Can Honesty Be Mirrored

I wonder if honesty itself has been misunderstood.

In a world that speaks endlessly of truth, honesty feels rare—not because truth is unavailable, but because it requires presence. Honesty is not only what we say; it is what we carry, what we embody, what we are willing to live close to.

When I think of Jesus,, I wonder what might have transpired if his coming had been received not only as a miracle of salvation, but as a living instruction for how to remain human with one another.

Yes—he came for our salvation.

Yes—he died on the cross for our sins.

This is truth.

But he also lived.

He spoke carefully. Intentionally.

His words were not casual offerings; they were carried with weight.

When he spoke the Beatitudes, they were not poetic sentiments or distant ideals. They were a roadmap—a compass handed to a fractured world. Instructions not meant to elevate the spirit alone, but to reshape how love moved between people.

Yet culture after culture has centered the meaning of his life almost exclusively on his death.

And I wonder what we missed by doing so.

Jesus spoke in parables not to confuse, but to protect depth—because truth that is lived must be entered, not consumed. God did not design him to be worshipped from afar, but followed from within. His faith was inseparable from his love, and that love was never meant to end with him.

It was meant to continue.

So I ask myself:

What would the world look like today if resurrection had not only been believed—but mirrored?

If those who followed him, from the disciples onward, had carried his way of seeing into every interaction?

If love had been practiced with the same intentionality as doctrine?

If honesty had been measured not by correctness, but by closeness?

Perhaps we would recognize his love not in declarations, but in faces—faces less hardened by disconnection, less guarded by fear.

Because the absence we feel today is not a lack of faith.

It is a lack of embodiment.

And maybe the miracle still waiting to unfold is this:

That his love was never meant to stop at the cross—but to pass through us, honestly, visibly, and without separation.