Unveiling the Truth

“What is truth?” asked Pontius Pilate as Jesus stood before him, not long before telling the gathered throng, “I find no case against him.” Moments before, Jesus had declared that he “came into the world to testify to the truth,” according to the account in the Gospel of John, the last and arguably least reliable of the four gospels. In the end, the truth didn’t seem to matter much to anyone who was present on that day – just as court judgments today seem to be assessed on whether or not they agree with one’s opinions, rather than the law itself. But Pilate’s question has echoed through the ages, in the work of theologians and philosophers alike, not to mention preachers and poets.

“What is truth?” ask Unitarian Universalists and countless others today, but it’s not always evident that the answer matters to us more than it did to Pontius Pilate and the crowd two millennia ago. The very idea of truth seems as slippery today as it ever was, and people are arguably more confused about than ever before. Many moderns deny that truth exists, while others embrace a purely subjective view of the truth or declare it to be purely relative. During the past decade, we’ve heard propagandists on the far right speak of “truthiness,” which seems like a natural enough way to describe an accumulation of “alternative facts.” It’s “truthy,” but it’s not truth.

So let me acknowledge right up front that I believe truth exists; there is something even worthy of being called the truth. Ask me what it is, and I will stumble over my own words. But just our neighbours on either side of this church are confident that God exists, I am confident that truth exists – spell it with a capital T, if you wish. And for the record, I also believe in love and goodness, although I’ve lost my former confidence in justice and equality, at least as readily achievable possibilities. My trinity consists of truth, love, and goodness. These three are the beliefs that condition my life, even though I often get them wrong or fail to live up to them. They’re what I come back to.

This confidence in the existence of truth may make me something of a relic in the modern world, perhaps an outright oddball, especially in liberal circles. And it probably opens me to ridicule among those who dogmatically assert that they know the truth, from religious fundamentalists to political dogmatists, since despite my certainty about truth’s existence, I waffle when it comes to articulating what the truth is. “My husband, who is a lawyer, is very careful with words and with the truth,” said novelist Isabel Allende. “He thinks that the truth exists, and it’s something that is beyond questioning, which I think is totally absurd. I have several versions of how we met and how wonderful he was and all that. At least twenty. And I’m sure that they are all true. He has one. And I’m pretty positive that it’s not true.” I’m married to someone who could say the same thing about her own husband, and while I’d like to attribute it to better memory, it may be that I’m just better at telling the same story over and over again without adjusting the details too much.

When William Ellery Channing observed that the quest for truth “must begin with moral discipline,” I am persuaded that he meant to refute the very notion that truth is so entirely subjective or relative that the truth – that is to say, truth preceded by the definite article – does not exist. It is one thing to say that the truth is difficult to discern, or even impossible for the human mind to comprehend, but it is something altogether different to maintain that it doesn’t exist. Truth exists as an ideal, at least, even if we are incapable of realizing it. Channing refused to absolve us of the demand to seek the truth, even though it’s hard work. He assumed that truth exists, even if our understanding of God and everything else in religion and life was subject to change, calling us to the “moral discipline” to discern what is true and good. Indeed, the entire notion of religious reformation depends upon the idea that truth exists, and that our beliefs should conform themselves, as completely as possible, with what we discern to be true. And what’s sound in religion is sound in politics, too, or in any other department of life.

“I must choose to receive the truth, no matter how it bears on myself,” said Channing. “I must follow it, no matter where it leads, what interests it opposes, to what persecution or loss it lays me open, from what party it severs me, or to what party it allies.” In short, he maintained that the first prerequisite in discerning truth was an attitude of impartiality in considering the evidence before us, coupled with a commitment to follow the truth wherever it leads. This may be why truth, especially inconvenient truth, isn’t more popular than it is. It’s hard work.

