Jonah, Jesus, and Judgment: Part Two

sermon by Carrie Eikler
John 8:2-11, Jonah 3&4

scripture readings from Jonah 3&4 and John 8:2-11. (This was read in two voices, one reading from Jonah, the other from John. I found it drew interesting parallels with the emotion of the "angered" with the reaction from God/Jesus)

The word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time, saying, 2“Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.” 3So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the LORD. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days’ walk across. 4Jonah began to go into the city, going a day’s walk. And he cried out, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”

Early in the morning [Jesus] came again to the temple. All the people came to him and he sat down and began to teach them. 3The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery; and making her stand before all of them, 4they said to him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. 5Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” 6They said this to test him, so that they might have some charge to bring against him.

And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. 10When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.

Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. 7When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” 8And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground

But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. 2He prayed to the LORD and said, “O LORD! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. 3And now, O LORD, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” 4And the LORD said, “Is it right for you to be angry?”

When they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders; and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. 10Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” 11She said, “No one, sir.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.”

Last week we began with the story of AJ Jacobs, a New Yorker, editor of the magazine Esquire, and secular Jew who decided to take on the wild and wonderful Biblical world. He did this by actually attempting to live by its laws and prescriptions literally for one full year. As we discovered last week, this meant doing what many of us would never dream of doing: physically stoning someone the Bible says to condemn. In Jacobs’ case, he lightly pebbled a 70-year old adulterer he met while sitting on a park bench.

And if you remember, he admitted to feeling a sensation of power and righteousness in the act, while also feeling morally stunted at the same time. We began poking at our sense of righteousness whenever we pass judgment: whether we hurl verbal and emotional stones at people—like the Pharisees wished to throw physical stones—or if it is criticism of individuals or groups or situations made from a safe distance—like Jonah perched outside of Ninevah complaining to God about sparing the lives of the heathen Ninevites.

If you were like me, you felt more sensitive to your own tendency to judge this week. I paid attention to what situations began drawing out judgment in me, and to be honest, I didn’t really realize what I was doing until I was in the midst of my judgment: talking back to the radio, or rolling my eyes at someone I saw in the grocery store. But at least I was recognizing it. Did you recognize it?

My humble hypothesis from last week, is that our delight in judgment and criticism comes from a place within us that feels deep pain, and at the same time deep passion. Last week we talked about the pain and how it enters our lives when we think that life is “survival of the fittest …” that we must be on top and superior to everyone around us … that until we make the world in our own image, the our neighbors are completely misguided. Like Jonah, we understand that even God’s mercy, especially for others, isn’t a consolation when all we really want is to be right and to be better than.
Pain and passion seems like a dangerous mixture. Yet it can be a joy to discover the passion at the heart of our judgments because we can begin to cultivate the goodness of our passions, rather than allowing them to take us down judgmental paths.

So this is how it worked for me this week. I’m quite passionate between the hour of 5:30 and 6:30pm when it’s my night to cook dinner. Many of you know, I feel passionate about food and cooking, and while I give thanks for that passion, it has shown me one of my major judgments: I judge people who I feel do not appreciate food the way I do.

I have come to have a spiritual relationship with food: preparing it, serving it, eating it, and most of all trying to enjoy it. I think I’m passionate about it because for so long food has been something that I have had a lot of pain attached to. As many women in America have experienced, I’ve been told to fear food. I’ve been conditioned to think of the bad things it can do to me rather than the joyous things it can give me – to look at good food and picture fat thighs. Welcome to being a woman in America.

But in the past few years I have begun to see it differently. I have begun to delight in it. I have begun to let it really feed me. And I hope that any extra fat on my thighs has come from birthing two babies and not my new found love of baking homemade croissants. But it’s true the pain and fear are still there. When the baby weight from Alistair hasn’t fallen off as easily as with Sebastian. When my body just looks differently now than it did before. Those dark fears, those pains come creeping in and there is a head on cage match with my passion.

So rather than dealing with that collision in myself, I project it onto others: those who eat junk food, those who are obese, those who I see lining up at the drive-through at McDonald’s. And I find myself harshly judging. “If people just appreciated food like I do, took the time to prepare good food like I do, had the knowledge, the resources, the background that I do…” and it’s a downward spiral from there.

