Once you know the truth you can stomach all sorts of lies.

It’s what gives us patience with the sticky-fingered four year old who swears up and down he hasn’t taken a sweet before dinner.
It’s what helps us write off the 10-spot we just gave the homeless person who promises he will pay us back next week.
And it’s why we root for the Lions but bet on the Bears.

Once you know the truth you can stomach all sorts of lies.

The inherent problem, of course, is recognizing the truth-
We are such doubters-
-and our biggest accuser stares out at us, with groggy eyes, every morning in the mirror.
“Does he still love me?” asks the worried wife of 30 years when her husband goes through one of his typical phases of spousal inattention.

“Could it be the big C?” we ask ourselves as we probe the small, sub dermal lump beneath the dripping shower head. Most lumps are benign, and this one probably is too, but we veil the truths of probability and statistics behind illogical clouds of festering doubt that keep us from keeping our heads.

We need truth.
We need to be reminded.
We need to jog our memories.
We need to beat ourselves over our heads with it.

For once you know the truth you can stomach all sorts of lies.

The big hullabaloo on Mt. Hermon, as it is known today in modern Syria-
-was just that sort of event.
The Transfiguration (this Sunday’s gospel reading) was stark truth.
It was awesome. It was astounding. It was unveiled, unadulterated, and absolutely terrifying.
It was staged for those closest to Jesus and meant to show them the truth.
Because in the days ahead they would be beating back all sorts of lies.

How do we understand this truth?
How might we begin to shun the lies?
How can we walk more intentionally in truth?