Channing’s elevation of the quest for truth to a place of central importance has informed the entire trajectory of Unitarianism since it emerged from New England Congregationalism. Indeed, Channing’s understanding of the centrality of truth predates it, and while truth may have its modern agnostics among us, just a God does, it is impossible to imagine the evolution of Unitarianism – and later Unitarian Universalism – without it. If our spiritual ancestors hadn’t first believed in truth, there would have been no need for Unitarianism in the first place. There would have been no errors to correct, no dogmas to dispute, no beliefs to discard. In a world where truth didn’t matter, none of it would have been worth the effort. We may profess that truth is relative, but two centuries of experience reveal a different story.

From today’s perspective, the declared purpose of the American Unitarian Association when it was formed 201 years ago seems narrowly Christian – “to diffuse the knowledge and promote the interests of pure Christianity.” It’s only when you realize that “pure Christianity” meant the teachings of Jesus, rather than the religion about Jesus, that you see how radical a departure from creeds and dogma it really was – and how, by focusing on teachings rather than pretension to a divine personality, it paved the way for truth to unfold. I would go so far as to say that, even if most Unitarian Universalists still considered themselves to be Christian, the whole notion of “Christian nationalism” would be utterly alien to us, because it would fail to pass the test of truthfulness.

Six decades later, William Channing Gannett drafted Things Commonly Believed Today Among Us, which asserted: “Whoever loves truth and lives the Good is, in a broad sense, of our religious fellowship; whoever loves the one or lives the other better than ourselves is our teacher, whatever church or age [they] may belong to.” In the years that followed, James Vila Blake crafted the original version of our affirmation, which declared that we covenant “to seek the truth in love” – The Truth – although our ambivalence about truth is reflected in our removal of the definite article.

Beyond our tradition, Mohandas K. Gandhi, as his faith matured, went so far as to declare, a century ago: “God is Truth, above all. If it is possible for the human tongue to give the fullest description of God, I have come to the conclusion that, for myself, God is Truth.” And from that, he reasoned that Truth is God, that they were “convertible terms,” while acknowledging that people “always see Truth in fragment and from different angles of vision.” It is interesting to recall that it was around this same time that Humanism came into its own as a philosophical stance within Unitarianism, and I am persuaded that the reason Unitarian Christians and Humanists were able to stay together in the same denomination, without a catastrophic schism, is that both believed in the truth, even though they professed truth differently. Mutual toleration was the lubricant that allowed them to do so.

Just as truth is central to our living tradition, so, too, is it central to the scientific method. “The aim of science is to discover and illuminate truth,” declared Rachel Carson. “And that, I take it, is the aim of literature, whether biography or history or fiction. It seems to me, then, that there can be no separate literature of science.” Like the approximations of truth we discover in literature, the truth illuminated by science may have its imperfections and limitations, but unlike the truth revealed by theology, which takes the form of dogma, scientific truth is at least self-correcting. I like to think that the same is true for Unitarian Universalism – that, as religious liberals, our theology is self-correcting. In fact, that’s why defining who we are and what we are about is such a moving target.

As Unitarians strove to define their unconventional faith during the Second World War, A. Powell Davies, who was then the minister in Summit, New Jersey, and later in Washington, DC, articulated five principles that defined us, one of which was “discipleship to advancing truth.” When the Seven Principles we love were adopted four decades later, Davies’ words were echoed by our affirmation of “a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.”

I think I prefer Davies’ turn of phrase, “discipleship to advancing truth,” since it demands something of us. The search for truth is not a voluntary and relaxing quest for knowledge for its own sake, but rather a demand that we intentionally seek to discover what is true and then conform our lives to whatever the truth may demand of us, whether or not it is convenient to do so. That’s why we have moved so far, I believe, on our journey as a religious movement to embrace what was once beyond imagination as we followed the evidence. “Truth, however bitter, can be accepted, and woven into a design for living,” asserted Agatha Christie around the time that A. Powell Davies articulated his principles.  I suspect that Davies would have asserted that truth demands it. It demands that we weave our understanding of the truth into our design for living, our design for religious community, and our design for society.

