Valson Thampu

Christians are supposed to attach great store by truth. Jesus said, ‘The truth will set you free.’ But, does that mean that we tell the truth, or want to, or are free to? Do you really believe it is smart or safe to tell the truth?
Shall we begin truth-telling by admitting that it is not true human beings wish to tell the truth? It is a pleasant piece of fiction that we are want to. In that case, don’t we lie when we say that we are for truth? Are we free to be truthful enough to say that we do not want to be truthful? Don’t agree? Well, consider the following-
In theory, you and I want to be, being Christian, unwaveringly truthful. Didn’t Jesus say he was ‘the truth’? (Jn.14:6) Are we not his followers? If we are, are we not mandated to be like him? But what is the truth-content of our lives? I don’t know about others. I know myself. It is pretty pathetic. At times, it sickens me. Not that I don’t try! I do. But when I do, and try hard at it, I get a jolt. I realize that I am going against the grain of my nature. That I really don’t care for truth as much as I thought I did.
Now you see? This is where truth-telling gets you! The truth about us is not always goody-goody stuff. Truth has a queer of making you testify against yourself.
Now consider this truth as well; for this really is true. Human beings entertain desires they don’t really care for. Don’t believe it? Well, consider again. It is assumed that everyone wants to go to heaven. That we long to attain eternal life. Really? Again, I don’t wish to cast any slur on anyone. I speak for myself. I am not sure that I have a good enough idea of heaven or eternal life. Do you? How can you desire absolutely what you don’t know?
The biblical material on heaven and eternal life is scanty. This, I know, is not what a Christian is supposed to say in public. All the same, is it wrong to be truthful about one’s difficulties with heaven? Ask yourself: are you really desire eternal life? If the option is given to you now to attain it right away, what will you do? Cut a caper for joy? Or, panic? I recall Jonathan Swift’s apprehensions about immortality. His Struldbruggs, in Gulliver’s Travels (1725), groan under its weight. They long to be rid of it. Their plight reminds us of William Blake’s words that death is the mercy of eternity to time.
Or, consider our own experience. Recall your days in school and college. You thought you wanted to excel. But did you? If you really did, what prevented you from working for it? You thought you wanted to excel because everybody else wanted you to. Or, everybody in your world thought they wanted to excel. You didn’t want to be different. So, you made yourself believe that you too wanted to excel. Well, you didn’t? Good for you. I, poor me, did.

Modi too is human. He is like all of us,
though he is obliged to pretend that he isn’t.
It is not inappropriate to classify his
statements with the ‘not-to-be-fulfilled’
desires human beings entertain.
At the time of making these statements,
he might have been as serious and
sincere about them as we are about
wanting to inherit eternal life, or
to be Christ-like, complete with his Cross.

I am reminded of a young lad, listening intently to a preacher, who was urging his audience to give their life to Jesus. The revivalist took an autobiographical turn, and narrated how the moment came in his life to surrender himself to Jesus. The young lad could barely wait for the sermon to be over. He rushed to the preacher and asked him, ‘Sir, how old were you when you gave your life to Jesus?’ ‘Twenty,’ replied the preacher. ‘Thank God,’ the boy said, ‘I have seven years left!’
As a people of faith, we are also required to attach our hearts to eternal life. Most people are in love with eternal life, because they are terrified of death. The thought that there is afterlife takes away ‘the sting’ of death. This stands to logic. Death is the bridge to eternity. No one enters eternal life except through death. As Marjorie Nicholson, an English literary critic said, if death weren’t such a terrifying riddle, there would have been no religion. I am not saying that you, reader, should agree with Marjorie. Think for yourself. Come to your own conclusions; if possible, in truth.
In the run-up to the 2014 general elections in India, Narendra Modi, who was the BJP Prime Ministerial candidate, listed many things he was desperately keen to do. Borrowing from Henry David Thoreau, he promised, ‘Minimum government, maximum governance’. He would make every Indian richer by Rs. 15 lakhs (US. $ 20000 approx.). He forgot both.
Many think that he was lying to cozen the electorate. I don’t agree. Modi too is human. He is like all of us, though he is obliged to pretend that he isn’t. It is not inappropriate to classify his statements with the ‘not-to-be-fulfilled’ desires human beings entertain. At the time of making these statements, he might have been as serious and sincere about them as we are about wanting to inherit eternal life, or to be Christ-like, complete with his Cross.
This puzzles me no end. Why should I play fast and loose with myself? Why can’t I be free enough to be true to myself? I bore the cross of this perplexity through the three decades that was a priest. I took my priesthood seriously; too seriously, as two of my bishops used to admonish me. One of them hurled a copy of the Constitution of the Church of North India at me and shouted, ‘I have to run the church by that book’. I began to respect him. At least he was truthful about it. But my perplexities remained. Is Jesus Christ truly my role-model? How far will I dare to go in following him? Will by faith endure up to the Cross?
The nine years I was the principal of St. Stephen’s College, Delhi, were the most excruciating, and the most fulfilling, period in my life. I tried to bring my stewardship of the institution into consonance with the teachings of Jesus Christ; especially in exercising a preferential option for the poor. I found myself in a hell-on-earth. I longed to live in peace. I didn’t enjoy being hated and targeted day in and day out. But I was a priest before I became principal. I didn’t want to doff my priesthood for donning principal-ship. ‘You will ruin the college and yourself, some of my well-wishers warned me, if you administer like a priest.’
True? Well, I don’t know. All I know is that I survived to tell the tale. But I was broken in my body, bruised in my soul. But, mystery of mysteries, I was also happy in a strange and profound sort of way. Happy for what? Well, happy I could try to be true to myself, even if, in the process, a thousand questions shrieked at me from within myself.
Is it possible to be a Christian in this world? Well, what do you think? I wait to hear from you on this.