"I DID NOT TELL you the truth," the caller said.

Here in South Africa, many illegal immigrants pose as refugees from other African countries, lying about their situation to get sympathy, acceptance, and care.

"I lied about my parents. They are not dead, but alive." He continued, "I said they were dead so that you would help me financially and otherwise." All along I knew he had lied to me and to others.

I responded: "I am very pleased that you told me the truth, even when you know it will cost you the ability to manipulate the situation for your own gain. This is a true test of your honesty, and you have passed the test."

I could sense a great weight fall from his shoulders. He told me he was no longer begging and had gotten a "small job, paying small money," as he put it. But it was honest work. A better place to start.

Telling the truth when you know it will cost you whatever comfort or profit you think you might gain from a lie is indeed the true test of honesty. And I have found that honesty is a powerful tool for good.

For example, I was once in the Republic of the Congo on business. The war, ongoing since 1994, had devastated that beautiful country and its capital, Brazzaville—or Brazza as most people call it. Skyscrapers were reduced to rubble, and many people fled the city to stay in the forest.

I found the stark landscape riveting and started taking photographs of the bombed buildings. My roll of film was just about finished when the car we were traveling in was stopped by a man in civilian clothes. He introduced himself as the head of the communications department in the government and asked if I was a reporter and whether I had a permit to take pictures.

By this time, my Congolese friends in the car had hidden the camera and answered that "no pictures were taken."

I was shocked by their boldness and quickness to tell a lie on my behalf.

But I remembered something I had read about honesty from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures that I have always found to be true: "Honesty is spiritual power. Dishonesty is human weakness, which forfeits divine help" (p. 453). I could see that not only honesty was needed, but we all could use some divine help as well.

So I quickly said, "I did take pictures. No, I do not have a permit to take pictures, nor am I a reporter." I continued, "I ask for forgiveness."

There was silence.

"May I make a suggestion?" I asked.

"I am listening," he replied.

I offered to hand over the film in my camera. He took the camera, ripped the film out, and gave the camera back to me. I thanked him, and we drove out of that area fast.

My lesson that day was to see the power of an honest position. Frankly, there was clearly no power in the lie my friends were trying to hide behind. It was flimsy and transparent and easily could have cost us all our freedom or even our lives, if the official had searched the car. I could have been arrested and just vanished without anyone knowing my whereabouts, because the war was going on, and a lot of terrible acts were attributed to the rebels and government forces in that country.

The difference in the two approaches was that the truth-telling brought to bear God's spiritual power for good. It was embedded in the honesty. I could trust the power of that honesty to practically protect me and my friends. It also allowed the official to fulfill what he thought was his responsibility, but without having to harm any of us.

Even in difficult times the spiritual power of honesty is a safe haven that can bless all.

This article first appeared on www.spirituality.com under the title "Honest power." Visit the site to find more articles on this subject.