And since I’m too busy looking down on those people over there, I’m not able to look down at what’s in front of me: Jesus, drawing in the dirt. Can I join him there? When faced with the opportunity to judge, can I crouch down and be a bearer of love, rather than a giver of criticism?

I worry I may have given the impression last week that I would be giving you a quick fix to your judgmentalism today — and I realize that I am completely unqualified to tell you what to do on this matter. But as I’ve thought about it this week, there are some findings can share with you. But first and foremost, it is clear that an attitude of non-judmentalism is kind of like pacifism. It gives the impression of withdrawal, of “not doing” anything. But when we are serious about not judging, we discover it is a very active process.

So this is what I learned from a Mennonite peacemaker, Buddhist meditation, and Lenten devotions.

I heard John Paul Lederach speak at Bethany Seminary when I was a student. Lederach is a Mennonite who currently teaches at Notre Dame, but, more notably, Lederach is a well respected practitioner of international conflict transformation. I was reminded of him and his work when he was featured on NPR’s “Speaking of Faith” a couple weeks ago. And I was struck by how his approach to conflict transformation is relevant to so many aspects of our lives, even helping us drop our stones of judgments.

It involves cultivating, within ourselves, what he calls a “moral imagination.”

According to Lederach, the moral imagination is the capacity to recognize and take advantage of turning points and possibilities present to us in order to venture down unknown paths that create something entirely new. But first and foremost it requires us to see ourselves as part of a web of relationships, one that even includes our enemies … and people or situations we consistently judge.

We need to recognize we are all connected, one organism based on mutuality. It urges us to suspend the polarities of our judgments—moving beyond seeing the world in black and white, recognizing that human situations are more complex than winners and losers, best ideas and worse ideas, right choices and wrong choices. If we can do this, the moral imagination replaces our judgment by showing us surprising opportunities for connection, and unexpected potential for relationships, even in the face of differences.

Isn’t it relationships over polarities that Jesus emphasizes? I think Jesus is exhibiting a bit of moral imagination in our scripture for today. He is recognizing a turning point, a moment of tension where things could go any which way, the possibility of a new outcome, a new reaction, a new heart. In the midst of attack and judgment … when Jesus was invited to judge, he saw a turning point and he simply stopped.

Perhaps that is a good starting point for us. In my studies of Buddhism and in my on again off again yoga practice, I’ve been introduced to a practice called mindfulness. It is, simply put, trying to be absolutely present in the moment. Not dwelling on the past, or anticipating the future. Perhaps practicing mindfulness can help us crouch with Jesus as he writes in the dirt.

So while we’re here, let’s stop ourselves and practice a little – a moment of mindfulness. Take a few moments to think about what, or whom you are very judgmental, or critical, about. Maybe it’s an individual, or a behavior. It might be a group, or a way of thinking, or a belief system. What is that judgment you have? [pause]

Now imagine you encounter that person, that group, or that behavior. And you feel that bubbling of judgment starting to heat up. It shoots from your brain down to your stomach where it ferments for a moment. Then it rises up your throat and comes out in critical or hurtful words.

The first step of applying mindfulness to our judgments starts here, where you recognize what is happening. You notice what is going on, especially the physical sensations. You might notice your chest getting tight, your lips pursing, your brow knitting. I notice I’m rolling my eyes or feel the beginning of a smirk. What is your body doing.?
Now describe what you’re seeing – put into words what is going on that might be causing that sensation. The person in the grocery line has food I don’t approve. The news story is talking about a politician I don’t like. My friend has made bad decisions. But that description is itself a judgment. Practice seeing the person over the problem. Be in the moment with what you are seeing, describing the person you see, not what they’re doing or saying…. I’m looking at the person in front of me in the checkout line. I am watching a news story. I am talking with a friend. Dwell with the image of the person

And if through practice we can get to the point where we see the person rather than the problem, we might be sewing that web together where we would otherwise be cutting it apart. Simply stopping that runaway train of immediate evaluation and snap judgment helps us to be less judgmental people.

Perhaps in some way this is what Jesus was doing. Jesus stopped and wrote in the dirt. We don’t know what he’s wrote, but the act of writing itself was important enough for the author of John to include it. It meant something. Something was happening. Maybe it wasn’t so much what he was writing but what the process of his writing did in the situation.

