. . . between Fr. Richard John Neuhaus and The Shack. Re: My last post: Not judging myself has got to mean not judging others. The two are simply not separable.
But we also have to be careful what we mean by "not judging." We are clearly not called to be so tolerant as to say that all choices are okay. Sin is still sin. But sinners (myself included) are to be offered the Truth (and the Way and the Life) in love and mercy, not condemnation. My job is simply to be a vessel of Christ to those around me. It is his job, then, to change their lives according to His dreams for them, by the Holy Spirit. But enough of this aside.
How is my judging of myself so inextricably tied to my judging of others?
It is all caught up in what Fr. Robert Spitzer (President of Gonzaga University, and the most intelligent and articulate man I've ever heard speak, but then, see the rest of this paragraph for what's wrong with that compliment!) refers to as the "comparative identity." This concept describes our tendency to think of our selves primarily in comparison to others, and takes many forms in our lives: the struggle to be more successful than others, our habit of thinking we're "not so bad" compared to others, our envy of others' accomplishments or relationships, and so on. We tend to think well of ourselves or, in the case of those who are neurotic about their failures (like me), think poorly of ourselves, always relative to others: better or worse husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, students, employees, citizens, believers. Our self-judgment is ever present, on so many levels, when we live according to the comparative identity.
I'm really prone to the negative side of that whole dynamic.
On the other hand is what Fr. Spitzer calls the contributive identity. When I realize my utter dependence on Jesus Christ for the salvation he has provided for me, I am more likely to focus on how he is calling me to respond to his gift. Then I blog as well as I can without concern for how articulate I am compared to all the other bloggers, and I play my guitar as well as I can without regard to whether that's better or worse than some other guitarist might play. I do the best job I can do, and celebrate my coworker whose best effort has earned him a promotion even if I might have it wanted, too.
This is an incredibly liberating way to live, and I must confess I don't manage it very well. But it also has some challenging implications.
Suppose a man rapes and murders a child. This is a unspeakably hurtful, heinous act, and society has a responsibility to condemn this crime, and to punish - and protect itself from - this criminal. We owe it to the child's family to bring the criminal to justice swiftly, without making them relive their trauma over and over again. We owe it to the rest of society to make sure that no one else falls prey to him.
So in the process, am I not judging him?
You see, equally true is this: our responsibility to ensure that he never again commits such an act is also for this man's own sake. To be sure, the harm he has done to his own soul is as great as that he has done to everyone else.
And no, I'm not judging him, if my desire for him in the context of experiencing the consequences of his actions is that he encounter the mercy and forgiveness which Christ offers each of us. I may not wish him to ever be free again, and yet may wish to encounter his healed soul in heaven some day, where he will be restored to the wholeness that would have prevented him from such an atrocity. If heaven is a reward for right living, bestowed according to careful weighing of the scales of justice, he might never aspire to this. For that matter, neither do I. If, rather, it is the unmerited gift of a loving God to his beloved children, then I cannot accept this gift without also desiring it - indeed, all the more so - for my least deserving, most broken brother or sister.
If anyone is in hell - and Fr. Neuhaus makes the first persuasive argument I've ever heard that perhaps hell is empty of human souls - I think it is primarily because of this: some of us might never be willing to abandon ourselves to a God who could show mercy even to someone who has committed unspeakable atrocity. I fear that many of us would reject God's mercy for ourselves rather than accept it if it means accepting everyone else on whom he bestows it. "To abandon myself is to abandon judging myself," which I cannot do without also abandoning judging others. Having eaten deeply of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, we are often loath to do so.
Let's consider the opposite example: say, Mother Teresa. Such a saint, I think. I could never hope to live in the sort of holiness she walked in! But moving away from the comparative identity, there is a holiness which God desires to give me. It may not be the same, or "as great," as that of Mother Teresa, but it is God's plan for my life. And if I get too comparative, I'm going to fail to become all that God intends for me because of the simple fact that I'm not "as special" as someone else.
The truth is that I'm utterly unworthy of God's love. But I don't believe I'm more unworthy of that love than you are. We're all unworthy, else there'd be no need of mercy.
I also know I am a saint, despite my unworthiness. I'm not more of a saint than you are, though I may be aware of God at work in me in a way that's different from your awareness of God at work in you. I'm holy and whole as God is calling and enabling me to be. In my remaining brokenness, I sometimes choose other than the best which God has in mind for me. But that has nothing to do with the comparative identity, and while it makes me in that moment less of a person than God dreams for me to be, yet his mercy remains abundant in my life.
I pray the same for you, dear reader.
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