Every time I get a haircut the conversation invariably turns to theology. That’s because my barber knows I’m a retired pastor and, though not a church-goer, she’s more than a little curious about the whole Christianity thing.
The last time I was there she touched on the subject of judgment. We’re not supposed to judge, right? She walked right into a buzz saw on that one.
I explained that love is indeed the basis for Christianity, but that love hardly eliminates the need for judgment. In fact, just the opposite.
If you fall in love, you’re not free to do whatever you please – or shouldn’t be. That’s because relationships make demands on us, just as being part of a family, a neighborhood, or even being a citizen does. If you truly love, you make every effort to ensure your behavior honors and respects the other. And this will require considerable disciple and sacrifice.
One might even go so far as to say that loving relationships make the most stringent demands possible, ones that require acknowledging and respecting even “severe” judgments.
If you let your kids do whatever they want, that’s not love but neglect. You make and enforce judgments not because you enjoy imposing a bunch of arbitrary rules, but because you wish to spare your children the suffering that comes from maladaptive behavior, behavior that will harm them and those with whom they come in contact, even society at large.
It’s no different with God. For God’s love seeks what’s best for us, rather than indulging us in our whims and fantasies. It makes clear judgments and demands strict obedience.
Is this because God likes making rules to punish us for failing to keep them? Of course not. But it’s amazing how many people think God’s love should be absent judgment.
Then again, we make judgments every day. We decide to do one thing and not another. In fact, if we never made judgments, what monsters we’d be.
Of course, I suspect the reason most people reject the idea of a God who judges is based on a sound principle. And that has to do with the kinds of judgments too often made – selfish, mean, unsound – ones that constitute what you might call “judgmentalism.”
Judgmentalism is what Jesus criticized the Pharisees for. It is the tendency to make and even obey judgments without love. Love, in other words, comes before the rules and in fact animates them. Without love they simply make no sense and are rendered neither edifying nor humane.
We all know people who pride themselves on following the rules, not out of love, but to make themselves appear better than others. This is the genesis of “self-righteousness” and the “holier than thou” mindset, both rightly and duly condemned by Jesus.
In the end, the question isn’t whether we should or shouldn’t judge. The question has to do with making the right judgments, those born of love. There are good judgments and bad judgments, in other words. The task of a Christian is to determine those that honor God vs. those that don’t. It’s as simple – and as difficult – as that.
This is yet another example of how we’re prone to abstract principles or ideas, in this case, from love and the communities formed and sustained by it. Without love, all such principles and ideas are rendered unintelligible.
The other issue the barber and I discussed has a similar derivation – about abstraction, that is. A previous customer had grilled her about being “born again,” stressing its primacy. It was, according to the customer, a kind of litmus determining whether one is a Christian or not. So she wanted to know, did I also believe this?
The answer is no. God comes to people in different ways and amid differing circumstances. There’s no set rule.
The best way I know of explaining this has to do with baptism. In my tradition, we honor infant baptism while in others it’s done with the consent of the individual being baptized. The latter, of course, implies that the decision is based on an informed perspective, the kind an infant could never possibly make.
But think about being born into a given family. Infants have absolutely no clue as to what their parents believe, where those beliefs come from, much less how these views differ from others’. And yet they’re living it every moment of every day. Each of their senses is fully engaged in the family ethos, in its specific character and culture, its varying sights, sounds, words, emotions, as well as its specific practices of love and nurture.
It’s only when children reach a certain age that they’re able to identify and articulate intellectually the family belief system, what it holds dear, and what defines its understandings and practices within everyday life.
Christianity is no different. If a person is reared in the church he or she will come to understand its essence, if not doctrinally, then at least intuitively. After all, he or she is living it. And this living is intimately connected to the community of which he or she is a part each Sunday.
When I was a kid, the children used to be dismissed from worship to go to Sunday school. But one Sunday, I was allowed to stay. During the time designated for personal prayer I remember watching my father lean forward and pray intensely, with his hands on his forehead. I’d never seen him do this and it made a huge impression on me.
Looking back, though I scarcely knew it at the time, there was something different about the worshiping community at church and the world I encountered Monday through Saturday. It was kinder, more grace-filled, and, yes, more loving. Only in retrospect do I fully appreciate this.
When the time came for my return to the church in my mid to late 20s, I recognized a certain sensibility carried over from childhood. The church and Christianity were part of me, though I had done very little by way of defining much less practicing it. In a sense, I was a Christian before I knew I was.
There certainly are stories of those who are “born again” in a flash, perhaps the most famous of which is Paul’s “road to Damascus” moment. Especially for someone previously outside the circle of Christian fellowship, this is often quite dramatic, and life-changing. But does such an experience necessarily supersede the faith of someone who’s been part of an ongoing Christian community? I think not.
Again, it has to do with abstraction. Many tend to think Christianity is essentially an intellectual experience. One must assent to certain abstract, dogmatic beliefs.
But Christianity is not just about our rational understandings. It relates to every aspect of our lives, not just our minds, but our emotions, passions, feelings, and experiences of the holy, often quietly if not undramatically expressed.
Christianity ultimately cannot be reduced to a single moment or to mere intellectual assent. It is broader, deeper, and far more encompassing. And perhaps what is most essential in becoming a Christian is the experience of being part of the worshiping community, out of which and from which all else flows.