Is There More Than One Truth?

Ever have a phrase show up in pop culture and automatically develop disdain for it? Like, it’s hard to keep a straight face in a conversation when someone uses it? Sometimes it’s the phrase itself. “Let’s unpack that.” “Personal Journey.” “Future Proofing.” Other times, it’s how these trendy phrases get adopted and overused to the point that they make your ears bleed just hearing them. “Unprecedented.” “Literally.” “Six Seven…”

There’s a phrase I’ve struggled with a lot over the last few years: your truth. Now, before you either cheer or jeer me, let me explain. At first, the idea of “your truth” felt like an oxymoron. Truth, by definition, seems like it should be objective and free from interpretation. But the deeper we go into human history, the more I find the issue is often your proximity to or context with that truth, which is really the issue.

In therapy, the term “your truth” often refers to your personal experience in a situation. It is centered on your point of view. In religious circles, your truth might be closely related to the term “testimony.” This is my story. My father-in-law, who’s been a pastor for 50 years, says the amazing thing about testimony is that no one can take it from you. It’s your experience. I overcame cancer, battled insignificance, and achieved financial stability. It’s your truth.

In the ancient scriptures, near the end of the Gospel of John, there’s a collision between the spiritual and political worlds. Jesus is on trial, and Pilate is desperately trying to make sense of the man who has turned Jerusalem upside down. Finally, Jesus responds to the inquisition by saying, “Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.” Pilate retorts, “What is truth?” Is it Jewish truth? Roman truth? Truth that is politically expedient? Truth that is spiritually enlightening? Truth that is morally comforting? Truth that is simply consistent with the evidence we have so far?

Before Galileo (and even after for some), our truth was: the world is flat. We arrived at that truth by the limited evidence we had at the time. The world was flat, and we were the center of God’s known universe.  It turned out, however, that we weren’t even the center of our neighborhood solar system. Our truth changed based on what we now know.

But what happens when someone’s truth is not your truth?

When I grew up, I had no real context for homosexuality. I wasn’t gay. We didn’t talk about being gay, unless it was a crass joke or a put-down. And none of my friends were gay, as far as I knew. So it wasn’t part of my truth. Then two things happened. First, my world got bigger. I traveled to many more places and met more people. I discovered that a number of close friends and associates were, in fact, gay. Second, through the practice of Christianity, my heart and mind became not only more accepting in a generic sense but also motivated to intentionally love and actively support others. The natural byproduct of living out this faith broadened my world.

So, had there been homosexuality all along? Yes. Did these friends and associates only “turn gay” when I became aware of it? No. But my context to that truth changed…and so did my truth. The Earth was no longer flat.

This “context-to-truth” nearly killed us as a nation during the pandemic. If your context involved being on the front lines, where over a million Americans died, or watching someone loved die, or suffering from Long Covid yourself, your truth was not surprisingly shaken by the idea of reopening the nation “too quickly.” On the other hand, if you were facing the loss of a business, having to lay off employees, or the loss of your livelihood, you couldn’t reopen fast enough. Context played a major role in shaping our truth (and, consequently, which facts we let in to support that truth).

We can quickly see that just because a truth isn’t your truth doesn’t mean we can dismiss it out of hand. Or just because it’s not your context doesn’t mean it isn’t real. My fourteen-year-old has virtually no context for what it means to be married, to have a family you're responsible for, to “work for a living,” to load a dishwasher properly, or to have a body that doesn't cooperate with you. So her truth is that I am an idiot most days when I try to offer my context to her school crisis, teen anxiety, or lust for freedom. That being what it is, I’m still pretty sure my truth and context have merit.

In the same way, I have lived my entire life in America. This is my tribe. My origin story. I distinctly remember being my daughter’s age, waiting for my mom to drive me somewhere, when I had the conscious thought, sitting in our full-size Chevy van: I’m male. I’m white and middle-class. And I’m Catholic… just like JFK (which is ironic since we were staunch Republicans)…I’ve got a lot going for me in this world. That was my truth. The context I didn’t have is what it’s like to be born into devastating poverty in another country, in a system that isn’t going to get better, and where the only hope is to leave. At that moment, even though the sign on America says, “There’s no room in the inn,” I might choose to risk it like others over starvation or being murdered.

It may surprise you, but the majority of my friends are rednecks. I myself am only one generation removed from East Coast Florida Rednecks… which is a whole special breed. I don’t own a gun, but most of my friends do. I don’t own a truck, but they do. I don’t chew, dip, or spit, but they do. We don’t agree on politics, music, or what beer to drink, but if I picked up a phone right now, any one of them would be at my house in under thirty minutes to help me. We love and respect each other.

We live in Oklahoma, and to many of us, that’s a beautiful thing. It shapes our truth. But should we feel less American because we don’t live on one of the coasts or have a larger population? Are we less than, simply because we are not a majority? Does New York’s truth outweigh ours because they are bigger than us? Are California’s values more important than ours because its economy is larger? Do the sacrifices of our service men and women mean less than those of Texas because they enlist more? And yet when we dismiss someone else’s experience or truth because it’s not our own, aren't we implying that their civil rights, human rights, votes, quality of life, or income are not as important as ours? No one wants to be dismissed or disregarded.

Objective truth is a powerful thing. In a spiritual context, it is that truth that invites me - even challenges me - to change, to confront what is uncomfortable, to evolve beyond my own comfort, and to consider others. It is also the truth that allows me the freedom to consider other people’s experiences.

So, just because a truth, experience, or context isn’t our own doesn’t mean it’s not real. It simply means you haven’t experienced it personally. You can still offer respect, equal footing, and space. That is (as we profess) the American way.

Thanks for showing up for another month. I love talking with you… all of you. Until next month, there is so much good to be done out there; let’s go do it.