Daily time with God’s Word is crucial to knowing Him, and one of the best ways to stay engaged amid the hustle of everyday life is simply to take notes as you read.

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“Jesus himself says not to judge.” Thus many a conversation about Christian ethics has come to a swift end. I often hear this verse quoted to me in conversations about the Bible’s sexual ethic, especially when these conversations occur in progressive, secular spaces. But it doesn’t take much imagination to guess how it might be deployed elsewhere. When used to shut down conversations, the implicit meaning is something like this: Jesus says it’s wrong to tell me I’m wrong. Why does it work? For starters, Jesus really did make such a statement: “Judge not, that you not be judged” (Matt. 7:1). Not only did he say it, but it’s recorded in his most famous teaching, the Sermon on the Mount. This is why so many people know it (or some version of it). “Judge not” feels like it’s in the same league as the Golden Rule. So if a non-Christian or a Christian of a different opinion wants to suggest that her stance shouldn’t be opposed, the statement’s pedigree is top-tier. In the second place, “judge” does carry a meaning of moral discrimination. So it’s not outlandish to think the sentence might be a prohibition on making moral judgments. It’s at least plausible enough that when presented in the heat of a conversation, those who take Jesus and the Bible seriously pause. On the one hand, the source and the interpretation seem to suggest that whatever moral issue we’re talking about, the only safe landing spot is “agree to disagree.” On the other hand, when we’re in these situations, we retain a nagging feeling that this can’t be what Jesus means. How can we find our way out of the dilemma? By remembering how words work, how context works, and how love works. How Words Work Anyone who has taken a foreign language class is familiar with learning vocabulary. We’re often first taught words that have a kind of one-for-one meaning exchange. In English, “good;” in Spanish, “bueno.” But it doesn’t take long to realize that language isn’t just a plug-and-play of word equivalence. “Bueno” really does mean good. It was also the way most of my native Spanish speaking friends answered their home phones growing up. I couldn’t imagine picking up my home phone and just saying “good” in English. But “bueno” was a perfectly ordinary and pleasant way to greet a caller in their homes. When used to shut down conversations, the implicit meaning is something like: Jesus says it’s wrong to tell me I’m wrong. Every word has various meanings, and you can only tell which one is most likely from how it’s being used in a sentence (and that sentence in a paragraph). So we’re not at all surprised that “judge” has multiple meanings. One verbal use of “judge” is closely tied to what a judge in a Western courtroom does: render a verdict of innocent or guilty to formally decide a case and bring an open public matter to a close. Another verbal use is discrimination or considered decision-making. We judge between lighter issues, such as what book to read next or what to wear to an event. But we also make weightier judgments—about whether to marry, what to name our child, how to fulfill an obligation to a parent. A third use sits somewhat between the first two. It’s to consider what is good, right, or preferable, and not just to keep it to oneself but to state it publicly, especially with the hope of influencing others. As with the second use, this can be for trivial questions, like whether to get pineapple on the group pizza order, or for extremely serious matters, such as a public official speaking on whether a country should go to war. Helpfully here, the Greek verb krinō has functionally the same meanings as the English “judge.” When Jesus uses the word in his sermon, he can mean various things based on the normal uses of “judge.” How Context Works When we consider context, we’re thinking about the various elements necessary to understand meaning. Just as you can’t understand most Gen-Z slang without being heavily online, so you need a variety of contexts to understand Jesus’s sermon. Let’s consider two: literary and social. Literary context is an extension of what we were thinking about above with words. Just as a word can only be understood in its phrase or sentence, so a phrase or sentence must be situated within its broader literary unit. Social context refers to the relationships and history that surround any given written communication. This might include information about the original authors and readers, and it might include later audiences who had access to the documents. Think of the song “Your Obedient Servant” from the musical Hamilton. The tragedy and comedy of the song is that it’s an exchange between bitter rivals, one of whom will famously end up