Judge Not

Then Jesus cried out and said, "He who believes in me, believes not in me but in Him who sent me. And he who sees me sees Him who sent me. I have come as a light into the world, that whoever believes in Me should not abide in darkness. And if anyone hears my words and does not believe, I do not judge him; for I did not come to judge the world but to save the world. He who rejects me, and does not receive my words, has that which judges him - the word that I have spoken will judge him in his last day." - John 12:44-48

You may not know this, but Jesus did not come to judge the world. He didn't come to judge you, he didn't come to judge me. And I'm going to say it: he didn't come to judge your gay coworker, your Muslim classmate, the liberal atheist who's good friends with your sister-in-law. He didn't come to judge any of them. The fact is he doesn't care about those things that you identify with yourself or with those people.

Here is what Jesus came to do, what he said he came to do. He came to save the world. That's it. He came into the world in the same way that light comes into a dark room. Light doesn't enter a room and immediately cast judgment on the objects sitting there. The tendrils of sunlight don't point fingers at the dusty fan. They don't avoid the dingy rug covered in the carcasses of insects. Light doesn't judge darkness, it simply disintegrates it. In the presence of light, darkness disappears, flees.

Jesus does not compare himself to a righteous crusader come to make the world obey. Isn't that interesting? This was a huge disappointment to many who wanted to believe in Jesus. So many Jews of his day were expecting a Messiah that would come in and rearrange the social and political order so that the seed of Abraham would rule. Many who might have believed in Jesus simply couldn't do it because he hadn't come to judge, to rule. In fact in this chapter of the book of John, the author discusses how the religeous leaders of Jesus's day did not - simply could not - believe in him. Their hearts were hard against his word, against his love, against his salvation. When your heart is set on seeing judgment dished out there's nothing more disappointing then seeing salvation instead.

This is the sad fact of the American Christian experience, particularly inside the walls of any given church. You see, judgment is deep down in our skin. It sits comfortably within our flesh just waiting to be flung on the nearest person. Isn't THAT interesting? There is something about judgment that we just love, and it is this: judgment is a way to assert our righteousness. Not His righteousness, not the righteousness of Jesus, but ours. Judgment raises us up. Our flesh, that part of us that is entirely physical and self-centered and self-serving, simply gets its jollies off of judgment.

This is a touchy subject in the Church. Churchgoing folk are reticent to concede any ground on this point. We are perfectly willing to pay lip service to love, mostly because we know Jesus talked so much about it, but in the end we cling white-knuckled to a bit of judgment. Because surely that is what God wants, right? I mean after all, He is just. He is holy. He is pure and perfect, and that's what we're called to - perfection. Surely we can and should judge because how else will the world know the holiness of God?

Maybe the fact is that the world won't know the holiness of God. The truth is that the world as a whole will never really know the holiness and righteous nature of God, especially through you and me. We are not instruments of holiness. We are not messages of righteousness to the world. We are not harbingers of the perfect nature of the Creator. We are terrible at that kind of thing. That's why Jesus came to save us.

Here is what we're good at as it relates to the Kingdom of God. We are excellent examples of grace. We are wonderful bearers of the beauty of love. We are perfect witnesses to the salvation of Jesus Christ.

If Jesus himself was not called into the world to judge it, then who in the hell do we think we are to judge it? What makes us think we're more qualified then the perfect son of God who said, "What the father told me, I tell you." Jesus only said what the Father said, and only did what the Father did. And he didn't come to judge, but to save.

Don't lament that this is not your role. I can almost hear the gnashing of teeth at the idea that we are not called to judge. Some of us are so used to judging, so deeply used to it - and frankly so damn good at it - that we can't imagine that we're not called to it. But tell me, what is your judgment doing for the Kingdom of God? How many unsaved ones are coming to your door looking for your judgment? How often have you found that your righteousness is up to the job of bringing sinners into salvation?

Before you consider the answers, let me spoil it for you: zero. No one is coming to Jesus Christ by way of your judgment. Your bible-bashing on Facebook isn't bringing souls to salvation. Your vehement defense of heterosexual marriage has yet to prop up an edge of the Kingdom. The assertion of your rights as an American have not and will not ever set a lost soul free.

