Curious, Not Judgmental: Sermon for the 5th Sunday in Easter, May 18, 2025

Readings:

• Acts 11:1-18

• Revelation 21:1-6

• John 13:31-35

• Psalm 148

-- The Rev. Leslie Barnes Scoopmire

One of my favorite bits of wisdom from the TV series Ted Lasso was this observation originally stated by the great American poet, Walt Whitman: “Be curious, not judgmental.” Ted was saying this in the context of not judging people based on our own assumptions, rather than getting to know people personally by being curious about them.

The root of Ted Lasso’s coaching of others is always grounded in humility and genuine curiosity to get to know people. As Ted himself remarks, he always goes into each situation, especially conflicts, asking himself, “What have I got to learn here?” And especially as a teacher, I love this observation of his: “Taking on a challenge is a lot like riding a horse, isn’t it? If you’re comfortable doing it, you’re probably doing it wrong.”

All three of these sayings apply so well to our ongoing developing life in Christ—especially the part we live outside the confines of St. Martin’s. As Christians, we always have so much we can learn, no matter who we are. And our readings for this weekend reaffirm that truth. Each one speaks of something new in our understanding of God. This is only right and good—since God is beyond being fully graspable by our limited understanding.

The trick is to have the humility to constantly remind ourselves of that. Repeat as necessary, and it’s necessary very often indeed. We need constant reminders of the times God has resisted our efforts at trying to box God in according to our own human preferences for order and comprehensibility. Peter’s vision of God urging him to eat previously forbidden foods isn’t really about eating; it’s about welcoming people different than us as fully beloved children of God. Our reading from Revelation 21 is a rephrasing of Isaiah 65—pointing out that God is always doing new things. And in our gospel passage from John 13, Jesus says that he is providing a new commandment: to love one another, no exceptions– even as his betrayer has left to go hand over Jesus to torture and death.

Peter’s vision of nothing being unclean when it comes to eating, and more specifically when it comes to whom you accept as fully deserving of respect, reveals a new teaching about acceptance and inclusion that seems to contradict dozens of Jesus says he is giving “a new commandment.” But There’s a key phrase right here, perhaps seen as a throwaway, but it’s actually a thread running through all four of our readings today. In all four, God is “doing something new.”

Whoa!

Does God change God’s mind?

That might be the takeaway when we look at how all the readings today work together. In each reading, the emphasis is on something new: Acts 11 describes God giving a new, utterly inclusive visions of what is both ritually pure and healthy include, using the body-based metaphor of eating to make a larger point about the expansiveness of God’s salvation. Our psalm, seconded by the passage from the Book of Revelation, proclaims that all of creation is being renewed by God and partakes in the praising of God, even mountains and rivers joining in shouts of praise to the Creator. And in the revisiting of the night when Jesus was betrayed, even here in the midst of Easter, we see that the overriding action that night was out of love, not grievance. Even as Jesus has just humbly served each apostle, Judas included, by washing their feet; even as Judas departs for his meeting with the opponents of Jesus who make no bones about wanting to kill him; Jesus commands the apostles to love one another. He calls this a “new commandment”—but his entire life among us has been dedicated to embodying that command in action.

The Acts passage also references commandments. Let’s remember there are 613 commandments in the Torah, known as mitzvot. And 365 of them ironically, were couched in the negative –“do not.” One for every day of the year but leap year! So 248 are positive commands to “do” something. Those that dealt with dietary matters are called kashrut. These laws list both allowed food sources and allowed preparation methods. Food that is not “kosher” is considered treif, and is not to be consumed.

Those 613 commandments touched on practically every aspect of life for a wandering, outcast people hemmed in on all sides by enemies. One suspects that these laws went into so much detail to reassure the Israelites that God was with them in every moment from waking to sleeping and back again. And as extensive as those 613 laws were, over the centuries, as society changed, rabbis have further expanded them and interpreted to see how they apply to our ever-changing world and our own specific contexts.

The most famous commandments are, of course, the Ten Commandments. As Jesus pointed out in Matthew 22.39, Mark 12.31, and Luke 10.27, these ten commandments can be summarized into just two: Love God completely, and love each other. Loving each other complements and is a sign of our love for God.

Here, in our gospel today, is John’s version of that teaching, set in a different context—  and John makes the commandment to love one another-- even including Judas!-- one of the last commands Jesus will relate before his arrest and crucifixion.

The commandments were, and are, signs of God’s favor and care. But Acts 11 reminds us of something that Jesus had centered in his ministry all along— our fallible and human understanding of God’s commandments is never fully set in stone. Our interpretation is not immutable. Situations change—but the ultimate goal of the commandments, to create a holy community enveloping all of creation itself, constantly calls us out of our own prejudices. As part of the Sermon on the Mount, where he advocates a posture of meekness and humility as the doorway to being faithful, Jesus said in Matthew 5:17, “Do not think that I came not to abolish the Law and the Prophets…  but to fulfill them.”

