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…