Does The Truth Hurt?

SERMON STRUCTURE

Subject:

What happens to a relationship when the one who loves you starts telling you the truth?

Complement:

The truth-teller gets treated like the enemy — even by the people who once received him with joy.

Dominant Thought:

Real love speaks the truth, even when speaking the truth turns former friends into current critics.

Aim:

To move the congregation to (1) recognize the temptation to reject truth-tellers when their words cut, (2) examine whether they have turned pastoral truth into personal offense, and (3) receive God's Word again with the joy they once had.

Propositional Statement:

Because Paul loved the Galatians enough to tell them the truth, they mistook him for an enemy — and every believer must decide whether they will receive truth from those who love them or reject the ones God sent to keep them free.

Big Idea:

Truth doesn't make love an enemy — but a heart drifting from truth will.

Sermon Thesis:

When love tells the truth, only a drifting heart calls it enmity — and the same voice that once brought joy is still bringing life.

Galatians 4:12–16 ESV

12 Brothers, I entreat you, become as I am, for I also have become as you are. You did me no wrong. 13 You know it was because of a bodily ailment that I preached the gospel to you at first, 14 and though my condition was a trial to you, you did not scorn or despise me, but received me as an angel of God, as Christ Jesus. 15 What then has become of your blessedness? For I testify to you that, if possible, you would have gouged out your eyes and given them to me. 16 Have I then become your enemy by telling you the truth?

INTRODUCTION

Have you ever heard the expression, “The truth hurts”?

You’ve heard it. You’ve said it. You’ve felt it.

The truth hurts when you go to the doctor and he closes the folder, looks at you, and says, “You’ve got to change how you’re eating, or this is going to change you.” The truth hurts when you get on the scale and it tells on you. The truth hurts when the mechanic calls you back to the bay and points under the hood — and you already know before he opens his mouth that this is going to cost you. The truth hurts when the bank statement comes and the number is smaller than you remembered.

But some truth hurts different.

The truth hurts when somebody who loves you looks you in the eye and says, “You’ve been selfish lately.” The truth hurts when your spouse says, “You haven’t been present. You’ve been here, but you haven’t been here.” The truth hurts when your grown child says, “Mama, you were hard on me — and I’m still carrying it.” The truth hurts when a friend who’s known you for twenty years pulls you aside and says, “You’re not the same person you used to be, and I miss who you were.”

That kind of truth doesn’t just hurt.

That kind of truth changes the room.

But here’s what we don’t say as often — and it’s what the Apostle Paul is wrestling with in our text this morning:

Sometimes the truth doesn’t just hurt. Sometimes the truth makes you mad at the one who told it.

Sometimes the person who loved you enough to tell you what nobody else would tell you — the doctor, the friend, the parent, the pastor — sometimes that person walks away wondering, “Did I lose them? Did telling the truth cost me the relationship?”

That’s where Paul is in Galatians chapter 4. He’s writing to a church he planted. A church that once welcomed him with open arms. A church that once, he says, would have given him their own eyes if they could have. And now — now that he has told them the truth about the gospel they were about to abandon — Paul is asking a question that every truth-teller in this room has asked at least once in their life:

“Have I become your enemy by telling you the truth?”

Church, does the truth hurt? Yes it does.

But there’s a deeper question underneath that one — and it’s the question Paul is really asking:

When the truth hurts, do we love the one who told us — or do we turn on them?

Paul begins challenging their hearts, reminding them. . .

You Used to Be Glad to See Me

Galatians 4:12–14 ESV

12 Brothers, I entreat you, become as I am, for I also have become as you are. You did me no wrong. 13 You know it was because of a bodily ailment that I preached the gospel to you at first, 14 and though my condition was a trial to you, you did not scorn or despise me, but received me as an angel of God, as Christ Jesus.

Look at what Paul says in verse 12: “Brothers, I entreat you, become as I am, for I also have become as you are. You did me no wrong.”

Stop right there. Paul opens this section with a plea — not a lecture, not a rebuke — a plea. “Brothers, I’m begging you.” And the first thing out of his mouth after the plea is a reminder: “You did me no wrong.”

That’s a man reaching back for something. That’s a man saying, “Before we get into what’s happening now, let me remind you of what used to be.”

And then he tells them. Verse 13: “You know it was because of a bodily ailment that I preached the gospel to you at first.”Paul is saying — y’all remember how I came to you. I wasn’t polished. I wasn’t put together. I was sick. Something was wrong with me physically, and that’s actually the reason I ended up in Galatia in the first place.

We don’t know exactly what the ailment was. Some scholars think it was his eyes — verse 15 gives us a hint. Some think it was malaria. Some think it was a chronic condition.