At the same time, it may be useful to weave together truth with meaning, as the Seven Principles did in 1985. You see, when people speak of “my truth” and “your truth,” I think they are really speaking about meaning rather than truth. In my mind, truth exists independently of any of us, while discerning what life – its experiences and relationships – mean to us is how we approximate the truth for ourselves. Truth and meaning are related to one another, but truth is more or less absolute, while meaning is subject, relative, unique to each one of us. When we speak of truth as relative, or differentiate between my truth and your truth, we relax the meaning of the word truth – and we risk abandoning the meaningful use of both ideas.

My life is guided by discipleship to advancing truth, as best I can do it, but it has been enriched by the meanings that have emerged along the way. The truth can sometimes be cold, even alienating, but I have found warmth in the meaning I’ve found in life’s experiences and relationships. If, like Gandhi, truth is my God, then meaning has been my saviour. If truth sets me free, then it is meaning that holds me close.

As self-described storycatcher Christina Baldwin says: “Spiritual empowerment is evidenced in our lives by our willingness to tell ourselves the truth, to listen to the truth when it’s told to us, and to dispense truth as lovingly as possible, when we feel compelled to talk from the heart.” 

May we strive to be disciples of advancing truth, unveiling it for ourselves and others, fragment by fragment, even as we then weave those fragments together into tapestries of meaning. 

A sermon delivered at the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Winnipeg.

Elbows Up! Arms Out! Hands Ready!

“Today, I’ll talk about the rupture in the world order, the end of a nice story, and the beginning of a brutal reality where geopolitics among the great powers is not subject to any constraints.” So began Prime Minister Mark Carney at the World Economic Forum in Davos last month. In the half hour or so that followed, our prime minister caught the attention of the world and fulfilled his assertion that the meeting in Davos marked a turning point. He offered a manifesto that the world’s other liberal democracies quickly embraced. It was a watershed moment. You could feel it even far away, back home in Canada.

“I also submit to you that other countries, particularly middle powers like Canada, are not powerless,” the prime minister continued. “They have the capacity to build a new order that embodies our values, like respect for human rights, sustainable development, solidarity, sovereignty, and territorial integrity of states.” Americans were awed, save for those who were angered, Europeans were inspired, Africans and Asians were hopeful, and Canadians were proud, save for those who were jealous.

In short, Mr. Carney’s address was a warning to the superpowers that the rest of the world will not be bullied, that collectively, we have more than enough power and resources to resist those who believe that “might makes right,” that the world order has devolved into nothing more than an elaborate protection racket operated by a few powerful states and that the rest of us can no longer accommodate their whims and demands to avoid trouble.

The prime minister used words that his counterpart in Washington had never heard before, cited a philosopher whose name he couldn’t recognize, let alone pronounce, and shared a story from a modern author he’s never read. An economist, Mr. Carney warned of the dangers of weaponizing economics, pointing especially to the folly of pet policies embraced by a man who seeks to govern by rants posted to social media – policies that aren’t so much real policies as they are personal whims. He warned that multilateral institutions have been greatly diminished by the antics of national leaders with large egos and the sycophants who sustain them in power, including some of the richest people in the world.

But he didn’t just offer a compelling diagnosis of the current situation; the prime minister also offered a prescription. He charted a way forward for those countries that refuse to “live within the lie,” as he put it. He articulated what Canada is doing, step by step, to counter the accelerating assault on the world order that has existed since the end of the Second World War. He laid down his marker, and then he pointed the forward, while being candid about the price that must be paid. The future will not come easily, nor arrive cheaply.

“The question for middle powers, like Canada, is not whether to adapt to this new reality. We must,” he insisted. “The question is whether we adapt by simply building higher walls – or whether we can do something more ambitious.”

