The Fault in Ourselves

Scripture: Matthew 7:1-5

We have made Jesus into such a solemn figure that we can miss the edgy humor in some of the things He says. Consider the image He gives us in this passage: we judge others because of the speck in their eye, despite the log we have in our own.

People sometimes paraphrase this passage as saying that we should not judge others for the faults we have ourselves, but of course that does not quite capture it. This passage suggests that our fault may be greater: hence the contrast between the "speck" in the eye of the other and the "log" in our own. The passage also hints at our obstinacy in failing to recognize our own weaknesses. After all, it takes a serious gift for denial to look past a log sitting in the middle of your eye. But, of course, we do just that, and not infrequently.

Because of this human proclivity, Jesus wisely wants us out of the business of judging. "Do not judge," He declares with a directness and simplicity that is hard to ignore. We have nevertheless ignored it for a couple thousand years, merrily condemning people for conduct of which we disapprove but about which Jesus said little or nothing. Along the way, we have blissfully disregarded the straightforward command He gives us at the beginning of this chapter: Do. Not. Judge.

Where we have not ignored the command altogether we have softened it beyond recognition. Take, for example, the current trend that advances "tolerance" as a virtue. Now, tolerance may be a good state of mind--or at least better than some of the alternatives. But, for present purposes, what matters to me is that you recognize that "Do not judge" and "Be tolerant" are not the same thing. Compared to the strong medicine of the former, the latter is a diluted tonic.

"Tolerate" comes from a Latin word meaning "to bear or endure." By the fifteenth century, it had firmly taken on an association with pain, suffering, and discomfort. We retain that association today. A friend of mine who had broken a limb in a particularly nasty way said to the physical therapist who would be working with her after surgery: "I have a high pain tolerance." "Good," the therapist replied. "You're going to need it."

When we talk about "tolerating" something we therefore imply that we find it hurtful, tough, difficult, unpleasant. In other words, we suggest that we have judged it and have assessed it negatively. We will put up with it. But, in an ideal world, we would have nothing to do with it.

As in all normative discourse, it is risky to draw overly broad conclusions about the place of tolerance in our thinking. Sometimes tolerance is a terrible idea, as when a wife tolerates a physically abusive husband. Sometimes it has a sense of charity to it, as when we tolerate the screaming infant in the restaurant. Is tolerance a good thing or a bad thing? I don't know; tell me more and we'll try to figure it out.

It seems safe to say, though, that in most if not all cases the road to tolerance passes through the territory of judgment--adverse judgment. And, in the end, it drops us at a place in which disengagement is the goal. "I don't like it. I don't approve of it. But I will endure it for as long as I must."  

"Do not judge" anticipates a different dynamic altogether. Here, the territory of judgment is explicitly off limits. And, in most instances, our only hope of refraining from judgment lies in engagement. This means engagement with the other: learning more, working to empathize, trying to understand, imagining what life is like in their skin. And it means engagement with ourselves: recognizing our own frailties and imperfections, owning our own weaknesses, staring dead ahead into the log in our own eye.

"Do not judge" is therefore not an invitation into passivity. To the contrary, it comes to us in a voice we might call the "active normative": in order not to do this thing, we will have to do lots of other things instead. If it sounds like a great deal of work, well, sometimes it is. But perhaps we will find some additional motivation in understanding that the command also applies to the person who would judge us.

Despite all of this, in the course and complications of our existence we will encounter circumstances where we will find ourselves judging someone else. Indeed, depending on the other person's conduct, we may think this not just defensible but irresistible and justifiable. Jesus does not ignore this reality. Instead, he gives us an equally straightforward command to deal with those circumstances: now, forgive them.

This command comes to us in the "active normative" voice as well. It, too, requires a lot of work. But Jesus understood that our only chance at breaking the cycle of insanity and violence and escalation and poisonous rhetoric that drives the world lies finally in our slowness to judge and our quickness to forgive.

"If we have no peace," Mother Theresa said, "it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." Yes. And, in our forgetfulness, we judge with thunderous severity and forgive with tectonic slowness. So has it always been.

Whether it must always be this way is up to us. All of us. Each of us.

Me.

You.

Amen.