… Jesus really meant what He said?

Condemn: to declare to be reprehensible, wrong, or evil…to judge unfit for use or consumption.

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus … [Romans 8:1]

What if that were true?

I know—it’s a complex theological statement. But what if it were as simple as “follow Jesus” = “no condemnation”?

What if every follower of Jesus stopped judging others as “reprehensible, wrong, or evil”? Even “those people”—you know, the ones who are, well, “unfit”?

What if

We refused to make—or forward, or approve—snarky political comments?

          We didn’t support causes or people that marginalize or diminish any individual or group?

Our Twitter and Facebook posts were conspicuous for their lack of condemnation?

          We greeted people and behaviors that offend us with love and acceptance?

We were known for the causes Jesus advanced—peace, agape, hope, mercy, grace?

          God’s kingdom mattered more than governments or countries or flags?

We were identified by the things in which we believe instead of the things with which we disagree?

          Others saw that we follow Jesus without being angry about it?

We stopped trying to win battles He never asked us to fight?

          We took The Great Commission as a standard by which to measure our own actions?

We loved evil into irrelevance (sort of like Jesus did) instead of trying to beat it into submission?

What if

I stopped the most disabling kind of condemnation—the “self” kind?

# # #

The Pharisees confronted Jesus with a woman caught in adultery. When they asked what should be done, He replied,

“If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”

At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she said.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.” [John 8:7b-11]

What if He was serious?

What’s a “what if” you would add to this list?

This is our contribution to the One Word Blog Carnival hosted by Bridget Chumbley. I hope you’ll visit the carnival and check out the other attractions.

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“Nobody could possibly understand how it feels.”

“If people knew what I really think, they wouldn’t want to be near me.”

“I’m sure I’m the only person who feels like this.”

“I can’t let anyone know what I’ve done. They’d despise me.”

Have you ever said, or thought, any of these? I have.

My guess is that most of us have feelings, thoughts, or behaviors we’re embarrassed about. We hide them because we’re sure others would reject us if they knew the horrible evil that lurks just beneath the surface.

We’ve been talking about “Stories Worth Telling.” So far we’ve looked at three principles:

• Tell the truth
• Tell a story of encouragement and hope
• Ask permission by establishing relationship

Today I want to explore an unpleasant reality:

TELLING YOUR STORY INVOLVES RISK

I wish story-telling was safer. I wish it was as easy as, “Just get it out there and people will understand.”

That’s not how it works.

Telling the real story means admitting your flaws and secrets. It means letting down the mask of heroism and propriety, admitting the fears, and confessing the failures. It’s just about the scariest thing we can ever do. And it’s a fact that some people won’t accept you once they learn about the warts.

I love listing my hand cycling successes. It’s great to tell others about writing a book, overcoming a devastating injury, and finding joy and meaning in difficult circumstances.

It’s not so much fun to admit that for a long time I wanted to give up and die. I’m ashamed of the hurt I caused so many people. I’d like to leave out the terrible decisions and shameful behaviors. I fear that listeners will be repulsed by my failures, judge me for my mistakes, and turn off the entire message.

I’m tempted to edit the story, remove the unpleasant realities, and re-cast myself in a more favorable role. I’d rather appear just a bit less–uhhh—despicable.

We’ve all heard those kinds of stories, the ones where tragedy just magically disappears and the victim of evil overcomes through heroic perfection. Stories like that make great movies, but they’re lies.

A story worth telling has to be real. Encouragement, the kind that helps people keep going when there’s nothing left, can’t be faked. There’s no hope in a happily-ever-after fairy tale.

Edit out the bad stuff and make the main character into a storybook hero and you get a schmaltzy made-for-TV special. Everyone knows it’s not real, but we smile because we get to keep the masks in place.

The people who desperately need to hear an authentic story of hope and love and possibility will appreciate the risk you take to tell it. The rest will either condemn you or turn you into a hero.

That’s the risk of a story worth telling.

Have you ever hesitated to tell your story because of how “they” would react?

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“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. [Matthew 5:3]

Do you think you know who’s going to heaven?

A few days ago I ran across a blog post titled Ten People Who Won’t Be In Heaven. It’s a catchy title—at least it got my attention on Twitter. I won’t link to it because, frankly, I can’t find it again. But trust me, you’re not missing anything.

We don’t need another scriptural litany of sins. You know what I mean, the really awful sins that all those other people do. The sins that are so horrible that we can say for sure they’re going to keep people from God’s eternal presence.

Of course the writer omitted sins like judging, failing to forgive your neighbor, forgetting to feed the hungry—insignificant stuff like that apparently wasn’t bad enough to make the top-ten list.

Drawing lines—those are the really nasty guys, the ones we need to single out for eternal damnation. On this side of the line are the good guys, which apparently means those of us guilty of acceptable offenses.

Drawing lines—I do it, we all do it. But let’s be honest.

When we draw lines, we try in vain to identify ourselves with a better class of sinners.

I definitely believe in absolute truth and right. But I also believe that no person can stand alone in the harsh light of that truth. “There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…”

But now a righteousness from God, apart from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. [Romans 3:21-24]

There is no difference. That doesn’t fit our notion of fairness, but God fortunately doesn’t see things our way.

What if we quit drawing lines? What if we dropped our silly obsession with labels and division? What if we focused on tearing down the barriers rather than fortifying them? What if we approached others with simple unconditional respect?

When Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit..,” He was describing those who recognize their own spiritual bankruptcy. The “poor in spirit” are those who understand their spiritual insufficiency and their absolute need to fall into Jesus’ mercy and grace. When you understand that, it’s difficult to draw lines.

There is no difference.

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future. Oscar Wilde

As hard as I try to avoid it, I draw lines. What are some of the lines you tend to draw?

Did you enjoy this article? Please leave a comment, visit my website, and/or send me an email at rich@richdixon.net.

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