Here is what scripture says: it's the kindness of God that brings us to repentance. Isn't that something? So often we slip into the delusion that his anger will bring us to repentance. Or surely his wagging finger of judgment will do it. Perhaps a self-righteous street corner preacher will bring the lost sheep in. Yes! The prodigal children are all waiting for the right combination of righteous anger and impatient moral zeal! Surely if we get steamed up enough they'll coming flooding into the aisles of the local churches (the Protestant ones of course).

Forgive me my sarcasm and hear this: love is what does it. The good news of Jesus was, is and always will be this: God has come to mankind to save us. Judgment was always a promise for those who didn't measure up, but Jesus is the good news that saves us from that. Sin is dealt with. Death has no more sting. Satan fell like lightning to his rightful place in a terrible pit. So what else is left but love, sweet love, love that saves.

Friend of Sinners

The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is justified by her deeds. (Matthew 11:19, ESV)

I think it's easy for us to forget that Jesus was a radical. For so long now we have had the image of Jesus as the kindly shepherd with little lambs in tow. As the gentle bearded white man with golden curling locks of hair who takes the children in his lap and teaches them Sunday School lessons. As the humble outsider gently knocking on the door in the hopes that we will answer and let him into our lives. These images are so pervasive, so accepted and so subtly soothing that the concept of a Jesus who is a populist radical overthrowing the dogma of orthodoxy is unsettling and unbelievable.

It's easy for us to forget just who Jesus was and what he did. Here was a man with the wrong background for life as a spiritual leader. Not only did he come from a region held in disdain by many in the area, but it was probably known by many that his mother had been pregnant before she was married - no doubt a deeply shameful thing for a Jewish family in that day and in that region. So he began his ministry as a kind of outcast, at least in the sense that he was not an especially honored or sought after teacher.

But as he went along the people followed him. Twelve men in particular dropped everything - work, family, their daily livelihoods - and became is acolytes, his disciples. And you can be sure that these men were not the very best that Palestine had to offer. Two of them stand out as particularly poor choices for a rabbi to select. First there is Matthew, who was a tax collector, a position that was generally despised because of the graft and thievery of these officials. In several verses of the Bible the phrase "tax collectors and sinners" indicates in what low esteem Matthew and his ilk were held. The second poor choice was the man who betrayed Jesus, greedy Judas Iscariot the betrayer. Here was a man that Jesus knew would betray him, and yet Jesus invited him to become a disciple anyway.

It's easy for us to forget that Jesus was a friend of sinners. And not just sinners, but truly despised and disdained people. And not just a friend either, but a loving and dedicated friend. The kind of friend who would come over and eat at your table. An intimate friend not concerned with protecting his reputation. The kind of friend who would weep over your losses, bless your family, speak truth into your life even if it hurt your feelings. Jesus was radical not because he called the sinners out in the public square, not because he drew attention to his own righteousness by comparing it their lack, not because he worked tirelessly to turn the tide of culture toward the moral rules of the kingdom of God. No, Jesus was radical because he was a friend of sinners. He was radical because he was a powerful spiritual leader who had little room for religious orthodoxy because he had ample room for love. He was radical because he cared less about his reputation than he did about the broken men and women around him, and he cared less about their reputations than even they did.

How radical his love was. How radical it still is. And yet we don't seem to have a stomach for it. We have twisted the love of Jesus Christ into a kind of invisible assumption of motivation for our moralizing judgments of our neighbors. We've made hatefulness out to be a necessity of righteousness. We have elevated the throwing of stones to a place well above the offering of a cup of water. How radical is the love of Jesus especially when you compare it to our narrow, scared, feeble and fragile attempts to show that we care about anyone who does not precisely measure up to our idea of worthiness. How radical is the love of Jesus and how miserably unappealing is our love.

It's easy for us to forget what love looks like. It's easy to forget that the pinnacle of love was and is Jesus. We often forget that Jesus loves us not because we're especially lovable, but because his way of loving is so radical that it doesn't depend on our loveliness. "While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." He didn't wait for us to clean up our act before he gave everything up for us, so why are we waiting for our neighbors to clean themselves up before we give our love to them? This is what love looks like, surely - to give something up for the sake of our neighbor no matter whether they measure up to our sense of righteousness and morality. We believers should be called friends of sinners, and we should proudly nod in agreement when it's said of us. We should be so fortunate that it would be said of us, just as it was said of Jesus.