“A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.”
—Alfred Tennyson
A friend of mine once said, “The greatest thing about the Bible is that it doesn’t hide the sins of its heroes.”
And in a way, I suppose that’s true. Those unsavory details give the Scriptures a certain credibility. If the Bible were a work of fiction about the God of morality, it would probably feature characters who looked more like Hallmark angels than actual human beings.
Instead, the Bible tells inconvenient, compromising, even damning truths about the people God uses. If you were trying to create a compelling record of a perfect and all-powerful God teaching people to become like him, it would be tempting to stack the deck in your favor—to chisel your heroes out of porcelain instead of flesh. It would certainly make them more appealing to the critical reader.
But then it wouldn’t be true. And regardless of how good a lie tastes, it can never become truth.
On one hand, telling the truth about sin is admirable. It takes humility—and sometimes straight-up courage—to admit when we are wrong. But there should be more to our truth-telling than simply admitting what is broken.
If my only confession is “I’m a sinner,” then the eternal pen of heaven still waits for the greater confession: “Jesus is Lord.”
The truth is that we are broken. But that is not the whole truth.
I remember when No Country for Old Men came out. There was so much hype, so much buzz, so many accolades. But the story was bleak and discouraging. The bad guy wins.
Someone asked me what I thought of the movie, and I told him I hated it. “Why?” he asked. “That’s real life.”
Again, I suppose that’s true. Sometimes bad guys win. People sin. Good people sin. Even God’s people sin and sometimes do terrible things.
And that’s true. But it’s not the whole truth.
When I was ten years old, I watched a TV show I shouldn’t have simply because I wanted to. I think someone was murdered or something. When my mom asked me why I watched it, I gave her a clever response:
“Philippians 4:8 says we should think about things that are true.”
It was a half-truth—or maybe an eighth-truth—and I knew it.
She made me write that verse one hundred times so I would remember that I should also focus on things that are honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise.
Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like modern storytelling has become a little like my ten-year-old self. We tend to obsess over tainted heroes and antiheroes. We’re left with stories that highlight brokenness while forgetting that redemption exists.
At the same time, we have stories that try to convince us the villains are actually the heroes after all.
But a story—or a million stories—where sin, failure, and fatal flaws are the only truths we tell is just as incomplete as pretending sin doesn’t exist.
Because half-truths are still lies.
Isn’t that Satan’s original weapon? Wasn’t that old serpent the best at telling Tennyson’s darkest lie?
Enough truth to catch your attention. Enough truth to make you question. Enough truth to make you relate. But never the whole truth.
That’s what the serpent offered Eve in the garden, and that’s what he offered Jesus in the wilderness. The devil used half-truths, but Jesus responded with something simple: the whole truth.
Half-truths are tempting. The truth—the whole truth—is liberating.
“The truth shall set you free.”
I love the story of Heidi. A grumpy mountain hermit who hates his neighbors has the role of grandfather thrust upon him, and he isn’t very good at it. At least, not at first.
But then a little girl enters his life with kindness, sincerity, and a simple love for him and others. Heidi’s tenderness becomes a medicine that heals her grandfather’s heart and brings him back into his community. Her warm love unfurls her grandfather’s cold and closed heart, the way the sun persuades us to shed our coat and sweater.
We need stories that tell the truth about the grumpy mountain hermit. But we also need stories that tell the truth about the love of Heidi.
Because yes, we sin. But the whole truth is that despite our worst failures, God works wonders. He brings beauty out of brokenness. He creates miracles in the middle of our messes.
I think the greatest thing about the Bible is not just that it tells the truth about its heroes’ failures. It tells the whole truth. It tells us that God heals. God saves. God restores.
So, storytellers, writers, poets, parents, preachers, and pastors—tell the truth about sin. Tell the truth about the hard and unpalatable things. Tell the truth about brokenness. But please, don’t stop there. Tell the whole truth.
If I speak of the things that need redeeming, then I have a duty to speak of the Redeemer. So go, tell the truth about the only God who restores what is broken.
***
Blades of Eternity and the Curse of the Black Saber, by Zach Fox, is the second book in the Blades of Eternity series. Young readers will encounter page-turning adventure as they explore the values of mercy, humility, and forgiveness.
With the Keeper of Peace successfully snatched from the clutches of Aegis, the King of Winter, Mel, the Prince of Summer, is left to count the cost. Mourning the death of his trusted companion, Brutus, and unaware of the fate that has befallen his dear friend, Vashti, Mel ignores his father’s counsel and steals away on a secret mission back to Winter.
Mel, along with Princess Adelaide and her faithful friends Huk and Yogi, make the perilous trek to Winter where shocking truths are revealed. Could Brutus still be alive? Will Mel be reunited with Vashti? Can Aegis’s plan to destroy the Realm be stopped?
Learn more about the book and how to purchase here.
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