killing the other, and yet they sign off their acrimonious letters to each other with increasingly absurd closings such as “I have the honor to be your obedient servant, A. Burr.” The words have a meaning on their own, and yet the social conditions between Burr and Hamilton help listeners know that the sign-off is mere formality, not literal or sincere. The two original gentlemen would have known this, and, the audience of Miranda’s musical knew it too, and with greater depth of irony, since they knew how the story would end. Both literary and social context play key roles in understanding what Jesus means when he says, “Judge not, that you not be judged.” Starting with literary context, we can see that Jesus’s prohibition against judging can’t be about prohibiting the act of discernment, either privately or publicly. The broad context, after all, is the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus speaks clearly and repeatedly about sin, righteousness, and the dangers of hell. He’s taking moral action deadly seriously, persuading his hearers to take it seriously too—and so judgment as discernment is required. Do I look at women lustfully? Am I prone to retaliation? And it’s not merely personal. In the same paragraph as the line about judging, Jesus tells his hearers to remove the speck from their brother’s eye. That is, he’s telling people to get into each other’s business. Discernment is required, especially for the necessary first step of removing the log from one’s own eye. Both literary and social context play key roles in understanding what Jesus means when he says, ‘Judge not.’ What about social context? More could be said than fits in one short article, but it helps to know that the speaker and the audience are Jewish. That means they share many things, including a religious outlook that requires taking sin, as defined by their covenant God, seriously. Additionally, the sermon frequently mentions hypocrisy related to religious practice, because in that social setting, you earn status for observance. This gives us crucial information for understanding Jesus’s “judge not” statement. On the one hand, he has a social setting that takes religious observance so seriously that they’re tempted to posture. On the other hand, he also has to warn them that their definitions of sin aren’t nearly serious enough, that they are focused on the outward at the expense of what is happening in the heart. Taken together, we can reasonably deduce that Jesus wants to raise their moral discernment and lower their tendency to accept or dismiss others based on their religious-observance status. “Judge not” from Jesus can’t mean, “Don’t have a private or public view of what is good or bad.” Rather, it must mean, “Stop declaring yourself innocent and others guilty.” After all, the sentence immediately afterward says, “For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged.” So where does this leave us? How Love Works The worst way this piece could be used is as a slam dunk on the head of someone who wants to use “judge not” to mean, “Don’t tell me I’m wrong.” We know this because Jesus says so: “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” (Matt. 7:5). Correcting another will most often require gentleness; sometimes it will call for firm rebuke. But it always calls for humble, serious self-critique. Love considers how we would want to be corrected, and acts in light of that. Correcting another will most often require gentleness; sometimes it will call for firm rebuke. But it always calls for humble, serious self-critique. Others reading this piece, however, might hear Jesus’s warning about the log in our own eyes and not actually deal with their brother’s speck. You were kind of hoping Jesus would say, “Take the log out of your own eye, sit down, shut up, and leave your brother alone.” But no. He says to remove your log so that you can see clearly enough to handle the speck. Love means offering helpful, risky correction, not letting our sibling remain in error. Usually, when “judge not” is used to shut down moral conversation, it’s asserting that we don’t have the right to correct each other’s views on whatever topic is at hand. But contrary to that interpretation, we need to be deeply concerned with one another, that our view of sin and righteousness aligns with Jesus Christ’s. Love includes the command “Exhort one another every day, as long as it is called ‘today,’ that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin” (Heb. 3:13). The nature of sin is pure deceit, and we’re all susceptible to falling for it. Jesus Christ came full of grace and truth to set us free from sin, death, and lies, and to make us agents for this freedom for others as well. Let’s not judge as if we’re the ones who declare each other ultimately guilty or innocent. Instead, let’s discern together in proper fear and reverence the will of the Lord.

