35 Jesus heard that they had cast him out, and having found him he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” 36 He answered, “And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?” 37 Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and it is he who is speaking to you.” 38 He said, “Lord, I believe,” and he worshiped him. 39 Jesus said, “For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind.” 40 Some of the Pharisees near him heard these things, and said to him, “Are we also blind?” 41 Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would have no guilt; but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your guilt remains.”
Certainty is so blessed. He knows everything.
Certainty knows who's a sinner and who's a saint. He knows who's going to heaven and who's going to hell. He knows why tragedy strikes a particular family or a particular community at a particular time and why somebody was born the way they were. Certainty really does know everything. He's a real know-it-all.
Certainty asked me the other day if I would like him to teach me a few thing -- enlighten me to God's own truth. I wanted to let Certainty teach me everything he knew. I wanted him to teach me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But then, something random popped into my mind. Jack Nicholson of all people. "You want the truth?" Jack screamed in his angry, gravely voice, "You can't handle the truth!"
I don't know, I thought. Maybe I can't handle the truth and maybe I can. Maybe I can handle a little truth. But the whole truth? Jack's probably right.
So I made a deal with Certainty. I told him he could make me certain of one thing and one thing only. What he told me was good. He told me I could be absolutely certain that I do not know everything.
That was good to know.
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