He confused the process, forced things to stop. He threw everyone off guard and got them to look at themselves instead of the adulteress. He stopped the violent cycle

Now maybe that still seems vague and complex. Maybe it would be more helpful to look at non-judmentalism as a spiritual discipline just like any other. You could apply the spiritual discipline of silence.

This is what Torin and I did last year during Lent when we found our tendency to be judgmental was spinning out of control. We simply practiced silence and stopped giving voice to your judgments. Even if you think them, don’t say them. It can seem simplistic or misguided, but we found that it helped. Often in our sharing our judgments with others (especially if they are not those people we are judging) we are really looking for someone to agree with us that we are better than the person we are judging. If I have the ear of someone else, my judgments become catty, even more hurtful, and I become more and more separated from that web of relationships.

Now, not speaking your judgments doesn’t mean you won’t have them, but like Jesus writing in the dirt, it stops that cycle for a moment—when we actively think that silence is needed, it brings it to our attention that we were about to say something judgmental. We can then look at the judgments mindfully. It allows us to ask questions of our judgments. We can ask ourselves, will this observation build up or tear down? Will I be more connected with the web of relationships, or leave me disconnected? Is this about making me feel superior?

Connectedness, mindfulness, prayer, and silence. That’s a tall order. But I believe it can be worth the work. Jesus gives us an example of mercy, but he also gives us, with stones in hand, a chance to also practice it. He didn’t just give the angry crowd words of non-judgment, he gave them an opportunity to participate in his gospel of mercy. When he says, “Go and sin no more,” it is hard to hear it as a command to the woman without hoping it will touch the ears of those walking away.

Our work at relinquishing judgment, is our living out Christ’s gospel. May the passion overcome the pain as we become bearers of Love.

Jonah, Jesus, and Judgment: Part One

sermon by Carrie Eikler
John 8:2-11, Jonah 3&4

(*earlier in the service we lit our peace lamp for Sakineh Ashtiani, an Iranian woman who was charged in 2006 with adultery and sentenced to death by stoning. The UN, US and British governments, as well as many humanitarian organizations have appealed for a stay of execution, and for the time being, this week we heard her stoning has been put on hold. For Sakineh Ashtiani, we light this lamp for her safety, and for mercy on the part of the Iranian government. May they, and we, receive God’s merciful peace.)

"Jonah, Jesus, and Judgment: Part One"
When AJ Jacobs set out on a quest to live out the Bible literally for one full year, he had no idea what to expect. Jacobs is the editor at large of the magazine Esquire. He lives in New York, and was raised a secular Jew: as he puts it he is a Jew in the same way Olive Garden is an Italian Restaurant. Which is to say: not very. In his book, entitled The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible he outlines his adventures of seeking the meaning of religion, while also attempting to satisfy some deep spiritual yearning of his own, by living out the Bible--literally. For one full year. Trying to obey the entire Bible without picking and choosing.

So that meant to obey the Ten Commandments. To be fruitful and multiply. To love his neighbor. To tithe his income. But also to abide by the often-neglected rules: To avoid wearing clothes made of mixed fibers. To leave the edges of his beard unshaven. To stone adulterers. Yes, to stone adulterers.

The scene that is presented before us in John, sadly, has biblical backing. Stoning an adulterer, like the one standing in front of Jesus, was a justifiable punishment. In many biblical respects, she had it coming. Yet, while the Bible gives grounds for such a punishment, we realize it doesn’t make it less abhorrent in our eyes.

When AJ Jacobs tackled capital punishment, number two on what he called Most Perplexing Laws [of the Bible], (right after the law of not wearing mixed fibers), he thought he found a loophole: it doesn’t say what size the stones should be. So he chose only tiny pebbles…

Imagine yourself witness to this scene…from Jacobs’ book:

I am resting in a small public park on the Upper West Side, the kind where you see retirees eating tuna sandwiches on benches.

“Hey, you’re dressed queer.”

I look over. The speaker is an elderly man, mid-70s I’d guess. He is tall and thin and is wearing one of those caps that cabbies wore in movies from the Forties.

“You’re dressed queer,” he snarls. “Why you dressed so queer.” [Now remember, he is trying to dress as prescribed in the Old Testament] I have on my usual fringes, and, for good measure, have worn some sandals and am carrying a knotty maple walking stick I’d bought on the Internet for $25.

