Sit in Mercy
There is so much judgment these days. Even judges are judged. We are judged based on wearing a mask, not wearing a mask, what we allow or don’t allow our children to do. We are judged by our appearance, our food choices. We are judged for using social media too much or not letting children use it at all. We are judged for how we spend or don’t spend money, and where we send our kids to school. We are judged based on a vote and called one thing or another based on that vote.
Recently I was reading James 4, and my imagination created this scene imprinting visually what my heart was learning. I know on my worst days and in my worst moments, my heart craves mercy triumphing while judgment makes me want to hide.
The Courtroom
Imagine with me that I arrive at a courthouse where a person I know is awaiting trial. I uninvitedly enter into this closed courtroom having no assigned role or responsibilities that day. I just feel compelled to share what I know, what I have seen, and what I feel the verdict should be. I barge into these closed quarters, armed with my ammunition of evidence and a host of possible motives. I feel determined to enlighten everyone in there about this case, this defendant.
My 1st stop is to the jurors’ box. I walk past the downcast defendant and lean into one particular juror who seems curious why I am there. I whisper a few pieces of information that would be helpful for her to know, and, so she doesn’t miss it, I attached my personal assessment on the situation as well. She seems pleased with my information. I feel good, helpful. The juror next to her then curiously leans in and inquires what we are talking about, so I share some more, share again. I really want to make sure that they know what I know. It’s important.
The well-educated, presiding, honorable judge suddenly enters the courtroom and notices my presence, and as he sits down behind the bench asks, “Who are you? What is your business in my courtroom?”
As I approach his bench, I inform him that I’m merely a concerned citizen, neighbor, a friend of the defendant. I explain that I thought I could help with the case before Him as I have some information I worry may have been missed. I start walking behind the bench to show him and tell him a few of those things. I am now looking out at the defendant from behind the judge’s bench, from this well-earned, worthy place of honor.
The judge gently warns me that I have intruded on a private hearing and that if I don’t leave I will be found in contempt of court. I don’t listen. I don’t heed his warning, instead, handing him my verdict on the piece of paper I prepared ahead of time, I proceed to remind and inform him of all the things the person has done which prove my verdict is correct. See I’m worried the Judge will get it wrong and let this person get away with it, or that I will be the only one who sees this problem. If nothing else, I needed to say these things so I feel better knowing that other people will know what I know, or see what I see about this person.
He demands that my statements be stricken from the record. My mind is racing, I mean my evidence is true, and he’s going to throw it out because I didn’t say it in the right place or time? Simply because I wasn’t invited into the courtroom on this case. How can what I have to say not be of value?
The Focus Changes
Then, much to my surprise the focus of the court suddenly becomes me. The bailiff is walking towards me to take me out of the courtroom while the judge is stating that I need assistance and some care, and ordering me to be removed so I can deal with whatever is going on. The jurors are visibly uncomfortable now in my presence and won’t make eye contact with me. They don’t want to get put in contempt either. I slowly walk down the aisle past the defendant whose head is hanging low, still on trial, but now knows how I feel about her on one of her worst days, talking about one of her worst actions.
I feel bad because I never really wanted her to hear it from me, I just felt others should know so we could all feel the same way about it. I mean, I’m not wrong about her. What she did was wrong. Isn’t it my place to make sure others know what I know? I don’t really understand what “problem” the judge is referring to that I need to deal with. I wipe my hands across my forehead in dismay and suddenly feel something I hadn’t noticed before. Something was protruding. I touch it again. My heart sank. I was so busy worrying about the defendant’s guilt I hadn’t take the time to look at myself in the mirror before I left the house.
“Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is 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 brother’s eye.”
Matthew 7:3-5
This is my new absurd view of myself when I am judging others. Like kicking God off the judicial bench from His well earned, worthy place of honor, and telling him He needs me because He doesn’t know what I know, or fearing He will get it wrong. All the while a beam is sticking straight out of my eye, which everyone in there can see, except me.
Only One Lawgiver and Judge
No one wants to admit it, but we do this. Some of us might say it out loud, others of us may just think in our heads. But don’t we all judge someone on something?
“There is only one lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor?”
James 4:12
Do I spend more time praying for my children’s hearts to change or my own heart to soften and change? Do I mull over someone’s actions and words longer and more intensely than my own? Is someone in a relational pit with me that whatever is said or done fully convinces me of the verdict I have about him or her?
Instead, I wish my 1st response when I see something I flag as wrong, would be to remember my own depths of sinful capabilities, then sit in mercy next to someone in the courtroom of someone’s life, not next to God on the judicial bench handing out verdicts or accusing like a prosecutor of possible motives.
But for the grace of God go I.
– John Bradford
