Eyebrows rose in skepticism as the words resounded over the gathered crowd. Do. Not. Judge. He couldn’t be serious! Did He really want them to throw out their entire rulebook and just wing it? Let everybody in? Let anybody in? It was such a foreign concept. Acceptance without judgment. It simply wasn’t done. For decades they had carefully cultivated rules that, if strictly held, would allow them to judge the holy from the unholy. Traditions that had long been their measuring line for proper living. Conformity was mandatory. No one could be accepted unless they looked like them, acted like them, and talked like them. Now Jesus’ words were turning their whole system on its head. Let everyone in, He said. Without pointing fingers, nudging elbows, or jutting chins. Without whispered comments or ugly thoughts. Simply put, do not judge. At all. It was a foreign idea. (Matthew 7:1)
Judging others was the Pharisaical order of the day. They were used to stringing up their self-made measuring line to determine if others were adhering to their standards. It was its own kind of tradition. Everyone did it. Especially the Pharisees. More than once they whipped out their list of rules and questioned why Jesus wasn’t adhering as they thought He should. Why didn’t His disciples wash their hands before eating? Why did Jesus allow His men to pick and eat grain on the Sabbath? Why did Jesus desecrate their Sabbath by healing the sick? How could He possibly be the Messiah when He so busily engaged in things their rules and traditions stood firmly against? (Mark 2:24, 3:1-6, 7:5; Matthew 7:1, 23:1-39)
He couldn’t. That was their decision. Jesus couldn’t be the Messiah because He didn’t act the way they thought He should. He didn’t strictly follow their rules. He didn’t fully embrace their traditions. Their Messiah would do all those things. They were sure of it. He would strictly obey and enforce their distorted letter of the law and, consequently, prove His credibility. Who He was. What He was. Why He came. It was through this obedience, this outward action, that they would determine if He was the promised Messiah. But they were disappointed. He couldn’t be. He didn’t rigidly follow the rules. From where they stood, judging His every move, it seemed He bent the rules nearly to the point of breaking. His fraudulent claims were quickly apparent. He was not their Messiah. Obviously. And it chafed severely to have Him stand before them, clearly calling them out, and say, “Do not judge.”
It was not a new message. Centuries before, God said similar words to the prophet Samuel. Traveling to Bethlehem, he assumed he would recognize the type of king God wanted. Young. Tall. Muscular. Good looking. Old enough to have at least a modicum of life experience on which to base his judgments. A man exactly like Eliab, Jesse’s firstborn. He fit every single descriptor. His height would command attention. His looks would enamor the ladies. Whether or not there was anything but air between his ears, Samuel had no idea, but by appearance alone, he would be happy to anoint Eliab as the next king. Except God wouldn’t allow it.
God knew Eliab. Really knew him. He wasn’t swayed by a handsome face, bulging biceps, or extraordinary height. God didn’t even see those things. God saw his heart. Something there wasn’t right. Something inside Eliab wasn’t properly aligned with the type of king God wanted to lead His people. Samuel had no idea it was there. He couldn’t see it. Had no idea what it was. There were no outward indicators. Everything he could see looked like the makings of the next great king. But God saw it. Because God doesn’t look at one’s appearance or stature, birth order or authority level. God looks at the heart. And God said Eliab wasn’t the guy. In fact, He turned down the first seven of Jesse’s sons.
One by one Jesse proudly paraded them before Samuel. One by one, for no reason Samuel could ascertain, God said no. Turning to Jesse, Samuel asked if that was the lot of them. Were there any sons not present? In an offhand manner, filled with dismissal that the youngest son could even be a contender, Jesse said David was off tending sheep. He clearly didn’t consider David able to lead a nation. Perhaps it was his age. Maybe it was his stature. Perhaps he didn’t have the chiseled features of his older brothers. Maybe Jesse didn’t want to lose his shepherd. Regardless of the reason, Jesse didn’t even offer to send for him.
