Judging our neighbors
Franklin Graham, Pat Robertson and the aftermath of a storm
By Joshua Bower
As Joshua Bower helped helped his neighbors after tornados ripped through the areas, he realized he had some spiritual clean up of his own to do.
It’s hard to see with a log in your eye. At least that’s what Jesus taught:
With the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye” (Matt. 7:2—3, 5).
Recently, it’s become clear that I have a monster log in my eye. If you’re reading this, it might be in your eye, too. And if Jesus was serious, that’s a problem we need to work on.
How did I discover this log? It all started on January 2 in my home of Albany, Georgia. The local storm sirens went off to let us know that we were under a tornado warning. My wife and I reluctantly stopped watching the season premiere of Sherlock to get the kids into the middle hallways of our house. We huddled together there as the storm raged loudly outside. The next morning we learned that our neighborhood, along with significant portions of the city, was covered in downed pine trees. Homes were cut almost in half. Whole streets looked like forests. And then, less than three weeks later, another storm hit that made the first seem mild by comparison. On January 22 tornadoes tore through southwest Georgia. They killed five people in Albany and obliterated whole neighborhoods, many of them among the poorest neighborhoods in the city. I can’t describe how I felt when I walked through these areas for the first time. It was just unimaginable devastation.
At the same time, both of these storms revealed not only horrible pain, but also brought out the very best of human nature. Across the city, people grabbed chainsaws and teamed up to clear trees and other debris. Agencies from across the nation came to help. But there was a problem, and this problem is what showed me just how large a log I have in my eye.
Who were the very first people to show up? Samaritan’s Purse, that’s who! That’s right, the organization founded and run by Franklin Graham, the same Franklin Graham loathed by left-leaning Christians for his right-wing statements on everything from politics to the new Beauty and the Beast movie. Samaritan’s Purse was in town within two days of the first storm. And they were amazing. They poured into neighborhoods and brought manual labor, Bibles, prayer, and much-needed human presence in the midst of the chaos. They did this every day for almost two months.
And if that fact wasn’t bad enough, as I walked through one of the areas hit hardest by the second storm, a woman glowed as she told me that The 700 Club had been to her house.
“Wait,” I thought, “isn’t that the TV show starring pastor and Republican Party lap dog Pat Robertson?” What she meant was that volunteers from Operation Blessing, a relief organization founded by Robertson, had been to her house. Later that day I got to work alongside them. They were simply awesome. They invited me to join them (proudly wearing my blue Presbyterian Disaster Assistance t-shirt!) in laying hands on one of the victims and praying together for her.
Almost every time Franklin Graham speaks about anything related to the culture, I cringe. And to me, Pat Robertson is a caricature of everything that drives me insane about fundamentalist Christians. Prior to this past January, I had honestly detested these men.
I learned in the aftermath of the storm that I’m also jealous of them: their financial resources, their influence among so many of the Christians who populate the churches here (including my own), and their connections to the most powerful churches in the area (all Southern Baptist, of course). I learned how bitter I am about those churches, too. And yet…when people were hurting, their people showed up. Like Jesus’ “Good Samaritan” before them, they weren’t the people I had hoped to see from my position in the ditch, but they poured themselves out to make sure I was cared for. They loved everybody, regardless of race, gender, political ideology, or any other thing that normally divides human beings. According to Jesus’ definition, they were—and are—my neighbors (Luke 10:29-37).
For years, I’ve self-righteously judged these neighbors. I’ve pointed out every speck of dust I could find in their eyes. It turns out I’ve had a log of hatred in my own eye the entire time that needs removing. How do you feel about Franklin Graham and Pat Robertson, or folks who love them? Do you have the same log in your eye that I do? If so, Jesus says that’s a problem we need to work on. How will we do that?
This is the season of Lent. This is supposed to be a time of repentance, of turning from our sin and turning back to Jesus. For Lent this year, I’m going to ask God to remove this particular log in my eye. Does this mean I’ll end up agreeing with Graham and Robertson on all things? I doubt it. We have fundamentally different approaches to faith and how to live it out in the public sphere. However, we share an unwavering commitment to Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord, and calling all people to follow him. That means that we are brothers in Christ, part of the one body of Christ in the world. Of course, I’ll probably never even meet these guys. So the real question is how I’ll act toward the huge swaths of the Christian family in our country and around the world who are devoted to their teachings and admire them deeply. They are my sisters and brothers—and yours, too, if you follow Christ. And I’ve sinfully judged my brothers and sisters for too long. I’ve assumed too much about what they believe and how they vote and who they love and how they hate. And yes, I’m sure many of them have done the same to me. A whole blog post could be written from “the other side” about hating mainline Christians. But the bottom line is: if things are going to be any different among Christians of different stripes tomorrow than they are today, an attitude change has to start somewhere. Why not with me? Why not with you?
What do you think? Can Christians across the ideological spectrum get the logs out of our eyes and treat each other like brothers and sisters? It took a tornado for it to happen in Albany, and we’re already starting to recede back into our own tribes a couple months later. What would it take for lasting change to happen? Where can the change start? How can you lead it where you are? How can we support one another in doing it? May Jesus pluck the logs out of ALL of our eyes, so we can see clearly, and so that the world can see his love clearly through us.
Joshua Bower is the pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Albany, Georgia.