In the movie Good Will Hunting, Will Hunting is a genius. He knows about everything with his head, but he uses that knowledge to hide from pain in his heart. He meets a counselor (played by Robin Williams) and guards his heart from the counselor by dissecting the counselor with his knowledge and crucifying the counselor's passions for art and his bride on his own knowledge. The counselor confronts him in a garden and says this:

You've never been out of Boston. So if I asked you about art, you could give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? - You know a lot about him . . . life's work, political aspirations, him and the Pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But you couldn't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling.

"If I asked you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right? "Once more into the breach, dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap and watched him draw his last breath, looking to you for help.

And if I asked you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet, but you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable . . . known someone who could level you with her eyes . . . feeling like God put an angel on Earth just for you, who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her and be there forever, through anything, through cancer. You wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term "visiting hours" didn't apply to you.

You don't know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much."

Will Hunting knew about beauty, truth, love, and life. But he was too frightened to know beauty, truth, love, and life, and living. Because he wouldn't know; he wasn't known. He was an act hiding a wounded heart.

"Behold, I never knew you," said Jesus.

Does He know you . . . or only the act?