What we know is this: Paul showed up to Galatia in weakness. And here’s what Paul says in verse 14: “Though my condition was a trial to you, you did not scorn or despise me, but received me as an angel of God, as Christ Jesus.”

Paul is saying, “I showed up broken, and you treated me like Jesus walked in the room.”

And church, understand what that meant in their culture. See, In the ancient world, when people saw somebody with a visible ailment, they would literally spit. Not out of meanness — out of superstition. They believed illness was caused by evil spirits or divine curse, so they’d spit to ward it off.

That’s actually what the Greek word means — ἐκπτύω (ekptyō) — “to spit out.” Paul is saying, “You didn’t spit on me. You didn’t turn away from me. You didn’t treat me like I was cursed. You treated the sick preacher like the angel of the Lord had walked through your door.”

That’s a “glad to see me” church.

That’s the kind of church where when the preacher walked in, folks lit up. That’s the kind of church where the Word came in weakness and got received in glory. That’s the kind of church where nobody was checking the credentials of the messenger because everybody was catching the message.

ILLUSTRATION: There’s an old story about a princess who meets a frog by a pond. And everybody who looks at that frog sees exactly what their eyes tell them to see — warty, slimy, ugly. Their eyes say, “Spit and walk away.” But when the frog opens his mouth and speaks — the princess hears something her eyes can’t see. She trusts the word over the appearance. And when she does, she discovers what was true the whole time: this was never a frog. This was a prince in disguise.

Beloved, that’s what the Galatians did with Paul. They looked at a sick preacher — a man whose body their culture told them to spit at — and they heard the gospel come out of his mouth. And they trusted the word over the appearance. And when they did, they discovered what was true the whole time: this was never just a sick preacher. This was a messenger of God. This was Christ Jesus Himself walking through their door.

And Paul is asking them to remember it.

Somebody in here needs to remember it too. Remember when you couldn’t wait to get to Bible study. Remember when the sermon hit and you called your cousin on the way home. Remember when you used to open your Bible before you opened your phone. Remember when God’s Word made you glad — and the people who brought it to you made you glad too.

Diagnostic question: Is there anybody in your life right now that you used to be glad to see — and now you’re not? A pastor, a mentor, a parent, a spouse, a friend? What changed? Because Paul is about to tell us: nine times out of ten, it wasn’t them.

Check your calendar — are you still making time for the people who tell you the truth? Check your phone — when their name comes up, do you answer, or do you let it ring? Check your seat on Sunday — are you here to hear, or here to be seen? Check your conversation — when you talk about them, are you talking about them the way you used to?

The one who used to be an angel to you — are you treating them like an angel now, or like an inconvenience?

Before you ask what happened to them, ask what happened to you.

Where Did the Joy Go?

Galatians 4:15 ESV

15 What then has become of your blessedness? For I testify to you that, if possible, you would have gouged out your eyes and given them to me.

Verse 15: “What then has become of your blessedness? For I testify to you that, if possible, you would have gouged out your eyes and given them to me.”

Paul is asking a question. And it’s not rhetorical — it’s diagnostic.

“What then has become of your blessedness?” Some translations say “where is the sense of blessing you had?” The biblical language here is μακαρισμός (makarismos) — the same root as “blessed are the poor in spirit.” It means the sense of being blessed, the settled awareness that God’s favor is on you. And Paul is saying — where did that go? Where did the joy go? Where did the sweetness go?

Because here’s what Paul knows: when a church loses its joy, something has shifted. And when a believer loses their joy, something has shifted.

And Paul is not asking, “What did I do?” Paul is asking, “What happened to you?”

He reminds them — “You would have gouged out your eyes and given them to me.” That’s not a figure of speech that means nothing. That’s Paul saying, “Y’all loved me so much you would have given me the most precious thing you had. You would have hurt yourselves to help me.”

Now — silence. Distance. Suspicion.

Where did the joy go?

Somebody in here needs to answer that question honestly this morning. Where did the joy go?

Where did the joy go in your marriage — you used to laugh, and now you barely talk? Where did the joy go in your ministry — you used to serve because you loved it, and now you serve because somebody’s watching? Where did the joy go in your worship — you used to lift your hands, and now you’re checking your watch? Where did the joy go with the people who used to feed your soul — you used to sit at their feet, and now you’re rolling your eyes?

Check your prayer life — when was the last time you prayed and enjoyed it? Check your Bible — when was the last time you read it and the words tasted sweet? Check your fellowship — when was the last time somebody in the body of Christ made you glad just by walking in the room?

The joy didn’t leave you, church. You left the joy.

And here’s the mercy of the diagnostic question: Paul isn’t asking to shame them. Paul is asking so they’ll notice. Because you can’t come back to something you don’t know you left.

Where did the joy go? Go find it.

Don’t Shoot the Messenger

Galatians 4:16 ESV

16 Have I then become your enemy by telling you the truth?

Listen to verse 16: “Have I then become your enemy by telling you the truth?”