“I’m trying to live by the rules of the Bible. The 10 commandments, stoning adulterers…”

“You’re stoning adulterers?”

“Yeah, I’m stoning adulterers.”

“I’m an adulterer.”

“You’re currently an adulterer?”

“Yeah. Tonight, tomorrow, yesterday, two weeks from now. You gonna stone me?”

“If I could, yes, that’d be great.”

“I’ll punch you in the face. I’ll send you to the cemetery.”

He is serious. This isn’t a cutesy grumpy old man. This is an angry old man. This is a man with seven decades of hostility behind him.

I fish out my pebbles from my back pocket.

“I wouldn’t stone you with big stones,” I say. “Just these little guys.”

I open my palm to show him the pebbles. He lunges at me, grabbing one out of my hand, then chucking it at my face. It whizzes by my cheek.

I am stunned for a second. I hadn’t expected this elderly man to make the first move. But now there is nothing stopping me from retaliating. An eye for an eye.

I take one of the remaining pebbles and whip it at his chest. It bounces off.

“I’ll punch you right in the kisser,” he says.

“Well, you really shouldn’t commit adultery,” I say.

We stare at each other. My heart is racing.

Yes, he is a septuagenarian. Yes, he had just threatened me using corny Honeymooners dialogue. But you could tell: This man has a strong dark side.

Our glaring contest lasts ten seconds, then he walks away, brushing by me as he leaves.

As critical as AJ Jacobs is of biblical capital punishment, he admitted that in that experience, he found some satisfaction in his light stoning. He said: It felt good to chuck a rock at this nasty old man. It felt primal. It felt like I was getting vengeance on him. This guy wasn’t just an adulterer, he was a bully. I wanted him to feel the pain he’d inflicted on others, even if that pain was a tap on the chest…

[But], he confessed, I also knew that this was a morally stunted way to feel.
*
When Jonah cried out a warning that the people of Ninevah would be overthrown, as directed by God, he likely wasn’t expecting them to listen. And more than that, he probably wasn’t expecting God to show mercy. Jonah perches himself high on a hill, looking down on the blasphemers and evildoers-waiting for a show of God’s wrath, waiting to see what would become of the city.

When the crowd cornered an adulteress in front of the popular rabbi, Jesus, they likely weren’t expecting him to ask them about their sin. And more than that, they probably weren’t expecting Jesus to do what he did: to crouch down and show mercy. They had perched themselves symbolically above, scowling down on the sexually deviant woman, waiting for a word of condemnation, waiting to see what would become of this woman…adulteress…sinner.

When I told my friend this weekend that I was preaching on judgment, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Really? My wife should go and listen to that.” Scriptures like these are what I like to call “yeah-those” stories. I call them that because my initial reaction when I hear them is to say “Yeah-those people who really need to hear this story should listen to what it has to say to them.” If those people would just hear these “yeah-those” scriptures they could sort themselves out.

But what I have come to find is that the more vehemently I latch onto a “yeah-those” scripture or story for what I think it has to say to others, the more I have found it is really an “Oh-I” story. “Oh. I guess this says more about me, than about them.” “Oh. I think the one who really needs to listen is myself.” And in the case of today’s stories, “Oh. I guess these stories about judgment could be less about others shaping up first and more about my delight in judging.”

Why do you think we judge? No, I really am asking a serious question because I would love to know, so I could fix myself, at least. It would make sense if there was some logical biological reason behind it. Like judging other people aids us in our survival of a species, or something like that.

Granted, we know that there is definitely a place for judgment—we like to call it discernment, or reasoning, or assessment. It is essential in making good choices: How do I feel about this book I just read. Would I want to make that mistake again? Do I take this job, marry this person? Should I eat this piece of rotten smelling meat? Judgment is important in our day to day living.

But obviously, this is not what Jesus is talking about, or what Jonah is experiencing. They are shining light on the personal. The interior condemnation we have of other people. The joy we get in passing judgment on others.

I do think however, from my own struggle with judgmentalism, that judgments come from a place within us that is simultaneously passionate, and yet painful. Next week I hope we can explore the hopeful transformation of our passion beyond our judgments, but before we get there, we probably need to poke at the pain.
*
I see two major types of judgers. And yes, I am in the mix. I see these both in myself. Consider this part of my confession.

