You know the joke. A man has just had successful surgery to repair his broken hand. When the surgeon comes to check on him later, the man asks, “Tell me the truth, doc. Will I ever be able to play the violin?” The doctor smiles. “Well, I don’t see why not,” he says encouragingly. “With time and physical therapy, you should be able to play like a virtuoso.”

“That’s great!” the patient beams. “I was never able to play the violin before.”

Usually, though, when someone says, “Tell me the truth, doc,” it’s because they sense that there’s something important their doctor isn’t telling them.

Physicians are often reluctant to say what they’re thinking. To be fair, sometimes it’s because patients don’t really want to know. Other times, it’s because they’re convinced that their patients need a particular treatment, and don’t want to scare them off with too many details about the risks. Doctors thus feel the need to resort to professional half-truths. Speak the truth, but not too much; say just enough to get the reaction you want.

This, I think, is how we should understand much of so-called “false prophecy.” It’s not so much flat-out lying as highly selective truth-telling, keeping to the messages that people like to hear.

Think, for example, of the counterintuitive blessings and woes Jesus pronounced in Luke 6. Those who are hated, excluded, insulted, and rejected should rejoice — because that’s how the people of old treated God’s prophets. But… “Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you,” he warned, because that’s how the people of old treated the false prophets.

Jesus, of course, wasn’t saying that it’s a bad thing to have a good reputation. But his words do point to an unfortunate aspect of human nature. Why were the true prophets of God hated and rejected? Because they all too often brought words of judgment. Nobody, after all, likes to be told that they’re wrong or doing evil.

Conversely, why did people speak well of false prophets? Because they preached messages people liked, ones that allowed them to stay comfortable even when they were spiritually lost and in dire need of correction.

Like other prophets, Micah had the thankless task of bringing bad news to people who didn’t want to listen. That was hard enough. But he also had to contend with rival prophets who did, in fact, give people what they wanted: comforting, encouraging half-truths that proclaimed everything to be just fine, thank you very much.

These false prophets actively tried to keep Micah from spreading his message of doom:

“Do not prophesy,” their prophets say.
    “Do not prophesy about these things;
    disgrace will not overtake us.” (Mic 2:6, NIV)

In the Hebrew, the verb “prophesy” is plural, suggesting that the false prophets are not only speaking against Micah, but against other prophets as well, perhaps including Isaiah. And if they wanted to, the false prophets could easily make their case from Scripture. Psalm 94:14, for example, declares: “For the Lord will not reject his people; he will never forsake his inheritance.” The early part of the psalm is a lament against the arrogance of the wicked, who oppress God’s people and slay widows and orphans. In response, the psalmist’s message to the people is: Don’t be foolish. God sees and knows all, and will repay the wicked for their sins.

True enough. But the question is, what happens if the people themselves have become wicked? That’s where the half-truths come in. Just preach the good stuff, the encouraging bits — and ignore the rest. God’s people, disgraced? Not a thing. Not happening. God says so right here!

Micah has already accused the rich and powerful of arrogance, evil, covetousness, and fraud. And the false prophets may already have been in their employ. We have a legal and moral term for that: conflict of interest. Benefiting from their relationship to people in power means being hamstrung in what they could say. That’s assuming, of course, that they were inclined to say it. They may well have begun drinking deeply from their own Kool-Aid: All is well, and all will be well.

This is what happens when preaching on the goodness, graciousness, and faithfulness of God becomes divorced from the demand for righteous living. We can’t just preach or listen to the parts we like. God’s Word is our source of truth — but we need the whole truth.