Whether or not you support the prime minister and his policies, his speech at Davos changed the tenor of the debate we’ve endured during the past year, one that was a decade in the making. And while his remarks didn’t end the war in Ukraine, establish justice in Gaza, remove a single tariff or trade barrier, or end the persecution of immigrants in the U.S., it was a rallying call to other leaders, inspiring courage, and leading to subtle but significant shifts in other countries’ stances on the troubles that vex us. The Trump administration backed off Greenland before the president even left Davos, even though the reason offered by the president was a laughable, transparently dishonest, face-saving gesture. The leaders of other countries became bolder, less willing to “go along to get along” when responding to the increasingly arbitrary demands of a once reliable but now fickle and feckless ally. Attention began to shift from reactive postures to proactive measures.

I believe that history will record this moment as a turning point, and while the prime minister and I do not align on many issues, I was both proud and grateful to have him speak for Canada on the world stage. To be perfectly honest, I slept better that night. While I dream of social democracy, I will be more than satisfied, for now, with “values-based realism,” a principled and pragmatic approach to global politics, which recognizes that “progress is often incremental.” The revolution will have to wait.

The events of last month suggest that the U.S. and the entire world are standing on a precipice. Domestic peace and order have been disrupted in Minnesota and civil rights have been set back more than half a century. As this happens, threats to America’s neighbours escalate and its leaders covet our resources while belittling our sovereignty. As the rules-based international order disintegrates before our eyes, the entire world is on edge. This year promises to be turbulent, so we must prepare ourselves for whatever comes next.

Marshall McLuhan, the former Winnipegger who is most widely known for having said “the medium is the message,” also proclaimed, half a century ago: “The advantage of living in Canada, in general, is to watch the United States making fools of themselves. They have become a research lab in which all sorts of hideous experiments are performed while we stand by and watch them kill themselves off.”

It was a harsh judgment and a little unfair, perhaps, since Canadian have their own rich capacities for folly, and we too often happen to echo trends in the U.S., usually about half a generation later. So I’m reticent to be smug and self-righteous.

And if for no other reason than geographic proximity and shared history, not to mention the extent to which our economies and defence (and arguably our destinies) are inextricably interwoven, Canadians must continue to pay close attention to what is happening among our neighbours to the south, even though we cannot intervene directly. When your neighbour’s house is on fire, you don’t use the flames to make popcorn and watch. You secure your own home, you help as you are able, and you prepare for what comes next.

Last month, Donald Trump continued to muse about Canada as the 51st state. He isn’t the first president to muse about Canada as a part of the United States. When Pierre Trudeau visited Washington in 1969, he reminded the National Press Club that the Articles of Confederation, which governed the United States from 1781 until the adoption of the Constitution in 1789, included a provision whereby Canada (as it then existed) would be admitted to the union upon its agreement with the articles, while any other colony or state would require the agreement of a supermajority of the original states. The U.S. was puzzled then and has been confused ever since by Canadians’ lack of interest in becoming a part of its union.

Since then, succeeding U.S. administrations have viewed Canada through the eyes of the Monroe Doctrine, which presumed to assert American dominance over the Western Hemisphere, and the notion of Manifest Destiny, the belief that U.S. expansion across North America was divinely ordained, which was closely intertwined with the idea of American exceptionalism, an idea that has guided U.S. foreign policy since the 19th century, especially since the end of the Second World War.

When John F. Kennedy spoke to the Parliament of Canada in 1961, he famously observed, “Geography has made us neighbours. History has made us friends. Economics has made us partners. And necessity has made us allies. Those whom nature hath so joined together, let no man put asunder. What unites us is far greater than what divides us.”

Yet, it was the same president who reportedly said to Prime Minister John Diefenbaker, “When I ask Canada to do something, I expect Canada to do it.” Sometimes, even the good guys can be bullies – and the otherwise bad guys can be allies …

Like Richard Nixon, who also spoke to Parliament in 1972, eleven years after Kennedy did so and three years after Trudeau’s visit to Washington. He declared: “It’s time for Canadians and Americans to move beyond the sentimental rhetoric of the past. It is time for us to recognize that we have separate identities; that we have significant differences; and that nobody’s interests are furthered when these realities are obscured.” Nixon was correct in pointing this out, but even he returned to sentimentality when he further asserted: “that we can walk our own road in our own way without moving farther apart; that we can grow closer together without growing more alike; that peaceful competition can produce winners without producing losers; … that the enemy of peace is not independence but isolation; that the way to peace is an open world.”

