Run, Just Run

A few years ago, my wife Kathy and her parents drove from Metuchen to New Orleans. A three-day drive. The first night they waited to see how far they could get before they phoned a hotel to make a reservation. The motel selected was a bit "rough" Kathy said which I would translate "there has to be something better." The second night they followed the same strategy of phoning from the road. Only this time, once they arrived Kathy turned to her folks and said, "we can’t stay here."

The rooms were awful, the motel was in disrepair. They all agreed and left to find another place. As they drove away Kathy asked, "what did the reviews say about that hotel?" She was surprised that her mother was unaware of the thousands of reviews provided for each hotel on sites like Expedia. Curious to know she typed in the name of the motel now left behind. She also wanted to show how future reservations might be aided. Kathy gasped when she read the first review. It was only three words, "run, just run."

              When she recounted this review and the motel her response surprised me.  Usually forgiving and slow to be critical, let alone harsh, she said, “yep.  Run, just run away was dead on.” 

              Over the years, Kathy is the one who writes the reviews for the places we stay.  We’ve never written a food review or product review.  We have read many.  Usually if we don’t know a company, a restaurant, a product, we will read the reviews.  They are helpful.  Yet, for places we are going to stay we always read reviews and read between the lines.  How long did people stay?  Where do they live?  Are they traveling with children, pets, parents?  Did they stay for work or pleasure?

              It was not until recently I discovered we too are being reviewed.  If you use Airbnb to rent an apartment, a house, the owner writes a review of you.  We have never been given a bad review, but the first time I saw it I paused and wondered, what would someone say?  The only time I was concerned about a review was an apartment in Naples.  We stayed two nights, and I purchased a piece of cheese that proved quite stinky.  Fortunately, the window we left open seemed to do the trick.

              Yet, what a strange thought.  Being reviewed as a person, as a guest.  It’s strange to imagine this in print or on the internet.  To be treated as something subject to review.  It's a bit intimidating and yet we do this informally all the time.  We have opinions of people; we judge them and grade them, define them and cast them in good light or bad light.  Who hasn’t met someone knew at a dinner or at an event and then turned to a spouse and said, “what did you think of Tom; what did you make of Susan?” 

              For many years now in our house the judgement of a person is measured by a question.  We ask each other a question about a potential friend.  Having met and spent time with someone we ask, “long car trip?”  The question means, do you think you would enjoy a long car trip with the new acquaintance?”  This is different from do you like them, or do you think they are a good person.  There is power in the question: could you travel for three days with them in a car?

              We are not quick to ask this question and it is not asked of everyone.  Oftentimes the people we meet at first are different after a time. We give it months, sometimes a couple years before we ask, “long car trip?”

I can remember my first meeting with a new bookkeeper, Penny.  She seemed demure, quiet, and a bit reserved.  Her first impression would be a long car ride in silence.  Okay.  But not great.  Ten years later I would drive with Penny anywhere and it would not be quiet.  With her I came to see what it meant to have a Greek friend who’s fierce as fire, kind to the core.  She was a treasure and relentless.  Penny was her name, and it was also how she kept the books “to the penny.” 

              Through the years I grew to rely not only upon her accounting skills, but also her judge of character.  She gave people a lot of room, a lot of lead.  Never did I find her quick to judge, fast to form an opinion.  But man, once she did, it was set.  Sometimes she reminded me of how my grandmother would judge people.  There are “good ones” and there are “bad ones.” Both women gave a lot of grace, but neither suffered fools nor shied from certainty once earned. 

              I have met few people who form such certainty.  Good ones; bad ones.  Penny was always polite, but I knew clearly if she didn’t care for someone, trust them.  Most people don’t achieve this clarity.  Most struggle with their judgment, they waffle with verdicts.  Again, and again people will say “must be having a bad day” or “it must be me” or “just not my cup of tea.” Good ones; bad ones?  No.  “Run, just run?”  No. We give the benefit of the doubt, we excuse bad behavior, we try not to judge.

              Jesus didn’t invent the saying “judge not lest you be judged.” This was a saying of his time and place.  I would imagine every culture has something similar, some reminder to walk in someone’s shoes, or don’t judge a book by its cover, or beware of bias and prejudice. 

To some degree we all practice this advice.  We do our best not to judge.  Yes, sometimes we fail. Sometimes we are blind to our prejudice, false definitions we hoist on people.  True.  This happens.  Yet, for the most part, I don’t see people blindly judging other.  Most people don't willfully condemn based on a first impression. We reserve judgment. 

