BEING JUDGMENTAL

I recently had a communication exchange with an officer of a fellowship I belong to. She was ending her term, and a slight misunderstanding had occured between us. We got it cleared up, but something she said stuck with me, that the group was "very judgmental". The implication was that she'd been stung by some judgmentalism coming at her.

I've been thinking about it because the issue of being judgmental comes up every so often in Christian circles. And always, the implication is that being judgmental (in almost any fashion) is a really bad thing. How many times have people quoted "Judge not lest ye be judged"? I don't want to do a count.

That was a disturbing verse to me when I was younger. Because I heard people quoting it a lot in many different circumstances. And the reason it bothered me was because I'd already realized that I had a judgmental temperament. Why, I wondered, would God give me this aspect as a part of my nature, and then inflict this prohibition on me in scripture?

Then came the day, a summer Sunday afternoon, when I was lounging on our porch sofa reading my way through the Sermon on the Mount. On my own. And what did I discover? (using The New American Standard translation here) "Do not judge so that you will not be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you."

What a relief! Now that was something I could live with!

There were interesting consequences to this, of course.

I came to see that it was about accountability. I think Christians are accountable to each other, and we should, in fact, call each other on behavior that doesn't "measure up".

But of course, few people like being held accountable. It's not the most fun thing in life.

Still, I feel that if someone claims to be a Christian, then that assumes a certain standard of behavior that we believers are all called to. And of course, I don't really expect that we succeed: we are human and make mistakes. That's only to be expected. But I do think it appropriate that people be reminded of the standard they have committed themselves to.

That was one consequence. Another was the learning of mercy: because I knew I was likely to fail in meeting the Christian standards from time to time, it was easier for me to treat others with mercy in their failings. As in giving them second (and third and fourth, etc.) chances. God gives me that mercy. How can I not work at extending the same to others?

A third consequence came in dealing with non-Christians. Was it fair of me to hold them to a standard of behavior they had made no committment to? Certainly there is evil out there in the world, and we should do all we can to oppose it. But what if they do not share my Christian understanding that mercy might be a better choice than harsh justice? I can observe that psychologically, revenge does no one's soul any good. And I can explain why I look at things the way I do. But I make no immediate assumption that a non-believer will agree with me.

Which comes back to the matter of the judgmentalism of this particular fellowship. It's an entertainment business fellowship, and most of the members spend a great deal of their time evaluating scripts, visual work, acting performances, editing. It's a business that requires the use of judgment, and the application of standards that ought to be met. So of course the members have the habit of being judgmental.

And yet.... each of us has that feeling that we should be sheltered from feeling the jabs of other people's criticisms of our acts. The criticisms could be because of miscommunication (as was the case in the particular incident that started this train of thought). But the criticisms could also be because there really is something in our work or our behavior that does not measure up.

It's a hard thing to accept that judgment is a two-way street. We could go through life on just the first part of that scripture quote, to be sure. Making no judgments at all, leaving people to their own actions, saying nothing critical of anything. But, let us be honest, that is hardly human nature.

So, we go back to the scripture: the measure you deal out is the measure applied to yourself. Can you live with that? Can I? I try to do so. I try to keep my judgments within those boundaries: being willing to hear a criticism of my actions, choices or work in areas where I've committed myself to following certain standards.

Not always fun. But much better than being frustrated by having "Judge not" flung in my face all the time. Because, after all, when someone inflicts that on one (usually in a chastising voice), that person is usually making a judgment of one. It's human nature. We can't help it.

TO BE WINSOME

A confluence of events has brought this to my mind this week.

First (not in time, but conceptually), last Monday evening, I had the pleasure of hearing Os Guinness speak. His primary concern of the evening was how the Christian church was losing its influence over culture. That Western culture had risen due to Christianity, but that in our modern life, that impact is fading away. He raised the question of whether a culture that was originally grounded on Christian beliefs and practices could survive once it was cut off those roots.

It's a disturbing question, and one that deserves serious consideration. He emphasised the importance of Christian artists re-engaging with the general culture. And I agree.

The second event that flowed into this occured at the San Diego ComicCon last weekend. After several years of... well, yes, avoiding the Christian Comics Arts Association (I believe that's the correct form of their name), I sat in on their Sunday morning function. Now, I do not fault these folks for their diligence and zeal in following the Lord. Nor even their committment to have their work rise to a high standard of quality. But I was... unsettled is the best word I can find for my reaction: I was unsettled by what I encountered.

Much of their work seems to be focused on being delivered to an audience who shared their beliefs. Not just their Christian beliefs, but their particular arena of evangelical, fundamentalist Protestant beliefs. And that their zeal as followers of Christ makes it difficult for them to hear the voices of others. (More on this in a bit.)

