#judgenot

Chapter 1: The Screenshot You Almost Sent

Your thumb is resting over the send button. The screenshot is already attached, the comment is sharp, and three people in the group chat are waiting for you to say what everyone else is thinking. Someone you know has been caught saying one thing in public and doing another in private. The proof is right there on your phone. Part of you believes sharing it would be honest. Another part of you knows you are not only trying to expose the problem. You want the person to feel the embarrassment they caused.

This is where what Jesus meant when He said judge not becomes more personal than most of us expect. His words were not given to make us blind to dishonesty, cruelty, manipulation, or harmful choices. They were given to stop us from using another person’s failure as a place to stand above them. Jesus was not protecting wrongdoing from correction. He was protecting our hearts from becoming proud while we correct it.

The difficult part of how to correct someone without becoming condemning is that the facts may truly be on your side. The screenshot may be real. The contradiction may be obvious. The person may need to answer for what happened. Yet Jesus asks a question before we press send, speak publicly, or confront privately: Can we see clearly, or is something in us distorting the view?

Most people hear “Judge not, that you be not judged” and assume Jesus was telling us never to make a moral judgment. That interpretation falls apart almost immediately in real life. A parent must decide whether a situation is safe for a child. A friend may need to recognize that someone they love is being controlled or mistreated. A supervisor has to evaluate honesty, conduct, and performance. We all make judgments because life requires discernment.

Jesus was not forbidding us to recognize a speck. He was warning us about the plank.

He pictured a person staring closely at a small object in someone else’s eye while ignoring a large piece of wood blocking his own vision. The image is almost uncomfortable because it is so easy to recognize. The person with the plank is not wrong that the speck exists. He is wrong to believe he can see the other person clearly while remaining blind to himself.

That is the lesson. Before you correct someone else, let God correct the part of you that wants to feel superior.

The problem is not always the truth we plan to speak. Sometimes the problem is the emotional reward we hope to receive from speaking it. We imagine the room going quiet after we make our point. We picture other people finally realizing that we were right. We want the person who frustrated us to feel exposed, smaller, or defeated. Then we call the whole thing honesty.

Truth can be spoken for dishonest reasons.

A woman discovers that her sister has been complaining about her to other family members. The comments are unfair, and some are simply false. She has every right to address them. Before calling her sister, however, she begins gathering old examples from years earlier. She remembers a ruined birthday, an unpaid loan, a careless remark at a funeral, and every moment when she felt overlooked. What began as one necessary conversation becomes a case against her sister’s entire character.

The current problem is real, but the goal has changed. She is no longer trying to clear up what was said. She is preparing to prove that her sister has always been the problem.

That is what the plank can do. It makes us believe we are seeing more clearly when we are actually seeing through accumulated anger. We no longer address one behavior. We use one behavior as permission to deliver every judgment we have been saving.

Jesus tells us to stop before we do that.

He does not say the false comments should be ignored. He says we must remove whatever is keeping us from seeing the person and the situation honestly. That may be pride. It may be resentment. It may be our own similar behavior. It may be the need to win. Whatever it is, it has to be faced before correction can become help.

Self-examination is not self-condemnation. It is not standing in front of a mirror and deciding you are too flawed to say anything useful. Jesus did not say only perfect people may speak. If perfection were required, no parent could guide a child, no friend could offer warning, and no leader could address failure.

Removing the plank means becoming honest enough to admit that you also need grace.

It may sound like this: “What this person did was wrong, but I know I have also spoken carelessly when I was hurt.” It may mean admitting, “I am right about the facts, but I want to embarrass them.” It may require saying, “I have been waiting for a reason to unload years of frustration, and this situation has given me one.”

That honesty does not erase the other person’s responsibility. It clears your vision.

When you see clearly, you become more accurate. You deal with what actually happened instead of adding motives you cannot prove. You address the behavior instead of attacking the person’s worth. You choose the right setting instead of the most humiliating one. You stop when the truth has been spoken instead of continuing until the other person feels crushed.