Church, let that land.

Paul is saying, “I’m the same man who walked in sick. I’m the same man y’all received like Jesus. I’m the same man you would have given your eyes for. I haven’t changed. My message hasn’t changed. The only thing that has changed is that now the truth I’m telling you is uncomfortable — and suddenly I’m the enemy?”

Have you ever done that? Have you ever taken somebody who loved you — really loved you — and turned them into the enemy because they told you the truth?

The mama who said, “That man ain’t right for you” — and now you don’t call her.

The pastor who said, “That relationship is going to cost you your walk” — and now you’re church-shopping.

The friend who said, “You’ve been drinking too much”— and now you don’t invite them out.

The spouse who said, “You’ve been distant” — and now you’re sleeping in the guest room.

Church, don’t shoot the messenger.

The message didn’t change. The messenger didn’t change. Youchanged. And when a heart drifts from the truth, the first thing it does is rename the truth-teller.

Watch how it works: yesterday they were “a blessing to my life.” Today they’re “always in my business.” Yesterday they were “my spiritual father.” Today they’re “trying to control me.”Yesterday they were “my ride or die.” Today they’re “hating on me.”

The messenger didn’t change, saints. The heart drifted. And a drifting heart always renames love as enmity.

And church, let’s be specific about what Paul was telling them. Paul wasn’t nagging them. Paul wasn’t in their business. Paul was reminding them that they were saved by grace through faith — not by works, not by law-keeping, not by adding rules to Jesus. That’s the truth that made him the enemy. And that’s the same truth that will make any preacher, any pastor, any friend an enemy in the ears of a heart that’s drifting from grace.

Check your speech — who have you been talking bad about lately? And when you stop and think about it — is it because they did something wrong, or because they told you something true? Check your relationships — who have you been avoiding? And is it because they hurt you, or because they helped you see something you didn’t want to see? Check your church attendance — did the preaching get worse, or did the preaching get closer?

Paul says, “Have I become your enemy by telling you the truth?”

Don’t answer that too quick. Somebody in your life is asking the same question, and they’re too kind to say it out loud.

Don’t shoot the messenger, church. Because the same voice that hurts you today is the voice that’s trying to keep you free tomorrow.

Conclusion

Church, before we close, I need you to see something.

Paul asked the Galatians, “Have I become your enemy by telling you the truth?” And that question — that wounded, pastoral, heartbroken question — that question has been asked before.

Because Paul wasn’t the first truth-teller to get called an enemy.

There was a Man who walked the roads of Galilee telling the truth. He told the truth about the Father — “I and the Father are one.”They called Him a blasphemer. He told the truth about the religious leaders — “You are like whitewashed tombs.” They called Him a troublemaker. He told the truth about Himself — “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” They called Him a liar.

The One who was Truth got called the enemy of the truth.

And they didn’t just call Him an enemy with their words. They called Him an enemy with a Roman cross.

They took the Truth-Teller, and they nailed Him to a tree.

They took the Word made flesh, and they tried to shut Him up.

They took the One who came to set them free, and they treated Him like He came to destroy them.

And here’s what will wreck you this morning, church — even while they were shooting the Messenger, the Messenger was still delivering the message. Nailed to the cross by the very people He came to save, Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Even at the cross, He was still telling the truth. Even at the cross, He was still loving the ones who called Him enemy. Even at the cross, He was still that same Jesus the Galatians had received in Paul — an angel of God, the Christ Jesus Himself, come in weakness to bring us the gospel.

And they laid Him in a borrowed tomb.

They rolled a stone in front of the grave.

They set a Roman seal on it.

They posted guards.

They thought they had silenced the Truth-Teller once and for all.

But early Sunday morning — while it was still dark — the stone rolled away.

The grave came up empty.

The Truth-Teller walked out.

And the same Jesus they called an enemy is the same Jesus who is still telling us the truth this morning. Still telling us we’re loved. Still telling us we’re forgiven. Still telling us the joy we lost can be found again. Still telling us that a drifting heart can come home.

Church, the truth does hurt. But the truth also heals. The truth hurts the way a surgeon’s blade hurts — cutting to cure. The truth hurts the way a father’s word hurts — wounding to save. The truth hurts the way the cross hurt — bleeding to redeem.

So the question isn’t does the truth hurt.

The question is: what will you do with the One who told you the truth?

Will you call Him enemy? Or will you call Him Lord?

Will you shoot the Messenger? Or will you receive the Message?

Will you keep drifting? Or will you come back to the joy you lost?

The Truth-Teller is still here. The Truth-Teller is still calling. The Truth-Teller is still saying, “Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Don’t shoot the Messenger, church.

Receive Him.

Soli Deo Gloria