Sermon — February 26, 2023
The Rev. Greg Johnston
If you want a master class in the self-justifying half-truth, you don’t need to look any further than the Congressional testimony of one William Campbell, then President & CEO of Philip Morris, USA. In April 1994, Campbell and six other tobacco-industry leaders were called before the House to provide testimony regarding their companies’ role in covering up research indicating the danger of smoking. And in the midst of his lengthy testimony, Campbell delivered the most subtle half-truth I’ve ever heard: “Phillip Morris research,” he said, “does not establish that smoking is addictive.”
Consider how carefully worded that is. First: to say that “Phillip Morris research does not establish that smoking is addictive” is quite different from saying that “Phillip Morris research establishes that smoking is not addictive.” Second: he only says that “Phillip Morris research doesn’t establish that smoking is addictive,” even if a hundred scientific studies do. And third, the word “establish” is just a brilliant choice: well, Phillip Morris research might “suggest” that smoking is addictive; it might “indicate” or it might “demonstrate” it, but surely a few studies can’t be said to “establish” that smoking is addictive. That’s not how science works. Campbell works himself up into a self-righteous rage, responding to the allegations against the cigarette companies with the indignant claim: “Our consumers are being misled.” It’s more than a little ironic.
Bill Campbell’s subtlety was impressive, but unconvincing: just two years later, all seven of the executives who’d testified that day had lost their jobs amid a perjury inquiry and a settlement costing hundreds of billions of dollars. But I want to suggest to you today that while most of us won’t go down in history as stalwart defenders of Big Tobacco, all of us are prone to that same pattern of self-justification, rationalization, and half-truth—that this is, in fact, a central part of the human condition—and that there’s no better time than Lent to take a look at how this all-too-human pattern ends up working in your own life.
The story of half-truths begins with Adam and Eve. Actually, really it begins with Adam—after all, Eve wasn’t even around yet when God tells Adam not to eat the fruit. If you look at the citation for the reading in your bulletin, you’ll see that it skips from Genesis 2:17 to Genesis 3:1. And what happens at Genesis 2:18? Well, God creates Eve.
So anyway, God creates Adam. God tells Adam not to eat the fruit. Then God creates Eve, who apparently gets the commandment not to eat from the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil second-hand. And immediately after Eve is created, in comes the serpent, more crafty than other animal—the character whom our children’s Bible calls “The Sneaky Snake.” The Sneaky Snake comes, and it speaks with all the hair-splitting logic of a tobacco-company exec: “Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?’” (Gen. 3:1) the serpent asks Eve. And Eve says, Well, no; “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden…” just not “the fruit of the tree that’s in the middle of the garden,” or we will die. (3:2) And the snake says, “You will not die.” (3:3) And this is half-true. God told Adam that “on the day that you eat of it, you shall die.” But they eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and they do not die, yet. And yet they die. And maybe you can understand God’s words best as a kind of metaphor: “on that day, you will become subject to death; on that day, you will become mortal, so that one day you will die.” But the serpent’s words are simultaneously true and false: “You will not die (at the moment that you eat the fruit)” is true. “You will not die (period)” is not.
Nevertheless the serpent’s words provide Eve with all the truth she needs, and she begins to rationalize things what she’s about to do: This tree is good for food, and it’s a delight to the eyes, and eating it will make me wise. Why not? And so the serpent’s half-truth wins: Eve and Adam eat the fruit.
For his part, Paul doesn’t blame Eve, by the way. His point is all about Adam, because he watns to set up all these parallels between the old Adam and Jesus as the New Adam, the one through whose obedience Adam’s disobedience is undone. God gave humankind the Law in Adam, and Adam disobeyed, and brought sin and death into the world. God gave humankind Jesus as a gfree ift, and Jesus’ goodness gave us new life. And Paul doesn’t specifically name this story of the temptation of Christ, but you can hear it in the background. Just as the serpent comes to Eve in the Garden, the devil comes to Jesus in the wilderness. Just as the serpent speaks in half-truths, so too does Satan, saying to Jesus, “Surely if you’re the Son of God, the one through whom all things were made, you can just make these stones into bread.” And he could. But Jesus says there’s more to life than bread. (Matthew 4:3-4) The devil quotes Psalm 91: you can throw yourself off the top of the Temple, because “they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone,” and it’s an accurate quote. But Jesus says he’d rather not put God to the test. (4:5-7) He takes him to a high-up mountain and says he’ll give him all the kingdoms of the world, if only he falls down and worships him, and Jesus doesn’t deny that this is something the tempter could do—Jesus doesn’t say that only God can give a person worldly power—he simply says that it would be wrong to worship him. (4:8-10) Everything the devil says to Jesus in this scene is true, at least half-true; and yet where Eve and Adam are fooled by the deception, Jesus sees right through it. And the devil goes away.
Which brings it back to you. There are many different ways to observe Lent. I’ve heard from people this year giving up alcohol, and social media, and novels, people taking on a daily devotional reading or ten minutes of silent prayer, or simply setting an intention to slow down or do one thing at a time. I even know someone whose publicly-stated Lenten discipline is to get through an interstate move and leaving his church and searching for a new job with all family relationships intact.
And here’s the thing: it genuinely doesn’t matter what you do this Lent. In fact, that’s part of the point. Because in most cases, with every one of these things there will come a moment when you start to rationalize ignoring your choice. I do this every year. “Well, yes, I’ve given up alcohol for Lent—but not on Sundays, which are always a feast day, when Lenten disciples never apply. And today is a Friday, but it’s also St. Patrick’s Day, so surely the same rule applies and I can have a beer.” (And indeed, if you’re curious, so far 80 Catholic dioceses have announced that it’s okay to eat corned beef this St. Patrick’s Day this, even though meat wouldn’t ordinarily be allowed on a Friday in Lent.)
At some point, you may say to yourself, “I know I’m fasting from gossip this year, but… I only talk to this friend once a month and she’ll never believe what Sue just said.” “I know I was giving up social media, but I’m sitting here waiting for the dentist to come in… What harm could a little scrolling do?” “I know I was supposed to journal in the morning, but I’m tired today. Why don’t I take a little break?” And that’s fine, in a way. You’re all right. It’s not the end of the world. But it is a rationalization, a justification, a half-truth, and it’s the kind of thing our brains are really good at: coming up with reasons after the fact for things we’ve already decided to do.
And if you find yourself telling yourself half-truth this Lent, take it as an opportunity to reflect. When is it that that little, rationalizing voice starts up? When is it that I begin to justify things to myself? Is it when I’m tired, or hungry, or frustrated, or bored? Is it early in the morning or late at night or in the middle of the day? What is the moment when the sneaky snake comes to me, and how do I respond? Because the point of Lent is not only to give up the things we give up or to take on the things we take on, but to learn something about ourselves, in and through our imperfect attempts to give them up or take them on; so that by learning how we respond to small temptations, we might be better equipped for the big ones. It doesn’t matter whether you successfully abstain from chocolate or manage to journal every day. What matters is that you try, and fail, and learn something about how hard it is to try to grow closer to one another and to God, knowing throughout it all that God already knows our weaknesses, and loves us all the same; and that God is drawing nearer to us than we could ever know.