So perhaps we are NOT actually talking about God changing God’s mind. I think Jesus’s entire ministry of love and reconciliation is about changing our minds, and more importantly, our hearts. We are forcefully reminded in our scripture readings for today of the big picture: God is ever revealing more about God to us, a bit at a time. And I absolutely believe that God is reminding us to be willing to change OUR minds as God’s ongoing revelation to us spools out.

That means not simply limiting ourselves to every comma and semicolon  in the pages of a collection of documents last collected and updated 1800 years ago. To be clear—it doesn’t mean doing away with commandments we have received. It means honoring the HEART of the commandments of God as our times and societies change, so that the Word of God may be heard and welcomed anew. It means honoring the HEART of the commandments, which is love and honoring the diversity of God’s world and the inclusion of God’s salvation as extended to all people as beloved.

Here in our reading from Acts this weekend, we might interpret that Peter’s vision of God telling him to butcher unclean animals and eat them might represent God changing God’s mind. Another way to look at it would be to say that God’s revelation to us can never exhaust all that God is, or does, and so continued revelation is always necessary—in other words, we easily get into trouble when we think God is finished speaking to us. That is not how living relationships work. In answer to the common argument that “The Bible says….” We are always called to remember that the Bible is also a collection of snapshots of specific times and cultures. God speaks to us still, and adds to our knowledge of God’s call to us in how to live our lives through both Jesus’s example and the ongoing indwelling we have with the Holy Spirit.

Peter ponders his new vision, and its implication to “be curious, not judgmental” just as, offstage for us today, the Roman centurion Cornelius too receives a vision to send for Peter and hear what Peter has to say about Jesus. Cornelius is a representative of the Empire; and yet in his time in Judea he has become known as a righteous man and a friend to the Jews, as much as is in his power to be. Then comes his vision to send for Peter. Conelius, too, when presented with a challenging and uncomfortable invitation to break down barriers, responds not with hostility or scoffing. He too decides to be curious, not judgmental. It may be human nature to jump to snap decisions, but that’s a part of human nature we are called to master within ourselves. Each of these complementary visions advocates tearing down barriers and embracing a holy vulnerability, to dare to see people as people, and to love them no matter what, just as Jesus does for us.

Again hear Jesus’s words, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

I am convinced we are called as disciples of Jesus, to be resolutely curious, and humble enough to know that being judgmental gets us nowhere as bearers of Jesus’s Good News.

There’s a word for prejudging people in particular. It’s called “prejudice.” And prejudice is antithetical to honoring the dignity and worth of every human being that is foundational within our baptismal covenant with God.

We all have prejudices. But we all can recognize them, name them within ourselves, and engage in mindfully overcoming them in order to not only be a better human, but to be a better disciple of Jesus, which is the entire point of Christianity. Ultimately Christianity is about faith, yes— faith in God, but also faith in our call to keep stretching ourselves in that “love one another” part.

How do we define “one another?” This topic has been surprisingly relevant especially in the last few months, with even a public debate among famous and powerful American Catholics in the closing days of Pope Francis’s pontificate. Some got it very wrong by claiming that St. Augustine  suggested we draw circles of exclusion around ourselves in an ever devolving hierarchy of those we love—and those we love less until frankly, the command to love becomes meaningless. The Parable of the Good Samaritan; the vision of Peter overturing rigid human understandings of God’s law as being set in stone rather than being a living, breathing revelation, all draw us back to this question again:

Who are we called to actually love and care for when Jesus commands us, broadly and without asterisks, to “love one another?”

Does this mean we must love

Only our families and friends?

Only our fellow members of this parish?

         Of this diocese?

         Of the Episcopal Church?

Only other Christians?

Only other American citizens?

Only those who think like us?

Only those who look like us?

Only those who are the same race as us, or the same religion as us, or speak the same language as us?

Only humans?

Only those who are blameless?

Only those who seem to be trying to improve themselves?

Even those who are our enemies, or wish us ill?

Even those who annoy us or frustrate us?

Even those who have wronged us?

Maybe—just maybe—it means all of the above. Maybe it means being curious about each other. Not judgmental. To honor our differences. To never think we have the right to gate-keep, as the apostles learned all throughout the Book of the Acts of the Apostles.

We proclaim that we have a living relationship with a living God. This means we are ever learning more about God, and God is ever revealing more about themselves to us. We could see this as God changing God’s mind, or we could see this as God expanding God’s revelation. This may make us uncomfortable— of course it can. But it also brings us to new knowledge and new relationships with ourselves and with others.

It sounds hard. That’s why practice is the key to this kind of love. What if we committed to loving each other—no exceptions? It might be the start of a revolution.