You Don’t Know What You’re Talking About
The mother of James and John, two of Jesus’ closest disciples, approaches Jesus and asks for a big favor. She wants him to grant her sons an exalted place in his coming kingdom. It’s impossible to read his tone, but be responds directly, “You do not know what you are asking” (Matthew 20:20–28).
She assumed she did. Just like I usually believe I know what I’m talking about when I say something. Who communicates anything without believing they have a sense of what they mean?
In his parable of the wheat and tares in Matthew 13, Jesus told a story that shows none of us knows what’s truly in our hearts. We have wheat and weeds, good and bad. But we usually don’t know enough to tear out the weeds without also destroying the wheat.
In the Genesis story, we might recall there was the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It’s both good and evil.
Everyone says things without understanding the full significance, while other times we speak without having all the facts. And who hasn’t made a Freudian slip?
Since the advent of psychotherapy, we’ve come to realize we all speak and behave in ways without understanding our deep motivations. To Paraphrase St. Paul in Romans 7, “I do what I don’t want to do, and I fail to do what I want to do.” He concludes with an existential query, “Who shall save me from this body of death?”
Occasionally, though, we experience a moment of insight and self-realization.
It could happen in therapy with an ah-ha moment. A song, painting, or movie might reveal a truth about ourselves. If we’re fortunate, a friend could take us aside and gently tell us that we don’t know what we’re talking about.
Sometimes that message comes from an unwelcome source at an inconvenient time. A family member during an argument. A coworker in a meeting. A partner when breaking up.
Misfortune often opens our eyes and unveils worlds we never knew existed. An illness, accident, financial crisis, or death of a loved one can disclose hitherto hidden truths that will henceforth transform our existence.
We’re all unaware of what’s deep in our hearts and minds, and it must be revealed to us if we’re ever going to know and behave differently.
Moments of revelation can either awaken us in gratitude or harden us in anger. By responding with resistance, we grow callous and become increasingly hostile to learning the truth about ourselves. Obstinance results in suffering for ourselves and others. Consider Pharaoh in the book of Exodus. Each time he encounters a plague, his heart becomes hard. Eventually, he grows so hard-hearted that he leads himself and his entire nation headlong into destruction.
The good news is that life has a way of gifting us with countless occasions to reveal the depths of hearts. Cultivating a receptiveness to self revelation can feel frightening at first. What if it’s humiliating? Or sorrowful? Or regrettable?
Chances are some of it will be. But we’ll encounter moments of dignity, joy, and liberation.
Openness to life with a spirit of welcome, humility, and receptivity helps us recognize unexpected revelations when they transpire.
Through nurturing a disposition of humility about our supposed omniscience, we become more capable to accept unexpected hard truths when someone or something lets us know. A good place to start is by imagining ourselves in the place of the mother of James and John as we enthusiastically acknowledge, “You do not know what you are asking.”