The third occurance was a rather lively discussion on Barbara Nicolosi's blog.

In response to Barb's comments about her frustration in dealing with well-meaning Christians who want to "make a movie" but do not want to exert the effort to do quality work, nor hire professionals, nor submit to artistic guidence, one person seemed to think she was being a snob or an elitist who was looking down on the folks of middle-America who are willing to take whatever "Christian entertainment" they can find, regardless of the quality. Barbara is no such thing, of course. But it disturbed me that one Christian out there chose to attack and chastise other Christians who were only expressing their own committment to deliver the most professional work they possibly could.

Barbara's critic came across rather hostile in tone. And it unsettled me. In much the same way I was unsettled by the report of the reaction of folks connected with the CCAA at ComicCon during a panel on (the supposedly general topic) "spirituality in comic books". I'd meant to attend that panel, but got sidetracked by a conversation. But another friend did attend, and the little he reported to me was not encouraging. Apparently, the question had come up as to whether a non-believer could write about spirituality with any truth or accuracy. I was given to understand that the reaction by the panelists was a "no" and that they did not leave room for further discussion of the matter.

With Os' comments in mind, the other two incidents leave a bad taste in my mouth. What are we afraid of? Where does this impulse to hostility or just limiting discussion come from? And what does it serve?

One thing Os said was that Christian artists need to be winsome. And I believe this is true. Until we win the trust of our audience, be they believers or not, we are in no position to convey the gospel. Being brittle is no help. Setting a hard and fast rule that Christian artists must invoke the name of Jesus at all times, overlooks the fact that often the audience being addressed is not ready to acknowledge even the existence of God, nevermind our Lord & Savior.

I worry a bit about Christians who come into any area of the arts with the intention to "win the territory for Jesus". I worry about it, because too often such folk genuinely believe that their zeal alone is sufficient to this task. And these zealots are hard to convince, when you get to the matter of craftsmanship. They are so certain that God will carry the day when they give the world their "art".

It becomes particularly frustrating, because although I do indeed believe that God's Word does not return void, because I do believe that the Lord will use any opening He is given, I also believe that sloppy craftsmanship is an insult to the Lord.

We've gotten a bit away from the concept of "Sunday best". On the one hand, yes, the Lord is please that we come to him at all. He loves us, after all. But what sort of offering are we giving him, when what is offered up is poorly made? We're talking about work that we're offering up to the Creator of the Universe, remember. It is the well-crafted work that wins admiration, not the "thrown together" piece that is "justified" because it was "done for the Lord."

Beyond that, when any of us behave as if we have the full and complete answer to how spirituality should be presented, I can't help but feel that we're treading on God's toes. He created all humans to have the capacity to be drawn to him. Else there would be no point in our trying to spread the Gospel in the first place. If all humans have this capacity, then it is entirely possible that a non-believer might indeed have a great understanding of spiritual matters, and yet not have received the Gospel. That doesn't make that person evil. They might not even be "misguided". They're just not across the Gospel threshold yet. And if that is the case what is it that will help them across the threshold?

Well, I'm pretty certain that it isn't being told that they don't know anything, or that what they do know is evil. That isn't going to "win" them to the love of the Lord.

I believe that Christian artists are called to be winsome. Genuine. Appealing. In both how we present ourselves to others, and in our work. I believe we are called to be the people others want to be around, because we make them feel good. Because we care about them as people. Because, to be exact, we actually demonstrate the type of love God has for them. And our work should be the same. I don't mean that we always have to tell happy-happy stories. I do mean that our work should reflect a world that operates according to God's design: where justice is important, innocence is to be protected, love is upheld, greed is an empty pursuit. A world where the loss of one life does diminish us all, especially when that life is lost vainly.

To do that, though, I think it means accepting people as they are when we meet them. For we can never point them to the road toward God if we cannot even speak with them on their terms. The curse of Babel remains strong, and Christians seem to delude themselves that it is enough that they can talk "Christian-speak" to each other.

Why are Christians who pursue quality in craft chastised, as if they are not committed to raising the name of the Lord? And why do some Christians turn aside from engaging in dialogue about spirituality with non-believers? What are the fears that create these disruptions? Why, in zeal, does "I am here for you" get over-ruled in favor of "I am here for your good, so you will hear the name of Jesus". It is the love of Jesus people need to meet first.

Winsome art and winsome artists are a first step.

TELLING THE STORY

It would be easy to turn this into a review of Speilberg's War of the Worlds, which is a rather pointless version of the story. But instead, I'm going to turn away from ranting and consider why I could so easily rant about it.

It's about storytelling.

The things that infuriated the writer in me about that film have to do with what I consider to be sloppy storytelling choices. I'll use just one example from the film, and then drop it in favor of moving onward.

