Growing up in a strict Catholic school, I learned to stay under the radar.

“Convent education” in India in the 80’s and 90’s meant wearing impeccable uniforms, down to having a satin bow on your head and polished shoes on your feet. It meant standing up every time a teacher entered the room. It meant being sent out of class if you hadn’t done your homework.

My MO at school was fairly simple: “Don’t rock the boat.” (It helped that I was small-made, inconspicuous, and smiled a lot.)

I didn’t want anyone upset at me—definitely not our principal, a nun who looked like she hadn’t heard a joke since 1963, or the teachers, some of whom saw the students as targets for their chalk-throwing skills.

I learned to tiptoe around people and sidestep anything potentially confrontational. Of course, this is also how I’m wired. But convent school sealed the deal.

Fast-forward to today and, as a writer, I seem to have carried the “be nice always” agenda into my craft.

That’s a good thing, right?

Perhaps.

Till “nice” stops you from speaking up and sharing hard truths when you need to. Till you believe that “nice” equates with love.

We live in a cancel culture today.

If people find your opinions offensive, you’re canceled.

If people disagree with what you say, you’re on your own.

If people so much as get a whiff of “socially unacceptable” on you, you guessed it, you’re iced out.

It’s much like being told to leave the classroom at convent school.

As a result, you learn to lay low. You learn to play it safe.

My goal with my writing has been to encourage others in their faith walk.

But do I mistake “encouragement” for hiding behind cuddly words about God? Sometimes “encouragement,” as we see it played out today, stems from self-preservation and self-promotion more than love.

This doesn’t apply to writers alone.

Wherever God has placed you, the question is, are you sharing the truth and doing so in love?

Is the fear of being canceled stopping us from speaking the truth when it’s tough to speak the truth? Or maybe you’re sharing truth but it’s from a place of irritation or self-righteousness?

Speaking the truth without love is harsh. Speaking only love without truth is hollow.

In the Bible, we meet Esther, one of the most beautiful women of her time, the queen of Persia during the reign of King Xerxes.

Woven into the Esther story is the less celebrated Mordecai—her uncle who had raised the orphaned Esther as his own child.

You may recall the narrative. Under the orders of King Xerxes’ highest official, Haman, the Jews in Persia were to be annihilated.

But there was one person who could speak to the king and overturn the situation: Queen Esther.

Now, I think Esther is a fabulous and fearless woman.

But it’s just that she didn’t seem very up-to-date with current events. It’s like she hadn’t ever picked up the “Babylonian Bugle”—not even for the cartoon section.

She had no idea that her people, the Jewish exiles in Persia, were soon to be annihilated.

Here’s where Mordecai comes in.

 He doesn’t mince words. He doesn’t mollycoddle Esther. He doesn’t just “encourage” her with mere nice-isms. Instead, he speaks the truth and he does so in love.

He advises Esther to approach King Xerxes and share about how he’d been manipulated by Haman about the edict to murder the Jews.

Esther expresses her reservations about this task. If she approached King Xerxes without being summoned, it could end up in one of those Alice in Wonderland, “off with her head” situations.

But Mordecai doesn’t back off. He’s not fearful of stepping on Esther’s toes. Neither is he simply harsh with the truth.

He tells Esther that her position of privilege doesn’t mean she will be protected.

He tells her that her privilege affords her an opportunity, but at the same time, God doesn’t need her help.

And then he says these famous words: “And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

What loving, affirming words. They pointed Esther to the truth that God had a great purpose and calling for her life.

Mordecai had raised Esther as his own child. He had watched over her as she lived in the palace. But now, for the sake of God’s kingdom, he lovingly challenges her.

There is no question that his motivation was love. His words were truthful—but were also drenched in compassion and wisdom.

May we pray for love as we share the truth. May we pray for boldness to share the truth as we love others.

Sharing the truth without love is harsh. Sharing only love without truth is hollow.

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