              I think we could all say, “don’t judge: got it!” Finally, a teaching of Jesus without paradox or irony.  No parable here.  But then, unfortunately, there is.  There is a parable and what's worse a contradiction.  The contradiction is that Jesus recasts the surface, the banal, the simple direction of “don’t judge” with very deep and powerful choices.  He takes a simple teaching and makes it complex and challenging.  Jesus says in essence, not only should you not judge, but you must also forgive without judgement, be gracious without judgement, and the most challenging: measure your kindness with extravagance.  Not only give and forgive as you are given and forgiven but also offer the full measure of each as well.

              A few years ago, Kathy and I spent a week at Chautauqua, the religious, summer institute in Western New York set on a beautiful lake.  Many denominations maintain houses on the grounds.  The Presbyterian House is an enormous 19th century Victorian with multiple additions and a large dining hall.  Each day you dine with other Presbyterians before going to lectures and concerts.  Chautauqua is an amazing place.

              Early in the week we enjoyed a wonderful meal and conversation with two sisters.  One is an elder in her church, the other is a pastor.  They were a bit older than us, and yet as will happen within an hour we developed an ease of rapport and found much in common far beyond our Presbyterianism.  For the next few days, we shared at least one meal together often lingering afterward with coffee.  And then, we all attended a lecture where the topic of abortion was raised.  After lunch we sat and talked.  Within a few moments it was clear: we didn't share the same value, same conviction, definition.  What followed was an intense exchange.  Everyone spoke from the heart.

              I would love to tell you after the intense moment of revelation we have stayed friends, kept in touch, our differences were not an obstacle.  But that is not true.  Something immediately changed.  We were strangers once again.  Perhaps rightly so.  Perhaps such a divergence of belief was much greater than the quick rapport of a few meals.

              Although I don't believe we must be lifelong friends with everyone, hence the question (long road trip?), and while there are people and places where we need to exercise prudent judgement (run, run away), it is just as true that we are not likely to offer the full measure of grace.  We are forgiving up to a point and the point is often shallow.

              If Jesus had only said, don't judge or forgive as you are forgiven, then the polite distance and mutual forbearance we gave and received with the two sisters after our differences were revealed, if it were just a matter of don't offer derision or disdain, then we fulfilled his teaching, lived as he directed.  But the full measure, the pressing and sifting and filling, the image of extravagance, include everything, this is not what happened, and if we are honest, it's not how we live. 

How live is like a dial we leave at a low level.  Don't judge is a low level of grace.  Sometimes we turn the dial up to don't judge and be forgiving; but Jesus says turn the dial up higher, offer kindness beyond mercy. That is a bit high.  We are called to not only reserve judgement, punishment, but somehow, we must offer help, compassion, kindness beyond this.  Just when the dial is turned up too high, Jesus says take it to the limit, give and forgive and be gracious in full measure— withhold nothing.

              There is one final element to this piece of the Sermon on the Plain.  Remember Jesus is on a level place, teaching like a Greek philosopher, grabbing a few key lessons from his storehouse of adages and parables.  What we read today is best understood as "if you could only take a few things on a long journey, take this." Into this reading Luke has smashed together a riddle, a paradox, and finishes with a parable of Jesus. The parable is: can the blind lead the blind?  This seems innocuous, a rhetorical question.  The answer, of course, is no.  The blind cannot lead the blind. Once again it seems easy.

But it’s not. Not easy, but it is grace.  The parable takes the impossible, the dial turned way up beyond how we live and turns it all the way back down.

              The blind leading the blind is us.  It is a gracious door of humility and self-care.  Don't judge, be graciously forgiving, and then offer it in full measure.  This is beyond how we live.  We withhold judgement, but if we are crossed, if we are wronged, then we withhold mercy. If someone has done something wrong, we don’t seek vengeance, but we don’t lavish the wrongdoer with kindness.  We live in a kind of bizarre balancing act of meager mercy and token kindness.  The full measure Jesus calls for is completely inconsistent with how we live.  We are not extravagant with grace and mercy.  And then comes the parable.

              We are all blind.  Our life is the blind leading the blind.  We don't know.  Our judgement is faulty.  Our confidence is far less than our fears; our clarity is fleeting at best.  No sooner do we find an answer only to realize it's another question. We are the blind leading the blind. 

Wouldn't that be a great motto.  First Presbyterian: the blind leading the blind.  It’s funny, and yet how true, how close. We live in meager mercy, not extravagant grace.  But we could be so bold if were honest about our shared blindness. 

              We know so little of the hearts of those around us; and we know so little of our own heart. How gracious we could be if we knew we were the blind lead the blind.  Amen.