What does it mean to be human? This is one of the hardest questions to answer in our culture. Artificial intelligence forces us to reevaluate established definitions of personality and consciousness. Evolutionary biology undermines traditional views of human purpose and uniqueness. Gender theory disconnects the body and mind, anchoring our personal identity in feelings. Each approach has a common aim but a different, unhelpful answer that tends to diminish the dignity and wonder of humanity. In Humanity Matters: Re-Enchanting Homo Sapiens, Andrew Fellows, minister of St Thomas’s Church in Cambridge, addresses an anthropological crisis gripping our culture. We no longer have a “theology and metaphysics that gives the deeper explanation of our existence” (8). Fellows seeks to recapture our wonder and awe—what he calls “re-enchantment”—through a Christian humanist approach. Fellows begins with basic, biblical concepts, like the fact that humanity exists as a complex and marvelous creation with a God-given purpose, and made in the image of God. He also draws on “sources beyond the Bible to undergird and enrich [his] anthropology,” which he argues allows it to become “a blessing to the world” (143). The result is an encouraging and helpful work, but one that points toward civilizational renewal as a more prominent goal than is warranted. Redeeming Humanism Humanism portrays human nature as inherently good. Fellows rightly disagrees with this premise, noting that “humans possess a unique capacity for evil” (108). Yet he admires humanism’s high view of humanity, which moves us into wonder about our design and purpose. He’s right that “the long history of humanism has been shaped by a Christian anthropology.” He’s also correct that “at some point, humanism chose to abandon this foundation” (5). He sees humanism as redeemable if its foundations in Christian ideas can be restored. Yet trying to restore humanism is a questionable endeavor. In 1943, William Temple, then archbishop of Canterbury, lamented that the “Christian tradition . . . was in danger of being undermined by a ‘Secular Humanism’ which hoped to retain Christian values without the Christian faith.” Nearly a century later, we can see that humanists have maintained neither the faith nor the values of Christianity. Historically, humanism’s view of humanity was damaged in the aftermath of the Second World War: the discovery of concentration camps and the destruction caused by the atomic bomb. Philosophically, the adoption of materialistic understandings of the created order led to the widespread assumption that “if the world lacked purpose and meaning, then so did human life” (7). Thus, humanity became disenchanted. Those factors help explain how we got to where we are as a culture, with a growing longing for a return of transcendent meaning and purpose. Fellows rightly notes that “this deepest of longings within us is an indication that we were created for God” (83). That longing can only be fulfilled by a relationship with our Creator through Christ. Restoring Christian foundations to humanism seems like an indirect route to reshaping culture around a robustly biblical anthropology that recognizes the desperate need for personal, spiritual renewal through the gospel. Understanding Death No matter how the culture arrives at a more biblical anthropology, one clear benefit is the recognition that death looms around the corner for each of us. Death’s inevitability shapes the way both Christians and non-Christians live. When believers recognize death’s nearness, we’re encouraged toward obedience and joy in Christ. As Fellows argues, “Our efforts to ignore death inadvertently hold us back from fully embracing life” (99). Instead, awareness of the numbering of our days motivates Christians to live their lives to the fullest by fulfilling the Great Commission, serving the church, and bringing glory to God in all their spheres of influence. In a world of anxiety and depression about the unknown, knowing the God who conquered death causes us to embrace life without fear of death. When believers recognize death’s nearness, we’re encouraged toward obedience and joy in Christ. Humanists often can’t escape concern about death. “Even today in the age of naturalism,” Fellows observes, “we see a growing interest in life after death, particularly in [the cultural] fascination with near-death experiences” (102). Every culture has some theory about the afterlife, and the most secular parts of modern Western culture are no exception. Shared interest in what comes after death offers an important touchpoint between Christians and the surrounding culture. We can show them through Scripture how death’s sting has been removed through a cross and the empty tomb. We can connect them to Christ’s promise of eternity, which satisfies our deepest cravings for a life after death. The shared experience of a ticking of life’s clock can be a bridge to reintroducing biblical anthropology to our culture. Improving Anthropology Though I’m critical of Fellows’s goal of reinvigorating Christian humanism, I share his interest in reviving a more biblical perspective on humanity. Every other anthropological system fails to deal with the problem of evil—particularly personal sin—effectively. Some versions blame “external factors” for an individual’s sin (111). Other approaches blame “misfirings in our biology” (113). Only a biblical anthropology rightly explains why sin infects us all from birth. The shared experience of a ticking of life’s clock can be a bridge to reintroducing biblical anthropology to our culture. The failures of alternative anthropologies result in inadequate responses to sin. Some versions propose eugenics or transhumanism as the answer to flawed humanity. Others prescribe retreat into the digital sphere, which Fellows recognizes as “as soul-sucking dystopia disguised as a utopia” (133). In contrast, Christianity teaches us that “Jesus has provided what is necessary for us to live eternally, and fully in our humanity, enjoying God, a renewed creation and a perfected humanity” (139). Salvation has been accomplished on our behalf. The gospel, which both requires and provides a better anthropology, offers a more satisfying answer to the fundamental question, What does it mean to be human? In Jesus Christ, God took on human flesh and came to resolve the problems of evil, sin, and death. His perfect life, substitutionary death, and subsequent resurrection show us what humanity was meant to be and give us the hope that we can become so one day. Fellows ends with optimism that “the revival of a genuine Christian humanism may well serve as a catalyst for rejuvenating our faltering civilisation” (147). It’s a noble desire, yet the hope for civilization isn’t in the renewal of anthropology but in the remaking of humans through salvation. Though Fellows puts the cart before the horse by making a renewed civilization a primary goal, Humanity Matters offers an encouraging emphasis on recovering a robust biblical anthropology.