Sunday, August 17, 2025 – Jeremiah 23:23-29, Psalm 82, Luke 12:49-56
One mark of maturity is the ability to tell—and to hear—the truth. I’m reminded of that famous line from A Few Good Men when Jack Nicholson’s character yells, “You can’t handle the truth!” The truth can be painful.
Today’s readings invite us into that tension: the challenge and the hope of living truthfully and lovingly in a divided world. These ancient words still speak—not as thunderbolts of condemnation, but as invitations to see again who we are, who God is, and what it means to love with courage.
Take Jeremiah. He stands lonely, misunderstood, and unpopular because he refuses to give false comfort. While others peddle easy assurances, Jeremiah tells the harder truth. Not to wound, but to heal. To be honest when honesty is not welcome is never easy, yet his example reminds us that love and truth cannot be separated. Real love doesn’t turn away from suffering or cover it with pleasant words. It listens, leans in, and even when afraid, speaks truth in love.
Our psalm echoes this:
“How long will you judge unjustly and show favor to the wicked?
Save the weak and the orphan; defend the humble and needy.
Rescue the weak and the poor; deliver them from the power of the wicked.”
That’s a hard truth. And here’s another: When I read that psalm text, I think of Gaza.
Innocent civilians—tens of thousands of women and children—are being slaughtered. Israel’s direct bombings of hospitals and schools, snipers targeting people seeking aid, and the U.S.’s financial and military support for this war are wicked. Wicked.
So too were the October 7 Hamas attacks. As well as decades of occupation, blockades, and killings of peaceful Palestinian protestors. I am no expert, but I know this: what is happening there is genocide. And our tax dollars and military support are making it possible.
Innocent civilians are being punished collectively—a war crime. But around the world, people are beginning to cry out, “No more.”
Sometimes we must draw a firm line in the sand. But on what do we base such conviction? For Christians, the answer must be the way of Jesus, who distilled all the law and prophets into this: Love God, and love your neighbor as yourself.
So, what actions embody love for every person in Israel and Palestine? Surely not more war. To answer, we must be honest but also humble, avoiding self-righteousness and tribal ideology.
This struggle extends far beyond the Middle East. In today’s gospel, Jesus shocks us: “Do you think I have come to bring peace? No, but division!”
Not peace built on silence or denial, but the deeper peace that comes only when truth is faced. Sometimes love means naming what is wrong, even when it causes discomfort. The fire Jesus brings is not destruction, but transformation—burning away lies, fear, and injustice so something truer and more loving can emerge.
Still, how do we know we are speaking truth and not simply wielding judgment?
The psalmist reminds us: truth always sides with love—for the poor, the weak, the suffering. Truth acts, defends, rescues. It is never about being “right,” but about being just, kind, and merciful.
If we’re honest, we know how easy it is to miss this. Our world is full of division—political, religious, personal. We are tempted to dig in, defend our corner, and label others as enemies.
But God’s truth calls us deeper: toward a love that listens, cares, and risks crossing divides to find the image of God in the other.
This is the fruit of mature faith. Paul tells the Ephesians that we must no longer be children, “tossed to and fro by every wind of doctrine,” but instead “speak the truth in love, and grow up in every way into Christ.” When we share painful truths, hard as they are, we grow stronger individually and communally.
None of us gets it right all the time. But by grace, we can keep trying. Can we be like Paul—humble truth-tellers, gentle in love yet courageous in truth? I hope so. Because God’s truth is always for healing, justice, and hope.
And in the end, truth is always measured by love.