First are the judging zealots. I am the stoning type. I am not afraid to get in your face, or at least send you a nasty email or get a radio talk show, and say just what it is that you are doing wrong. Or, as really is the case with me, I want to have conversation after conversation with you about my views, whether you invite me to or not…because I don’t think you’ve quite heard me yet. If you would do what I say, or see it my way, you would have it figured out and somehow you will be saved.

And I think salvation is a big part of being a judging zealot. All I want to do is save you from something: maybe it’s salvation from hell or sin, maybe I want to save you from your lifestyle choices of food or drink or stress, I want to save you from the a sexually deviant lifestyle. I want to save you from the destruction of your intolerance. I want to simply save you from your own ignorance.

As a zealot, I’m in the minority, but I’m really loud. Yeah, I might turn you off, but it’s only because I have the truth and you can’t. handle. the. truth.

But usually, I am like most people, who aren’t those zealous judgers. I’m not terribly loud, and god-forbid, I don’t judge. I’m not throwing stones or proclaiming God’s wrath. I simply stew in criticism of other people. Not only individuals, but groups of people. Those with a label, or a behavior I don’t like. Or different ideas. It’s an easier way of being a judger because I really don’t have to go out of my house or engage anybody at all. I simply have to think I’m more knowledgeable, more experienced, more superior in power or intellect …closer to knowing what God wants.

Oh, and I’ll let you in on a little secret. It’s much easier to be a critic if you absolutely do not surround yourself by anyone who thinks differently than you do. A little bit is ok, but dramatically different. Nope. don’t do it

As a criticizer I’d really love those people to be saved from their wayward thoughts, but I’ll just continue to think how wrong they are, and feel better about myself. Quietly criticizing….
**
The book of Jonah is a strange, short story. If he is not surviving in the belly of a big fish, he is proclaiming judgment on Ninevah and then sulking when God decides to show mercy. And it’s that last bit that we zealots and critics can really relate to (unless any of you have been swallowed by a big fish). And when we look at the pouting Jonah through our own experiences, we understand what he is doing.

When I judge--and yes I do believe that uninvited criticism of others (to their face or in the safety of your own solitude) is judgment—when I judge or criticize I am not wanting to “save” anything. Not really. Not Ninevah. Not people who don’t “get it.”

Quicker than it takes God to move from wrath to mercy, we realize that our judgment never brings salvation to others. It doesn’t even bring it to ourselves.

No, I don’t want to save anybody. I simply want to feel superior. I want to set myself apart and above. To look down on the once-heathens. To look down on the current-sinner. To look down on those who just don’t get it like I do.

Why else would Jonah not rejoice Ninevah’s repentance? Why else would he say he would rather die than witness God’s mercy on these heathens?

Jonah reflects the self-destructive powers of our own judgments. Instead of the salvation we may be convinced of, it brings division that is hard to see, but easily felt.
**

When the woman who was caught in adultery was forced before Jesus, he didn’t look down on her. Rather, he lowered himself to the ground…and wrote in the dirt—all eyes down…on him. We don’t know what he writes, but we know it is a moment of tension. What will he do? What will he say? Is he pondering the question, or does he already know the answer? Will he do what we know the law says?

And to me this is a pivotal moment in the slow unfolding of Christ’s gospel.

Don’t think you are any better than she.

When we judge and criticize others for who they are, what they believe, how they live, it is never about them. As AJ Jacobs discovered, even a small pebble bouncing off the chest of a big bully has ramifications for ourselves. Our criticizing judgments are about our own fear that somehow this world is made up of those better than and those less than. And we want to be on top. Superior. Looking down on others.

Today, we hold pebbles in our hands. There is no doubt we are judgers: zealots and critics. How do your judgments or criticisms have a hold on you? Do you build yourself up by tearing others down, if only in your mind? What is this stone you are holding and who are you holding it against?
**
We want the tiny pebbles in our hand to fling at will. Do we really see life as a zero-sum game—that there is no room in our world for people who are different from us? Do I really think that the world should be just like me. Or if not like me, then at least how I wish I could be. Do I really think that when the world is made in my own image, things would be perfect.

If that is how we really feel, then yes, we are more like Jonah than we think.
If this is how we really feel--what a painful life we live.

But Christ, bending down in the dirt, writes something different for us…