Clear vision changes the tone because humility remembers how it feels to need mercy.

Consider the sister again. After sitting with the anger, she decides not to call while every old wound is still active. She writes down the exact statements that need to be addressed and leaves the unrelated history alone. When they speak, she says, “I heard that these things were said about me. Some of them are not true, and they are damaging our relationship. I need us to talk honestly about what happened.”

That conversation may still be difficult. Her sister may deny it, become defensive, or turn the accusation back on her. Humility does not guarantee a peaceful response. It simply keeps the first woman from becoming cruel in the name of being correct.

That is the difference between discernment and condemnation.

Discernment says, “This action is harmful, and it must be addressed.” Condemnation says, “This action proves that I am better than you.” Discernment protects truth and people. Condemnation uses truth to create distance between the righteous person and the failure standing in front of them.

Jesus challenged that distance because it is often false.

We may not struggle in the same way as the person we are judging, but every one of us has blind spots. We know what it is like to explain our own behavior with context while interpreting someone else’s behavior as character. When we speak sharply, we say we were overwhelmed. When another person speaks sharply, we call them cruel. When we fail to follow through, we point to pressure. When they fail, we call them unreliable.

We judge ourselves by the story behind the action and judge others by the action alone.

The plank is the belief that our explanations are evidence of humanity while their explanations are excuses.

Jesus refuses that double standard. He says the measure we use matters. The harshness we enjoy applying to another person reveals something about what we believe should happen when our own failures become visible.

This does not mean every situation is equal. Some behavior is more harmful than other behavior. Abuse is not a minor misunderstanding. Persistent deception is not the same as one careless sentence. Wisdom does not flatten every wrong into the same category. Jesus calls us to fairness, not confusion.

Fairness begins when we stop giving ourselves automatic mercy and others automatic suspicion.

The phone in your hand makes this especially difficult. Online judgment moves faster than reflection. A clip, screenshot, or sentence can travel through hundreds of people before anyone asks what came before it, what followed it, or whether the full story has been told. The speed creates a feeling of certainty. Everyone else is reacting, so joining them feels responsible.

Sometimes public truth is necessary. Harm should not be hidden simply because exposure is uncomfortable. Victims may need to be believed, leaders may need to answer, and patterns may need to be brought into the light. “Judge not” must never be twisted into a shield for abuse or a command that protects powerful people from accountability.

Yet accountability still requires accuracy. It requires enough humility to distinguish what we know from what we assume. It asks whether sharing something will protect a person, clarify the truth, or prevent further harm. It also asks whether we are passing it along because anger has made humiliation feel good.

That question is not meant to silence us. It is meant to purify the reason we speak.

A young man sees a public post from someone at church whose private behavior has hurt people. He knows a response may be needed. Before commenting, he remembers that he has not spoken directly to the person, does not know what church leadership already knows, and has only part of the story. He decides to contact someone responsible rather than launching a public accusation from incomplete information.

That choice is not cowardice. It is the refusal to confuse visibility with courage.

There are other times when the responsible path will be public. If a false claim was made publicly and continues harming people, a clear public correction may be necessary. If leaders keep a serious pattern hidden, silence may become cooperation. The teaching of Jesus does not give us one automatic response for every situation. It gives us the inner posture required to choose wisely.

We examine ourselves first so that our judgment can become more truthful, not less.

The first movement of faith is not pointing the finger outward. It is allowing God to interrupt us before we speak. That pause may reveal that the issue is real but our approach is wrong. It may show that we are about to say something true in a way that creates unnecessary damage. It may expose that we are more interested in winning than helping.

Then we have a choice.

We can protect our pride and press send, or we can let the truth work on us before we use it on someone else.

The message is still waiting in the group chat. The screenshot is still attached. The other person may still need correction, and the matter may still need to be brought into the light. But now you can see that the first person Jesus asked you to examine was not the person in the screenshot.

