply correcting factually inaccurate information? I like to think so. I was also trying to assure her and thereby hoping to relieve her anxiety. My heart went out to her the moment I saw the fear well up in her eyes, and I listened to my heart by responding as I did.
By “speaking the truth in love,” Paul says, we grow “in every way” into the shalom of our Messiah, our Pathfinder who encourages us to follow him and comes to our aid when we falter. When we follow Christ’s example, we contribute to the vitality of a body that is built up in love. We know we are speaking the truth in love, then, when we see our teaching edify the students in our charge, when we offer them and help them assume a confident basis from which to make their own unique contribution to our shared life on this healing path.
Alas, there is no formula, rule, algorithm, or GPS that will guarantee in advance that we will always speak the truth in love. It’s more of an art than a science. What we can be assured of, however, is that there will be signs along the way to tell us how we are doing, and the perduring presence of the Holy Spirit to infuse in us the desire to make whole what has been shattered, to bring peace where there is fear and anxiety, and to create a world where the human instinct to trust one another is affirmed rather than abused.
Shalom friends,
Ron Kuipers
