What does the bible really mean by ‘do not judge?’
I keep telling my friends that one of these days I’m going to write a book called “ten things everyone knows about the Catholic Church that just aren’t true.” Included in the ten will be the fact that Pius XII abandoned the Jews during the Second World War, the fact the Catholic Church has a particular (note the word “particular”) problem with sexual abuse, and the fact that faith and science are in conflict with one another.
None of these facts, of course, are actually facts, and a lot of people know that. But yet for every person with the common sense to look beyond the shallow Facebook meme, there are probably ten without it. All of which reinforces the maxim that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and posits the secular view of the Church is one of its clearest proofs.
Into this particular fray comes the old adage that Christians aren’t supposed to judge. This, to be fair, actually is a fact, and one recorded right at the beginning of Chapter 7 of Matthew’s Gospel. Nevertheless, it’s a fact which is quite often spun out of all recognition to the point where not judging is taken to mean that Christian’s aren’t even supposed to disagree with anything.
I’ve been saying for years that the Church urgently needs this issue clarifying. I’ve even spoken to scripture scholars and checked concordances to find out what the word translated as “judge” means in the original texts. Sadly though, beyond “it can mean different things” there’s not really a clear answer.
So, in short, I have to admit that I don’t know with certainty what exactly Jesus meant when he told us not to judge others. I’ve got some ideas, and I’ll lay them out below, but one thing I am certain of is what the concept of judging others definitely doesn’t mean: It definitely doesn’t mean that we’re not allowed to disagree with anything or call anything out. That much is crystal clear from even a casual glance at the rest of the New Testament.
Jesus “judges” left, right, and centre. On almost every single page of the Gospels he’s correcting people, admonishing them, sometimes even telling them point blank that they’re being downright evil. The examples are so numerous and obvious that it’s not even worth giving references.
The fact is, the non-controversial Jesus, worshipped by so many people today, simply didn’t exist. As a friend of mine used to remind me, you don’t get put to death for going around telling people they’re doing just fine and for giving too many hugs.
The common counter-argument at this point is that Jesus was God. The same God who told us that “Judgement is mine” (Romans 12:19, Deut 32:35). While that’s all very true, it doesn’t explain the fact that eleven of the twelve apostles were also martyred, as were (according to some sources, at least) the first thirty-three Popes.
Even if we are able to construct a theory in which Jesus was feisty and edgy and wanted us to be exactly the opposite, the testimony of somewhere between fifty and a hundred million other martyrs between his time and ours would destroy that theory in a heartbeat. Once again: people don’t get killed for being just too darn nice. Or, more to the point, for living the modern interpretation of “do not judge.”
No. The fact is, Jesus was edgy. Jesus was challenging. Jesus knew how to call out things that were wrong, and he wanted — in fact, wants — his followers to do exactly the same.
The best proof of this — at least as applied to practical, everyday situations — is probably found in Paul’s letters. Paul calls out divisions, squabbling, incest, and sexual immorality. And that’s just the first eight chapters of 1 Corinthians! And it’s worth noting — for those tempted to make an argument that Paul was special because he was an apostle — that much of the time Paul calls out a problem, he also calls out the locals for not tackling it themselves sooner.
So, it’s pretty darn clear from the New Testament itself that the charge not to judge doesn’t mean we can’t disagree with anything. We are allowed to say “that’s wrong.” In fact, we are instructed to. Something we were reminded of during the Year of Mercy, when we were challenged to perform the spiritual works of mercy, one of which is to admonish sinners.
So, what exactly does “not judging” mean?
Well, as I said above, I’m not claiming to know with any certainty. It’s one of those questions I intend to ask God when I get up there, along with whether that goal in the 1966 World Cup final really crossed the line, whether OJ actually did it or not, and why the heck he made wasps? In the meantime, let me throw down some theories:
My best guess is that the not judging somebody is about not condemning the whole of the person. If I see a person doing something wrong, I’m allowed to point it out and encourage them to stop, but I’m not allowed to decide that the person is bad to the core as a result of it. I still have to see the person’s good points; I still have to offer them my love and friendship (if appropriate); and I still have to forgive them if they’ve wronged me or hurt me. So maybe — maybe — not judging is about not cutting somebody adrift because of one part of them.
Linked to this is another theory that maybe not judging is about eschatological judgment. In other words, maybe it’s about not taking it upon ourselves to decide that a person isn’t getting into heaven because of something they’ve done. That task is God’s, and his alone.
Linked to all this is our own humility and our tendency to compare ourselves to others. If I judge a person in their entirety, I make a definitive pronouncement that that person is (at least in some small way) less than me. I set myself above that person, and that damages my humility, and with it my openness to God. It damages my awareness of being reliant on God, because it tells me that I’m at least doing better than somebody else.
This would seem to be backed up by the verses in Matthew’s Gospel which come right after the “do not judge” verse. The ones you probably know well about not criticising the splinter in your brother’s eye when all the while there’s a plank in your own eye.
In actual fact, the way that particular teaching plays out might be quite telling here. Jesus doesn’t tell us not to call out the splinter. He tells us to take care of the plank first and then deal with the splinter.
So maybe the lesson is this: we can, and should, call out problems, but we must never ever assume that the problems are only with other people. Admonishing without humility will only ever be a bludgeon, which is why it rarely achieves anything. With humility and love, it becomes a balm. Or at least, it can.
Inside vs Outside the Church
One final thought is that I wonder if there is a difference between how we’re supposed to call out sin inside the Church vs. outside? Again, this is just an opinion, but I strongly suspect that a different approach is needed.
Where sin is concerned, there is a strong frame of reference in the Church in the form of revelation, and there’s a commitment among members to heed it. Both of these things make it easier to call our brothers and sisters back to communion when they stray. Naturally though, humility and tact are still needed.
Outside the Church, it’s a very different dynamic. One in which I can’t help wondering if we’re called to discern whether the right attitude is to try to bring people to Christ or to call out the issue at hand. We’re always called to bring people to Christ, of course, but maybe it’s a question of whether calling out the issue at hand might adversely harm our ability to do that?
In some cases, issues of right and wrong are clear cut, whether or not people believe in Christ. In others though (gay marriage, for instance) it’s likely that people simply won’t understand the issue unless they understand Christ first.
Maybe, therefore, when we’re dealing with non-Christians, “not judging” means discerning whether the person we’re dealing with really knows that what they’re doing is wrong, and whether, therefore, we should just concentrate on how to evangelise them, and not get derailed by things that will just click into place once Jesus does.
Again, maybe.