Abstract
‘Don’t give me the whole truth’, asks the poet:
Don’t give me the whole truth
Don’t give me the sea for my thirst,
Don’t give me the sky when I ask for light,
But give me a glint, a dewy wisp, a mote
As the birds bear water-drops from their bathing
And the wind a grain of salt 1
The poet is a Norwegian, Olav Hauge, who lived a very simple life in the town of Ulvik on one of the Norwegian fjords.
Set in three acres of ground, his house furnished by handmade tables and chairs, Hauge lived on the proceeds of his apple trees.
A learned, humble and somewhat reclusive man, like so much of his native Norwegian landscape, there is a wild beauty and occasional bleakness to Hauge’s poetry, an earthiness shaped by the wind and hills and seas and birds.
There is also wisdom, a wisdom that doubtless emerged from time spent alone with the natural word as company, a wisdom that led him to discern the easy answers to life’s many questions and challenges are never the ones worth having.
Don’t Give Me the Whole Truth Hauge asks, and implicit in his request is the profound insight that it would be too much for him to know everything and to understand everything.
Hauge was content such knowledge and such understanding belong to God and God alone.
So, instead of asking for the whole truth, Hauge prays he will be given in life enough to keep him living hopefully and well.
Hauge doesn’t want the whole sea for his thirst, or the whole sky when he asks for light; that would be too much for him to bear.
Instead like the bird which will carry off a few drops of water from the stream, or the wind which will pick up a grain of sand from the beach, Hauge asks for no-more than a glint, a dewy wisp, a mote, enough to feed him on his journey of faith and life, enough to give him strength and courage. . .and no more.
And what was it Jesus taught his disciples to pray?
Didn’t he teach them to pray for their daily bread, that is, enough to feed them for their journey of faith and life, enough to give them strength and courage, enough to enable them to live hopefully and bravely and well. . .and no more.
“Don’t give me the whole truth. . .”.
One of the threads running through the Bible is the constant reminder that God’s ways are always much greater and higher than ours.
From the Psalmist reminding ordinary mortals of their limitations to Jesus teaching his disciples that it was not for them to know the day or the hour, the Bible is full of constant reminders of the limitations of human knowledge, wisdom and insight.
Yet despite the wisdom of the ages so beautifully expressed by the Apostle Paul that at best ‘we know in part and prophesy in part’, we live in a world seduced by a desire, not just for knowledge and understanding, but for certainty.
Nations, economic alliances, political factions, ethnic groups, and protest movements all struggle for supremacy, each denouncing the atrocities committed by their opponents, each claiming the moral high ground and the inalienable justice of their cause.
Yet whether it is in the seemingly intractable problems in different parts of the Middle East or Africa, environmental concerns, debates about gender identity, or important discussions in the church and wider public about end-of-life care, the reality is always much more complex and much more nuanced.
It is simply impossible to give an account of these and countless other topics and situations where one side is completely right and the other completely wrong, one side is good and the other evil.
So I think Hauge is right to be suspicions of those who claim to know and understand it all, especially those who claim to have certainty on their side.
Instead I find myself drawn to the humility so evident in his petition not to want to know the whole truth, for it is a wisdom which gives birth to an openness of heart and mind, a willingness to listen, to learn, a capacity to feel the rhythms of life, to understand the needs of other people, and to attend to them with grace and love.
And isn’t this something of the wisdom Jesus sought to impart to his disciples, a wisdom evident in this parables about the kingdom of heaven?
In the agrarian economy of Biblical times, not just knowledge but an instinctive feel and understanding for the soil and plants and the seasons of the year would be common currency. In the ancient world, everyday life quite literally depended upon it.
So it is hardly surprising that many of Jesus’ parables reflect something of the rural environment in which he lived, of farmers scattering seeds and fishermen casting their nets.
This morning’s text comes in a section of his gospel when Mark is exploring the kingdom of God
Written about 68
And so, he tells parables about seeds, parables which speak of silent growth, parables which were intended to address the apparent helplessness of humanity in the face of overwhelming odds, yet parables which offer disciples reassurance that a much greater power is at work.
The farmer sows the seed but it is not the farmer who makes the seed grow; indeed the farmer may not even know or understand how it grows.
Yet grow it does, quietly and imperceptibly, forcing its way through even the toughest ground.
Or put in other words, God’s power is at loose in the world and no matter the opposition, no matter the odds, the kingdom of God, that is, God’s good and loving purpose, will not be defeated.
If contemporary science has brought us much closer to understanding the means of a seed’s growth, please keep in mind Mark did not offer these parables as a science lesson.
Rather his purpose was to deepen our understanding of God’s presence and purpose in the world.
Suddenly the connection between the world of his day and the world of ours becomes evident, for like the people of Biblical times, we are often faced with circumstances that threaten to overwhelm and situations over which we have little or no control.
Illness, accident, addiction, earthquake, drought, conflict and acts of terrorism. . .in face of the world’s problems, or the personal difficulties of home and family and work, are there times when you wonder about point and value of faith?
Like the tiny mustard seed, does faith sometimes seem far too small and fragile?Does it feel too weak and vulnerable to be of any use?
This gospel and these parables were written for these situations.
They may not give us the whole truth.
Yet in giving us a glimpse of the kingdom of God, what they give us is what we need to live today.
And to live it hopefully, bravely and well.
Footnotes
1
Olav H. Hauge, Don’t Give Me the Whole Truth, cited in Mark Oakley, The Splash of Words (London: Canterbury Press, 2016), 10.