When the Truth is scary

"At that time Herod the tetrarch heard the reports about Jesus, and he said to his attendants, “This is John the Baptist; he has risen from the dead! That is why miraculous powers are at work in him.”
Now Herod had arrested John and bound him and put him in prison because of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, for John had been saying to him: “It is not lawful for you to have her.”  Herod wanted to kill John." Matthew 14: 1-5

Herod was quick to think, after John the Baptist was beheaded, that his spirit came back in Jesus.  Was it because he was afraid?  John the Baptist had a power that Herod would always fear - the Truth.  And Herod could tell lies with his life all he wanted with everyone else's approval, killing the single truth-teller, but he could not kill the truth, and would always fear those who reminded him of it as long as his actions were against it. 

In effect, Herod was right: because Jesus IS the Truth, John the Baptist's spirit of truth was alive in Jesus.  Jesus raised the same unquiet in Herod that he experienced from John the Baptist. 

I just realized that King Henry VIII and Thomas More had a very similar relationship to that of Herod and John the Baptist.  Henry VIII wanted to form the Church of England because the pope would not call it lawful to divorce his wife and marry Anne Boleyn. Thomas More alone refused as a matter of conscience to accept Henry VIII as head of the Church of England, and Henry, too, felt compelled to put him to death for treason. 

What a paradox - that the ones who died in both stories, remaining true to their consciences, had a greater freedom than the ones who lived.  And even though John the Baptist and Thomas More seem to have lost the battle, they were still feared by Herod and Henry VIII ultimately even after death.  What Herod and Henry VIII feared was the truth, because they had chosen against it. 

When I was little (maybe 6), I learned something about lies at a shoe store.  I was wandering around, and saw this shoe sole lying on the floor.  It was kind of interesting and spongy and my first instinct was to put it in my pocket.  I will never forget how judged and incriminated I felt when my "truth teller" - the shoplifting detector in the doorway - went off.  Red with embarrassment, I ran to the aisle and put the shoe sole back where I'd found it.  Afterward, I proudly walked through the silent doorway, feeling free again and so proud to be able to walk through without being beeped at. 

When we are telling a lie - against ourselves, against others, against God - we appear to get everything we want, but we lack peace.  We might be under the illusion that what we hope to gain through the lie is greater than the restless ache.  We start to transfer our lack of peace into criticism and accusation of those whose words or actions are confirming the truth.  The truth begins to be scary, an enemy, it appears be after us.  We find a way to kill the truth-tellers - either bodily or in spirit, to bring about the inner calm we crave.  We want peace, but we also want the thing we gain from the lie.   

Peace comes at a cost, though - and the cost is relinquishing the lie and returning to the truth.  It is always worth it, but one of the greatest struggles to let a lie in our life be transformed, because we have to die some kind of death to what we think we need to achieve it.