Amidst the swirl of attacks and possibilities last month, former U.S. Labor Secretary Robert Reich wrote on social media: “Everyone with authority must speak out now against Trump’s depravity and lawlessness. Every elected official, university, professional association, charity, and foundation head. Every CEO. Every religious leader. If they don't, history will condemn their cowardice.”  I embrace the challenge. Canadians aren’t exempt, especially not now. So I say elbows up, arms out, hands ready!

Elbows up! Not in a narrow, nationalistic or tribal way, but rather in the sense of defending democratic institutions, human rights, the sovereignty of nations, and whatever is left of the rules-based international order. We learned this grand hockey slogan last year – well, those of us who didn’t know it already (I’m a little slow on the hockey metaphors) – in response to Mr. Trump’s childish “51st state” rhetoric and his imposition, then retraction, then re-imposition, then  re-retraction of tariffs – that is, his TACOs – along with other threats to demolish the Canadian economy. In hindsight, perhaps we didn’t raise our elbows high enough, but it was stirring to see Canadians rally in support of our own economic wellbeing – and it was equally inspiring to see how most of our American neighbours understood what we were doing, even supporting us although it hurt, especially in border states and the sunny vacation destinations that we love. They saw the necessity, no matter much they may have lamented it.

Arms out! We have friends and kindred spirits in the United States who need our support. We have neighbours here who require both our emotional and our material support. It is essential that we allow neither tensions between our countries, nor the outrageous conduct of authorities, to erode wholesome relationships that still exist between individuals and communities. Let us embrace our friends and family across the United States, notwithstanding the need to defend Canadian sovereignty and national wellbeing. Moreover, let us recognize the countless allies – individuals, state governments, municipalities, and non-governmental organizations that share our values, who will be part of the solution when this sad period ends and the reconciliation and rebuilding begins. Indeed, Timothy Snyder, an American academic now living in Toronto, advises his followers to: “Learn from peers in other countries. Keep up your friendships abroad, or make new friends in other countries. The present difficulties in the United States are an element of a larger trend. And no country is going to find a solution by itself.” 

Hands ready! We need to be prepared to do whatever is necessary to maintain our values and restore normalcy to the world. “Make sure you and your family have passports,” warns Timothy Snyder, after admonishing Americans to keep their friendships abroad. Even as we struggle to resist the attacks against Canada, the world order, and countless people in communities across the United States, we need to prepare for what comes after, and, indeed, for every opportunity that presents itself along the way. We can patch what is broken; we can build fences with gates; and we can be ready to contribute whatever we can to the wellbeing of our own country, our neighbours to the south, and the entire global community.

Not long ago, Pete Buttigieg reminded us, “A day will come when Donald Trump no longer dominates our politics. Even though this is obvious, it’s hard to keep in mind. The future will belong to those who can think clearly about what happens next.”

So elbows up! Arms out! Hands ready! We could probably turn this into a song and learn all the hand gestures! Our lives will undoubtedly be worse before they are better, but Pete Buttigieg is correct when he says that “the future will belong to those who can think clearly about what happens next.” So let us maintain our defences, as necessary; let us reach out in compassion to those who need us; and let us be ready to lend a tend to creating what happens next.

A sermon delivered at the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Winnipeg.

Works Cited

Prime Minister Mark Carney, "Principled and Pragmatic: Canada's Path," an address at the World Economic Forum at Davos, Switzerland, January 20, 2026.

Marshall McLuhan interviewed by Danny Finkelman in Speaking of Winnipeg, ed. Joan Parr (Winnipeg: Queenston House, 1974).

Pete Buttigieg on Facebook, January 20, 2026.

Robert Reich on Facebook, January 16, 2026.

Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century (New York: Tim Duggan Books, 2017).