It was you.

Chapter 2: The Conversation You Keep Avoiding

The dishes are stacked beside the sink, the television is low in the next room, and your mother has just said the same thing she has said three times this month. She criticizes the way you are raising your child, compares you to someone else in the family, and then acts surprised when the room goes quiet. You feel the familiar heat rise in your chest. This time, you decide, you are finally going to tell her exactly what everyone thinks.

The words are already forming before she finishes speaking.

You know where to aim because you know her history. You know the choices she regrets, the relationships she damaged, and the ways she failed when you were young. The current comment was hurtful, but now the whole past is standing behind it. You are no longer preparing to address what she said. You are preparing to make sure she never feels qualified to speak to you again.

This is where Jesus’ warning about judgment becomes painfully practical.

Most of us imagine hypocritical judgment as a loud religious person condemning someone else while secretly doing the same thing. That certainly happens, but hypocrisy often appears in quieter and more ordinary ways. It appears when we condemn a behavior in another person while using the same behavior in our response.

We accuse someone of being disrespectful, then answer with contempt. We confront manipulation by manipulating the conversation. We call out cruelty while choosing the sentence most likely to wound. We say the other person refuses to listen, then interrupt every attempt they make to explain.

The issue we noticed may be real. The way we respond can still reveal a plank of our own.

Jesus told us to remove the plank first because poor vision changes correction into retaliation. When our own anger, pride, or fear fills the frame, we do not simply address what happened. We add old pain, assign motives, and turn one difficult moment into a final verdict on the entire person.

That is why some conversations leave everyone worse than before. The truth may have been spoken, but it was delivered with so much stored resentment that no one could hear it clearly.

The mother at the sink may need to hear that her comments are hurtful and inappropriate. Her adult child may need to set a real boundary. Faith does not require smiling through repeated disrespect. But if the response becomes, “You have no right to say anything because you were a terrible mother,” the conversation has moved from a present boundary into a full judgment of a human life.

That kind of sentence feels powerful because it reaches deep. It also closes the door to anything honest.

The plank is not always the same sin. Sometimes it is the need to punish.

We may not criticize in the same way the other person does, but we may carry a private belief that our pain gives us permission to be merciless. We tell ourselves they started it. We believe the history justifies the force of the response. We decide they deserve to feel what we have felt.

Jesus interrupts that reasoning before it becomes another wound.

He asks us to examine what we are about to release into the room. Is the goal to make the relationship more truthful, or to make the other person regret speaking? Are we trying to protect a boundary, or to take control? Are we addressing the present behavior, or using the present moment to unload everything we have never healed?

Those questions do not erase the need for confrontation. They make confrontation more honest.

A clear response might sound like this: “When you criticize my parenting in front of my child, it damages our relationship and puts me in a difficult position. I need that to stop. If it continues, we will have to end the visit early.”

That statement is firm. It names the behavior, explains the impact, and establishes a consequence. It does not reach backward for every failure the mother has ever made. It does not claim to know the full condition of her heart. It deals with what is happening now.

This is what clear sight looks like.

Many people are afraid to speak this way because they confuse calmness with weakness. They believe a boundary will not be taken seriously unless it carries anger. Yet anger often makes the message less effective because it gives the other person something else to focus on. Instead of facing the behavior, they begin defending themselves against the attack.

Then both people leave convinced that the other one is impossible.

Humility does not guarantee that the boundary will be accepted. Some people will resist any limit. They may deny what happened, accuse you of being too sensitive, or bring up your failures. Clear sight does not control their reaction. It keeps their reaction from deciding the character of yours.

That is one of the hardest lessons in following Jesus. We are responsible for the truth we speak and the spirit in which we speak it. We are not responsible for making the other person receive it well.

Sometimes we keep adding words because we think one more explanation will finally force understanding. We repeat the point, sharpen the tone, and pull in more examples. The conversation grows longer while clarity grows weaker.

