start with yourself
“In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.”
John of the Cross
“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”
Leo Tolstoy
I have a confession: I struggle with a hidden addiction, and it's one that quietly makes life miserable for me and those around me.
I am addicted to judgment.
I can easily become one of the most critical and judgmental people I know.
My personality doesn’t help. On the Myers-Briggs paradigm, I’m an INTJ (for those who care: introverted, intuitive, thinking, and judging). That “J” part can be particularly challenging. According to the framework, my personality type tends to be overly analytical and judgmental, perfectionistic, uncomfortable discussing emotions, and sometimes appearing callous or insensitive.
But personality tests aside, I know this struggle runs deeper than psychology. It speaks to something profoundly spiritual.
We live in a culture that has perfected the art of judgment. Our political discourse, social media feeds, and even our church conversations overflow with critique. We’ve become experts at noticing others’ failures while remaining novices in examining our own hearts.
I keep coming back to this nagging question: Why the constant urge to judge?
Perhaps it’s because categorizing others into neat boxes of approval or disapproval spares us the messy, uncomfortable work of confronting our own contradictions. But the truth is, our world doesn’t hunger for more critique; it desperately craves mercy.
James puts it bluntly: “There will be no mercy for those who have not shown mercy to others. But if you have been merciful, God will be merciful when He judges you.” The kingdom of God runs on mercy, not judgment.
Tolstoy understood this clearly: “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” It’s always easier to diagnose someone else’s sickness than to submit ourselves to self-examination.
Jesus illustrated this with His unforgettable image in Matthew of logs and specks. A vivid, almost comical picture of someone with a timber protruding from their eye, carefully trying to remove a tiny splinter from someone else’s. “Why do you see the speck in your brother’s eye, but fail to notice the log in your own?” This scene would be hilarious if it weren’t so painfully relatable.
The Pharisees never recognized their pride precisely because they were proud of their humility. That paradox haunts me.
The spiritual life isn’t about gathering knowledge or perfecting our theology; it’s about surrendering to the uncomfortable truth that God is continually renovating us from the inside out. Paul urged the Corinthians to “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves.” A life of self-examination isn’t just good philosophy; it’s essential discipleship.
In the desert tradition, when monks complained to their elders about another’s faults, elders would often respond gently but pointedly, “And what is this to you?” It wasn’t dismissive; it was an invitation—an invitation to explore their own spiritual journey more deeply.
THE THREE LEVELS OF SELF-AWARENESS
What if we saw irritations as invitations? What if each person who annoys us becomes a mirror reflecting something hidden within ourselves, something we’ve been unwilling or unable to confront?
I have been trying to deepen my awareness of being judgmental to invite Christ to form me.
Level 1: Noticing someone else’s behavior and judging it.
Level 2: Recognizing our own habit of judgment: “I see that I am being judgmental right now.”
Level 3: Asking deeper questions: “What does my judgment reveal about me?”
I am learning, slowly and reluctantly, that my strongest reactions to others usually reveal not only something about them but something essential about me. Carl Jung wisely noted, “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”
The people who frustrate me most often carry fragments of my unacknowledged shadow.
Spiritual growth is not about achieving moral perfection; it’s about cultivating compassion—for others, yes, but also for ourselves. It’s about recognizing that our irritations are often invitations in disguise.
James declares, “Mercy triumphs over judgment.” This isn’t sentimental; it’s revolutionary. In a judgment-addicted world, mercy becomes radically counter-cultural. Yet, we cannot extend to others what we haven’t first received ourselves. Mercy must penetrate our own critical hearts before we can genuinely share it.
I’ve discovered, for instance, that my strongest judgments cluster around qualities I struggle with myself. My impatience with others’ inefficiency reveals my discomfort with my own limitations. My irritation at others’ neediness unmasks my hidden hunger for approval. My annoyance at rigidity exposes my own fear of change. This is not about self-condemnation or obsessive introspection. Healthy self-knowledge always leads us back to God and toward others with greater compassion.
Imagine how our homes, churches, and communities might transform if we approached irritations not as opportunities for judgment but as divine invitations to grow. What if our reactions became God’s gentle nudges, pointing us toward areas still needing healing?
John of the Cross captures this beautifully: “In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.” Not on being right or expertly diagnosing others’ faults, but on how deeply and authentically we loved. Love begins when judgment turns inward, transforming irritation into a mirror of grace.
The beautiful irony is that as we become less preoccupied with others’ failings and more attentive to our own spiritual growth, we naturally grow more compassionate, recognizing our shared struggles and universal need for grace.
So, what irritates you about yourself? Start there, not with harsh self-criticism, but with honest acknowledgment that opens the door to healing. Those very qualities that frustrate us in others often become our greatest teachers if only we sit with them long enough to hear what they have to say.
What if our judgments aren’t mere reactions but sacred interruptions, revealing not just what’s happening around us but what’s happening within us?
Here’s a simple practice to try:
Notice the trigger: When irritation rises, pause.
Label your judgment: Identify precisely what you’re judging.
Look in the mirror: Ask yourself, “Where does this quality exist in me?”
Take one small action: Make one tiny step toward addressing this quality in yourself.
In our divided culture, this practice feels not just spiritually crucial but culturally essential. James reminds us again, “Mercy triumphs over judgment.” In a world drowning in criticism and judgment, mercy gives us a chance to breathe again.
Here’s to becoming a more merciful man.
Cheers.
Jon.
Discussion Questions:
Who consistently irritates you, and what specific quality bothers you most about them? How might this quality reflect something about you?
When you strongly judge another, what does it reveal about your own insecurities or unresolved issues? Can you think of a recent example?
Do you invite trusted friends to identify your blind spots? What would it look like to create humble accountability among your friendships?
How does unexamined self-judgment affect your leadership? Share a time when addressing the “log in your own eye” improved how you guided others.
Which of your judgment patterns might connect to past hurts? How might recognizing this connection change your approach to others and yourself?