Undeterred by Jesse’s reticence to offer his youngest son, Samuel insists the lad be brought before him. In fact, he says no one gets to eat until David arrives. One wonders what is said in the interim. More importantly, what is not said. What is going on in the minds and hearts of the already rejected elder brothers? Did their hearts twist with envy? Did their features contort with rage? Were their minds actively working out a plan for revenge? Or were they simply stymied how David could possibly be an option? He was the youngest. The last, the littlest, the least. There was nothing to set him above them. Not in looks, stature, experience, or ability. Nothing they could see made him royalty. But it was there. In his heart. God saw it.
The Bible doesn’t tell us what was hiding in the hearts of the elder brothers that made God deem them unfit to rule. What it does tell us is that God isn’t impressed with the things that impress us. Good looks. High-end clothes. Flash cars. God isn’t interested in eloquent speech and an extensive vocabulary. He isn’t swayed by accolades, accomplishments, or academic prowess. He doesn’t care about the name drops. What God cares about, what really matters to Him, the only thing that counts at all, is what He sees in one’s heart. (I Samuel 16:1-12)
It was the point of His message to Samuel. It was the lesson He spoke in the Sermon on the Mount. It is the point of the words He inspired James to write. Don’t judge. At all. It isn’t your place. You have no idea what you are looking for. You are wasting time measuring one’s wealth and prestige. You are silently appraising their clothes, valuing their car, checking their haircut and manicure, but knowing nothing of the condition of their heart. You have done a thorough inspection of their outward appearance, listened to their excellent vocabulary, been captivated by their storytelling, but that is all you know. You don’t know what they are really all about. You don’t know what is in their heart, yet that is all that matters. What is in the heart is the most important part of a person. And it can’t be seen in a cursory glance. You’ll have to spend time with them to truly know who they are. (James 2:1)
That’s the rub for us. Spending time with people we deem unworthy of our time and attention. The poor. The aged. The ill. The odd. It is easy, enjoyable even, to spend time with the beautiful, active, exciting people of society. We rush to be in their presence. Hang on their every word. Brush off their theological inaccuracies because we so desperately want to be part of their circle. And, where we would never outwardly tell the unfortunately aromatic, socially unacceptable bag lady not to enter our sanctuary, we wish she wouldn’t. We don’t care to spend time with her. We don’t want to know her. We have no intention of determining her theological standpoint, because we have already judged her poorly by what our eyes can see.
James, in his epistle, talks candidly about this behavior. He nearly quotes Jesus’ command. Do not judge. Only James uses different words. Do not show favoritism. Don’t bestow honor and favor on the one who strides confidently into your midst spouting wisdom and drenched in obvious riches. Don’t offer them the best place in the house. Don’t fawn over them. Don’t treat the poor person who follows them into your church as if they are less than the one who preceded them. Don’t dismiss them. Don’t make them feel unwanted or out of place. Don’t judge people based on what you see, because, quite frankly, your eyesight is cloudy. You don’t see the whole picture. The poor person may be a prayer warrior, full of faith, and deeply in love with Jesus. The rich person might be the world’s best actor, faking spirituality and leading people astray. They may be doing all the right things on the outside, quoting all the right words, yet their heart is hardened and darkened by sin. You will never know by looking at them. You can’t see their hearts. Only God can. (James 2:1-7)
In a startling truth that resounds from the page centuries after he lifted his pen, James issues a sobering truth. When you judge others and show favoritism, you are sinning. You are flagrantly breaking the commandment Jesus called the second greatest. Love your neighbor as yourself. Treat others how you would like to be treated. Do to others what you wish others would do to you. Are you doing it? Really doing it? From your heart? Are you speaking and acting in a way that reflects a heart changed by mercy and grace? Are you engaging with others in a way that makes them feel respected and loved no matter who they are or how they look? Are you welcoming people, all people, into your life, your church, because the love of God is alive and working in you? Are your words and actions a correct depiction of the secrets you keep in the deepest recesses of your heart? Are you a fraud or a follower? Rest assured, God knows. (James 2:8-13; Luke 6:31, 16:15; Ephesians 4:32; Mark 12:31; Matthew 12:34; Proverbs 21:2; Jeremiah 17:10; John 7:24)