There comes a moment when enough has been said.

Jesus’ teaching helps us recognize that moment because self-examination changes the purpose of confrontation. If the goal is restoration, protection, or truth, then we can stop once the necessary words have been spoken. If the goal is victory, we will keep talking until the other person breaks, apologizes, or goes silent.

The silence may look like success. It may actually be defeat for the relationship.

This matters beyond family conflict. A friend may call out another friend for being unreliable while ignoring how often he cancels plans at the last minute. A manager may criticize poor communication while withholding information from the team. A church member may condemn gossip while spreading the story under the label of concern.

The plank often hides in the method.

We may be right about the problem and wrong in the way we handle it. That possibility is difficult to admit because being right about one part of the situation can make us feel right about everything. Jesus refuses to let us hide there.

He asks us to look closely enough to separate the truth of the issue from the condition of our heart.

This does not mean we must wait until every emotion is gone. Some conversations cannot be delayed forever. There are moments when the voice shakes, the heart is tired, and the truth still needs to be said. Removing the plank does not mean becoming emotionless. It means refusing to let emotion become the only guide.

You may still say, “I am hurt.” You may still admit, “I am angry.” Honest emotion can make a conversation more human. The danger begins when emotion becomes a weapon.

A husband learns that his wife has been sharing private details about their marriage with friends. He feels exposed and betrayed. He has every reason to address it. During the conversation, he is tempted to say, “This is why no one can trust you,” because he knows that sentence will land hard.

If he says it, the conversation will no longer be only about confidentiality. It will become a judgment about who she is.

A clearer sentence would be, “I feel exposed because something private between us was shared. We need to talk about what can and cannot leave this marriage.” That language still carries the seriousness of the injury. It gives the problem a shape that can be addressed.

The difference is not softness. It is precision.

Condemnation is broad. It takes one action and turns it into identity. Discernment is specific. It names what happened and considers what response is needed.

This is why the teaching of Jesus protects both people. It protects the person being corrected from unnecessary humiliation, and it protects the person speaking from becoming someone who uses truth to dominate.

Without that protection, correction can become addictive.

There is a rush in feeling morally clear. It can make us return to another person’s failure again and again because their wrong keeps giving us a reason to feel right. We retell the story, replay the argument, and collect agreement from others.

Soon, the issue is no longer being solved. It is being used.

That is one reason Jesus begins with the eye. Vision shapes everything that follows. If I see the other person only as the one who hurt me, every action will confirm that identity. If I see myself only as the innocent one, every response will feel justified.

Clear vision makes room for a fuller truth.

The other person may be wrong and still be more than the wrong. You may be wounded and still have something to examine in yourself. The relationship may require a boundary and still contain years of love, failure, misunderstanding, and hope that cannot be reduced to one argument.

Seeing clearly does not make the situation simple. It makes us less likely to make it cruel.

Back in the kitchen, the comment has been made. The room is quiet. You can feel the old history rising behind your teeth. You could unload everything. You could make the point in a way that leaves no doubt about how deeply you have been hurt.

Or you can let Jesus interrupt the verdict.

You can say what is true without reaching for every weapon the past has given you. You can set the boundary without declaring the person beyond grace. You can refuse the comment without becoming the kind of person who uses another human being’s worst years as ammunition.

The conversation may still be difficult. The relationship may still change. But you will have spoken with clearer eyes.

And sometimes the first evidence that judgment has been transformed by grace is not that the other person changes.

It is that you do.

Chapter 3: When the Mirror Turns Toward You

The mistake is sitting in the sent folder.

You meant to forward a message to a friend, but you sent it to the person you were talking about. The sentence was not kind. It did not describe only what happened. It described what you had decided the other person was like. Now the phone is quiet, your stomach is tight, and you are waiting for the reply that will force you to face what your words revealed.

It is much easier to talk about judgment when someone else is the one being examined. It becomes different when the mirror turns toward us.

