It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? You speak the truth, and they say you’ve lost your marbles. No, not gently suggest you might need a vacation, but outright declare: “You are mad!”

I’ve seen it happen. In offices, homes, clubs with leather armchairs and stale sandwiches — anywhere someone dares to disturb the status quo with a whisper of honesty.

Like the fellow at the corporate boardroom who objected to the creative accounting methods being passed off as “survival methods.” He didn’t shout, didn’t wave placards. Just said, “This isn’t right.” And before you could say “internal audit,” someone muttered, “He’s gone mad.”

Or that society member in the housing society who suggested maybe we shouldn’t pour concrete over the playground to stop the dust going into the flats nearby. “Concrete is bad for all of us,” he said. “Bad?” they gasped. “Madness!”

Truth, my friend, is not fashionable. Not in WhatsApp groups where facts are treated like invasive species, or in family dinners where the dessert must be passed, but never the blame.

So when you say something honest, especially during this season of reflection, of Lent, and are met with raised eyebrows and whispered slights — take heart.

Because you’re not the first.

There was once a man — not a protester, not a rebel with a placard, but a former carpenter — who stood in a temple and spoke truth. He questioned hypocrisy, unmasked pretension, and spoke with authority. And the crowd? They didn’t just scoff, they wanted to kill him.

“Why do you want to kill me?” he asked.

“You are mad!” they cried.

That’s in the Gospel of John, chapter 7, verse 20.

Now, this wasn’t someone with a dodgy resume and borrowed robes. This was Jesus. The sinless man. The miracle worker. The peacemaker. The one who fed thousands and healed more. And yet, when he dared to disturb the comfortable lies people were wrapped in, they didn’t just say he was wrong — they said he was insane.

Which brings me back to you. And to me.

Maybe you’ve been standing up for what’s right. Maybe you’ve refused to join the office backstabbing or declined the invitation to dinner-table gossip. Maybe you’ve chosen conscience over convenience.

And in return, you’ve been labelled the difficult one. The eccentric. The mad.

If so, wear that label like a badge of honour.

Because sometimes, what the world calls madness is simply moral hardness in an immune world. And during Lent, as we examine our lives and try to walk straighter paths, it’s worth remembering that being called mad once put a man on a cross.

And that same ‘madman’ went on to change the course of history.

So, if they call you mad — smile. You’re in excellent company….!

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