Truth statements tend to be a dangerous way to start a blog, but here you go: We all believe in truth.  The post-modern world has tried to destroy our belief in truth.  Yet, even the post-modern dictum “Truth is relative” is a truth statement about the relativity of truth.  Try as we might, we can’t get away from truth.

Voltaire spoke one of the great truth statements of the modern era: “Think for yourself and let others enjoy the privilege of doing so too.”  Part of me really likes this statement.  I don’t want to be forced to think a certain way; I’d rather the freedom of choice to think what I want.  Yet, I’m also uncomfortable with the statement for two reasons. First, thinking is never done in isolation, but in community.  We are always taught by others how and what to think.  Event the statement, “Think for yourself” must be taught.  Second, the problem of truth: The statement “Think for yourself” implies that truth resides somewhere deep inside each of us, and if one can just reach down deep enough to pull out that “truth” one will then find one’s true self.   Voltaire’s ending “and let others enjoy the privilege of doing so too” sounds nice and liberal, but a bit naïve.  What happens when the “truth” I find deep inside of myself conflicts with the “truth” you found deep inside of yourself?  Whatever age we are living in (is it modern, post-modern, or post-post-modern?!?) human history shows we will resort to accusation, scapegoating, and violence. 

René Girard has highlighted throughout his career that humans mimic desires, including the desire to grasp at truth. I find Girard’s work liberating.  His work on mimetic theory has helped me understand that “truth” does not exist somewhere deep down inside of me.  Rather, truth is relational.  We don’t exist independently; rather Girard persuasively argues we exist “inter-dividually.”  Yes, I have a relationship with myself, but that truth can never be understood apart from my relationship with my wife, children, friends, co-workers, neighbors, and the stranger on the street. 

Girard’s anthropological work has also enhanced my understanding of Scripture.  For example, I used to be troubled by the truth statement Jesus makes in John 14:6: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.”  A few years ago, I would deal with such statements in a Jesus Seminar type fashion: “Surely, this is a black bead quote.  Jesus never would have said this about himself!”

I’m no longer concerned about the color of beads.  Whether or not Jesus made the statement or people a generation or two later attributed it to Jesus no longer matters to me.  The truth statement was important for the people who wrote it.  Why?  Because it meant they didn’t possess the truth.  They believed Jesus was and is the way, the truth, and the life.  John wasn’t.  Peter wasn’t.  Mary wasn’t.  Martha wasn’t.  Paul wasn't.  No, they believed the truth was not to be found somewhere deep inside themselves, but in a relationship with Jesus and in community with others.  Truth is found "interdividually," as Girard would put it.

I have also come to appreciate the ending of John 14:6, that no one comes to the Father except through Jesus.  That statement no longer bothers me, because I’ve realized that, like humans, verses don’t exist individually, but inter-dividually. For example, Jesus makes a truth statement a few verses earlier, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places” (John 14:2).  Both statements must be interpreted inter-dependently with other passages.  For another example, in John 10:16 Jesus makes another truth statement, “I have sheep that do not belong to this fold.  I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice.”  

Now those truth statements make me angry.  I would rather believe there is only one dwelling place for me along with those who believe in truth, goodness, beauty, and God the same way I do.  All other sheep should be excluded!  Despite what I want to be the truth, Jesus reveals that truth comes to us in the form of all-embracing Love.  It’s a vulnerable Love because it communes and seeks to help those who are often scapegoated: the broken, poor, sick, hungry, thirsty, and those in prison.  It's a Love that does not exclude, but graciously embraces even those we call our enemies.  It's a love that confronts the violence and oppression in our world, yet refuses to respond with violence and oppression.  It's a vulnerable Love that becomes the human Scapegoat. 

Therein lies the danger of God's truth: It's not something to grasp at, but is a relationship to be offered in the vulnerable Spirit of Love.  It’s hard for me to believe in that God; a God who becomes the human Scapegoat.  Frankly, I don’t want a vulnerable God that we can scapegoat; I want a tattooed, butt kicking God who is out to get the bad guys.  That’s the truth I want.  That's the God I want to follow.  And yet, there’s Jesus, whose truth is revealed in a vulnerable love that includes all and asks his followers to do the same.  Fortunately, the truth of God does not reside in me and my desire to grasp the truth, but in Jesus the Scapegoat who is the truth of God's relational Love that does not respond to violence with revenge, but with forgiveness and peace.  Indeed, his Father’s house has many rooms that are graciously open to all.  That radically inclusive Love and Grace is the way, the truth, and the life.  For that, I am thankful.