on balance

 

A beat up truck pulled into the middle of the field in Afghanistan during half-time, and a man and woman, both blindfolded and screaming, were pushed out. Another man, holding a microphone, told the crowds watching from the stands the sins of the two prisoners. Before he finished speaking, the guards escorting the two picked up their stones. They hurled them at two faces, two backs, two chests.

The whole thing was hard to watch, really, even in a movie theater when you knew the people were actors. I glanced over at my friend Nicole. She was obviously having a difficult time, and seemed like she was trying to focus on the floor, or the seat in front of her, anything but the screen. I should probably tell you that Nicole is one of the Godliest people I know. I’m sure there’s sin in her life, just like in everyone’s, but still.

I turned to the screen again, and saw another stone being thrown. It made me feel angry at those throwing them. I mean, sure the people being stoned had done some bad things. They needed to be punished. But they didn’t deserve that. Being angry at the people throwing the stones made me feel better, like I was a more merciful person than they were. I looked back at Nicole. She wasn’t hiding from watching it anymore, but at every stone thrown I could see her flinch. Tears were coming down her cheek. Not just one or two, but she was crying.

“Are you ok?” I asked

“I’m just so glad He came. I am so glad He came.”

I spent the rest of the movie thinking about the different way we saw things. I looked at the sinners and saw their sin and wanted mercy. She looked at them and saw herself.

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Before I wrote this, I read through the ten commandments in Exodus to see how I measured up. There were only two of them I haven’t broken. Then I remembered those were the two Jesus set a new benchmark for when he talked about anger and lust. I can’t even get one of them right, and I’ve been following God with everything I have for twelve years now.

I don’t want that. I want to live in a world where Muslims aren’t the bad guys and Christians aren’t the good guys, but we’re all just people; broken, scarred, hopeful. I want to be in a community that doesn’t bash our leaders, sacred or secular, for failing, but instead tries to help them make things better. I want to belong to a church that doesn’t just ask me to value and support their expression of mission, but values and supports mine as well.

I’m an idealist. I recognize that. Sometimes I’m glad about it. but just as often, it's frustrating. Nothing is ever perfect.

I’m trying my best.

********

I sat in my chair in the kitchen listening to my neighbors above me laughing and stomping around, and I felt disgusted at myself for my capacity to blow it, and for the way I sometimes judge others even when I think I’m being merciful, and the way I sometimes look at other’s sin and fail to see my own.

But He came. He came for me. He came for you. He came for the man and the woman kneeling in the patchy grass while stones were being thrown. He came for those that were throwing them. I am so glad He came.