In the film, at certain crucial plot points, the main character Ray notices important things. He notices the alien roots growing, and notices when they're decaying. He notices that birds can land on the tripods, indicating that the force fields are off and the tripods are now vulnerable. He notices the oddness of wind rushing toward the supposed storm. But for such a noticing man, he cannot notice his own daughter angling for him to notice her yellow competition ribbon.

This is very inconsistent characterization. It's storytelling where the characters do what the writer needs them to do for the purposes of the plot. And that, to me, is lazy work from the storyteller.

Now, I'll admit that from time to time, I myself have fallen into the trap of having characters do things because I need something to happen at a particular point. But I at least know I shouldn't be doing it, and try to correct it when someone points it out to me.

There's a saying that "character is story". I'm not sure why so many writers forget that in favor of "plot is story". Maybe because to focus on the characters means to delve into real things, into our hearts. And not everyone wants to go deep that way. It's easier, "safer" to string together a bunch of actions, with a lot of movement and flash and zip. It's easier to pretend that the rush of action is "just the same" as the rush of emotion. But it isn't. And it ends up showing, in how stories are received.

People want to connect with other people. We want to hear stories about people, not car crashes or explosions or such. Heroes, anti-heroes, it's about people. I think there are three types of stories we want to hear: stories about people we do not want to be, but we do want to know why & how they are what they are (ie, anti-heroes, tragic heroes, bad guys); stories about people we know we are like (ie, the everyman story, the "I could be that guy" story); stories about people we would like to be like (ie, the great heroes, the shining stars we wish we could be like).

Ray in War of the Worlds certainly starts out in the first category. I don't think anyone would want to see themselves as the kind of jerk he is at the beginning. They're not going to identify with him. Ideally, as the story progressed, he would have become more and more someone like us, and then finally someone we would want to be like. But he barely makes it into the territory of "someone like us" - in that he finally reaches a point of being able to communicate how much he cares about his children. But the story ends with that achievement going nowhere, taking the audience nowhere. It's a very disappointing experience for the audience.

So, why is this such a big deal to me?

It's about the responsibilities of the storyteller to the audience. When the storyteller begins with "Once upon a time, there was...", the storyteller begins an agreement with the audience to entertain them. For me, there is a thrill in seeing that I have my audience hooked, that they're absorbed in what is happening next, in how the story is making them feel. And to do that, I have to stay honest about human nature.

And human nature favors consistency. When people act inconsistently, we notice it. We comment on it, in others and in ourselves. In real life, that is. But writers often have characters doing something out of whack, and not only do the other characters not comment on it, the audience sort of lets it go by. If more audience members would speak up and say "That doesn't make any sense for that character" maybe writers would work harder, dig deeper, and deliver more stories that genuinely touch us.

But that still doesn't answer the question of why this matter is such a big deal to me.

Okay, it's really a God-thing.

God gives us our natures, our talents. Our personal histories contribute to our outlooks and choices. But God does not force us to do certain things. He prefers if we choose certain things. Very rarely are there occasions where willy-nilly does he make things happen in our lives. And even then, we still have a choice in how we react to the event. The story is still ours.

I believe that God loves stories. So much that he makes every single person unique in some way. Even identical twins are not precisely the same. For all their physical similarities, each twin still reacts uniquely. Their stories may be very similar, but they are still not the same. So God loves our infinite variety, a variety that springs from our choices. And our choices spring from our characters.

Which brings us back to "character is story". If a character is smart enough to survive incredible disasters, observant enough to see what others do not see, it should be manifested in each expression of his life. Not just when it's convenient for the plot. To tell a story that "rings true" for the audience, no matter how fantastical the setting or events, the characters need to be recognisably consistent in their qualities. And if we see characters change, we also need to see what it is that changes them, we need to see the events, the points, that provoke the changes. Because then we know when it happens to us, in real life.

What it boils down to is this: God has given me the great gift of making my own real story. He's hoping it will come out one particular way. But I still have choices about that. So, when I turn to my own stories, and the characters I'm creating, I feel I have a responsibility to follow through on their consistency.

If I create a heroine who is independantly minded, I can't suddenly have her unquestioningly giving in to someone else's choices. If I create a character who is oblivious about the details of the people closest to him, I can't have him being super observant about everything else, at least not without a very good reason that the audience can understand. I have to let the characters be who I created them to be. I have to let them run toward the end of the story in ways that are organic to them. And if the characters don't head toward the ending I originally intended, I need to think more about changing the ending rather than warping the characters.

Anyway, that's why I get irate about sloppy characterization in writing. I don't see why we need to accept it. God isn't sloppy in giving us our characters (we're free to mangle them ourselves), so why should we as storytellers be sloppy with the ones we create in tales? That's the standard I'm willing to have my stories judged against.