Jesus said that the measure we use will be measured back to us. That does not mean every human consequence will arrive in the same shape or on the same schedule. It means the standard we apply reveals the standard we believe should matter. If we reduce people to one failure, we should not be surprised when our own worst moment becomes the only thing others can see. If we deny context to everyone else, we will feel the full weight of that same coldness when our own context matters.

The teaching is not a threat meant to keep us nervous. It is an invitation to become the kind of person who gives the mercy we know we will eventually need.

Every one of us will have a moment when the evidence points in our direction. We will speak too quickly, misunderstand someone, fail to follow through, hide behind pride, or cause damage we did not intend. In that moment, we will not want to be treated as if the worst sentence we wrote explains our entire heart.

We will want someone to tell the truth without destroying us.

That desire should shape the way we tell the truth about others.

The person who receives the message may call immediately. They may ask, “Is this really what you think of me?” You will be tempted to defend yourself by explaining what they did first. You may want to say you were frustrated, tired, or venting. Those things may be true, but they do not erase the sentence.

Self-examination begins when we stop using another person’s failure to avoid our own.

You can say, “I was upset, but what I wrote was wrong. I made a judgment about your character instead of addressing the situation. I am sorry.” That apology does not require you to pretend the original problem was imaginary. It means you are willing to own what belongs to you before returning to what belongs to them.

That is the plank being removed in real time.

Many people hear Jesus’ teaching and imagine that removing the plank is a private spiritual exercise completed before any difficult conversation. Sometimes it is. We pray, reflect, and notice our own pride before speaking. Other times the plank becomes visible because the conversation has already gone badly. We hear our tone, watch the other person’s face change, or realize that our words reached farther than truth required.

Grace still gives us a next step.

We can stop. We can correct ourselves. We can say, “I need to take back the way I said that.” We can repair the harm we created without abandoning the issue that still needs attention.

This is one of the clearest signs of spiritual maturity: the ability to admit that you were wrong in the way you addressed something that still needs to be addressed.

A woman may be right that her friend repeatedly cancels plans without explanation. She may be wrong to call the friend selfish and careless. A supervisor may be right that an employee’s work is incomplete. He may be wrong to embarrass the employee in front of the team. A husband may be right that a financial decision should have been discussed. He may be wrong to say, “You always ruin everything.”

Owning the harmful response does not erase the real concern. It makes room to address the concern without hiding behind it.

That is important because people often refuse to apologize when they believe an apology will surrender the entire argument. They think admitting one wrong will allow the other person to escape responsibility. So they cling to every word they said, even the cruel ones, because the larger issue was real.

Jesus offers us enough security to separate the two.

You can say, “I was wrong to speak about you that way, and we still need to talk about what happened.” That sentence is not weakness. It is accuracy. It refuses the false choice between self-defense and total surrender.

Clear sight can see more than one truth at a time.

This matters in families where conflict has become a contest over who started it. A brother brings up an old loan. His sister responds with a personal insult. He raises his voice. She leaves. Later, each person explains the entire argument by pointing to the first thing the other one did wrong.

No one examines what happened after that.

The brother may have had a valid concern. The sister may have felt cornered by the way he raised it. Both may have added harm. Healing begins when one of them becomes willing to say, “Your part mattered, and so did mine.”

That kind of honesty breaks the pattern of condemnation because condemnation needs one guilty person and one innocent judge. Humility allows everyone involved to remain responsible without pretending every responsibility is equal.

There are situations where the harm is not equal. A person being abused is not equally responsible because they reacted imperfectly under pressure. A victim should not be told to focus on a small response while serious wrongdoing is ignored. Jesus’ teaching about the plank must never be used to shift blame away from the person causing the greater harm.

Self-examination should clarify justice, not confuse it.

