When I’m Feeling Judgy

I’m sure I’ve listened to more than a thousand sermons in my lifetime. But it’s not often I can remember a direct quote from any of them in particular.

I do, however, remember one from Mark Driscoll, “The Cussing Pastor.”

It’s from the controversial sermon where he starts shouting at men who abuse, neglect, and dishonor women. He shouts, “How dare you?! Who in the hell do you think you are?!” 

Up until that point, I’d never heard a pastor swear before. 

That clip is a popular part of the podcast series “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill”. It takes me back to 2009 every time I hear it.

Another memorable sermon, with a lot less swearing, is from the pastor I had in my teens and twenties. His words completely shifted the way I think about people and their circumstances. 

Confession: I’m naturally inclined to be a little judgy. And this sermon puts me back in my place. 

Pastor Keith said one sentence that I scribbled onto a blue note card and shoved into my bible: 

“Never point a judgmental finger at someone who has had to make decisions you’ve never had to make.”

He could’ve put a period at the end of the first five words. Never point a judgemental finger. 

But the effect of the whole sentence gives an extra punch to the point. It shines a light on the fact that I’ve never been in someone else’s situation. I’ve never had to make their choices.

I don’t know the weight of what they’re holding. I don’t know the information they had at the time. I don’t have the same support or lack thereof. 

Their situation will always be different from my own. Even when it looks similar on the surface.

The world is a broken place, and people are up against some really tough stuff.

Addiction
Teen pregnancy.
Homelessness.
Depression.
Anxiety.
Chronic illness.
Abuse.

I like to think I’d navigate other people’s circumstances perfectly. But the reality is I wouldn’t. Because in order to step into their situation, I’d need to shed the layers of privilege draped around my shoulders. 

And, to be clear, my privilege looks like more than just white skin. 

It looks like a nice house. In a nice neighborhood. And a car that works. And a healthy husband and healthy kids. It sounds like the cheering voices of people who would have my back if my feet started to slip. It smells like fresh clothes. And home-cooked meals that I make myself with food stockpiled in my pantry. 

The fact that I’m burdened about the decision to work or stay at home with the kids is an absolute privilege. 

How many moms don’t have the luxury of that choice? 

They have to work or they won’t eat. They have to work or their kids will be taken from them. They have to work because they have no. other. option. 

I have the privilege to take risks. I can start a writing business without fear of losing money. In fact, my family is not reliant upon my income. What an incredible privilege.

My privilege is generational. It goes far beyond me. I have parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, first cousins and second cousins that reap the benefits of generational privilege. 

I know family problems are generational too. They can have roots that go deep into the past. One person’s choices can wreak havoc on kids, grandkids, and on and on for generations. 

It’s hard to break the cycle. It’s hard to fight your way out. It’s hard to jump out of the current that’s pulling you along, especially when you don’t have someone on the shore, throwing you a rope. 

If it came to it, I know I would have dozens, maybe even hundreds of people who would be willing (and able) to toss me a line. I can name friends, family, coworkers, teammates, classmates, neighbors, and a whole church family that would help me out in a heartbeat. 

And my circles ripple beyond that. I have lots of people in my corner, cheering me on.

And these people have the means and ability to help. That is privilege.

In some cases, I was born into these circles. In other cases, I walked into them on my own two feet…paved by the path of privilege.

I got good grades in school. But I went to college because my parents mostly paid for it. I was a good athlete. But I got to play on elite teams because my parents paid for league fees, tournaments, and uniforms. I was a good worker. But I had good jobs with good pay because I knew the right people. 

But what happens to the ones who don’t have that privilege?

What happens to the ones who can’t work because their kids are perpetually sick? 

What happens to the ones who have to choose between feeding their family or paying their rent?

We judge them for relying on services and programs that are there to support them. We shout at them to get up. We make movies about the ones who pull themselves up by their bootstraps. And then we expect everyone else to do the same. 

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I didn’t have people to help me. I’d be lonely. I’d be scared. And I’d be desperate. 

Sometimes I just need to sit with those feelings for a little. And ground myself in the reality of all I have. And then turn those feelings into motivation to make a difference in this world. 

Unhappy people are always happy to criticize others. And the happiest people I know are those who are happy to help. 

I want to be a helper. 

I want our foster girls to be wrapped in our circles, so they will never have to feel alone. They might have tough roads ahead, but I want them to have all of the perks of the privilege I don’t deserve.

Our people have welcomed the girls into their homes, given them generous gifts, taken them to fun places, encouraged them with kindness and thoughtfulness. It’s a beautiful thing to watch your family and friends bring in outsiders. 

What would the world look like if we all did? 

For me, it has changed my life. And man, if we all did? It would change the world.