If someone is being threatened, manipulated, controlled, or harmed, the immediate need may be safety, outside help, and a firm boundary. The call to examine ourselves does not require us to stay in danger or treat abuse as a shared communication problem. Discernment can identify a serious pattern clearly while still refusing hatred.

The same Jesus who warned against hypocritical judgment also confronted those who burdened, exploited, and misled others. His mercy never depended on pretending harm was harmless.

That balance matters because some people use “judge not” to silence anyone who names what is happening. A dishonest leader may say, “Who are you to judge me?” An abusive person may accuse the victim of being unforgiving. A family may pressure someone to keep quiet because exposing the truth would make everyone uncomfortable.

Jesus did not give those words to protect darkness.

He gave them to remove pride from the person carrying the light.

A clean mirror does not hide the stain. It helps us see it accurately.

The goal is not a world where no one says anything difficult. The goal is a community where truth is spoken by people who know they also stand in need of grace. That kind of truth sounds different. It does not rush to humiliation. It does not enjoy another person’s fall. It does not turn correction into entertainment.

It also does not disappear when speaking becomes costly.

Imagine a church volunteer who discovers that donations are being recorded carelessly. She checks the numbers twice and realizes the problem is not a harmless typo. Money is missing, and the person responsible has offered explanations that do not match the records.

She may feel pressure to remain silent because the person is respected. Someone may warn her not to be judgmental. Another may remind her that everyone makes mistakes.

But grace does not require her to ignore the facts.

She should examine her motive, verify what she knows, and bring the concern to the people responsible for oversight. She should avoid gossip and exaggeration. She should also refuse to let false humility become an excuse for silence.

Clear sight sees the plank and the missing money.

That is the maturity Jesus is teaching. It is the ability to remain honest about ourselves while still being honest about what is happening around us.

Without self-examination, correction becomes proud. Without correction, mercy becomes careless. Jesus brings the two together so truth can serve healing instead of ego.

The message in the sent folder has already gone out. You cannot pull it back. You can only decide what happens next.

You can defend it, minimize it, or blame the person you wrote about. You can tell yourself that they deserved it. You can point to everything they have done and use their failure as a shield against your own.

Or you can let the mirror do its work.

You can admit that the sentence crossed a line. You can apologize without demanding immediate forgiveness. You can accept that the other person may need time. Then, when the moment is right, you can return to the original issue with cleaner words and a steadier heart.

That is what it means to see clearly enough to help.

The distinct lesson is not complicated, even though living it can be. Jesus did not say, “Never recognize what is wrong.” He said, “Do not stand over another person as though you have nothing to examine in yourself.”

Look inward before you speak outward.

Remove what distorts your vision.

Then tell the truth in a way that protects people, addresses harm, and leaves room for grace.

There will be times when you are the person holding the screenshot, the boundary, the evidence, or the difficult truth. There will also be times when your own words are sitting in someone else’s sent folder. You will need the same patience, fairness, and mercy you were once in a position to give.

The measure matters because one day the mirror turns toward all of us.

When it does, may we have become people who know how to tell the truth without forgetting that every person standing in front of us is more than the worst thing they have done.

That includes them.

That includes you.

Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph

Explore the complete Douglas Vandergraph Master Index: https://douglasvandergraph.com/douglas-vandergraph-master-index/

Here's what we're reading, recommending, and revisiting this week. Catherine's library find is The Change by Kirsten Miller, a novel of revenge and crime-fighting fueled by menopausal women's rage (which made it very satisfying). ​ Terri's random recommendation this week is the Rosary in a Year podcast, a chart-topper offering a deep dive into this prayer (perfect for the new year). Mentioned: The Bible in a Year podcast and the Catechism in a Year podcast. ​​ In the archives, we checked in on an episode from 2021 on reserving our judgment (or at least trying to). Next week's lineup: 

Lost S2 E5, "...and Found," on Tuesday, January 21

Shrinking S2 E12, "The Last Thanksgiving," on Wednesday, January 22

Weekly roundup on Thursday, January 23