Dr Paul Allen

  “Judge not, and you will not be judged.” (Matt. 7:1 and Luke 6:37) Some have said that the most famous verse in the Bible is Jesus’s command not to judge. Jesus warned against judging since it will lead to our own judgment and condemnation ( Matt. 7:1 ;  Luke 6:37 ). Now, this should not be interpreted to mean that all evaluation of the lives of others is forbidden. Even in the context of Jesus’s command not to judge in Matthew’s Gospel, his followers are commanded to be discerning and not throw what is holy at dogs ( Matt. 7:6 ).  Elsewhere, believers are enjoined to judge one another and to remove from the church those who are blatantly disobedient and unrepentant ( 1 Cor. 5:12–13 ). Such cases call for gentleness and the recognition that we are liable to fall into the same sins ( Gal. 6:1 ), so there is no room for being supercilious and superior.  Having said all this, God has the prerogative to judge—something we humans don’t possess. As the Creator, the sovereign Lord and King,

Ivan Messa The story of Jonah reminds me of Nasreddin Hodja, a character from Central Asian children’s literature. As the story goes, one day Nasreddin, a Muslim holy man, was lying under a walnut tree. Looking up into its magnificent branches, he began to question the wisdom of the Creator. Why should such a large tree have tiny walnuts? It could easily carry the large pumpkins that grow on spindly vines. Soon, Nasreddin fell asleep. But he was jolted awake when a walnut plopped onto his head. In that moment, he recognized not only the Creator’s wisdom but also his kindness. While the Hodja was busy questioning the purposes of God, he’d been oblivious to mercy—the mercy that kept a falling gourd from crushing his head. In Muslim folklore, Nasreddin Hodja is a silly and absurd character. But his puerile humour often reveals profound truths. Of course, absurd characters can be found throughout literature and throughout the world. Down through the ages, literary satire has been a sharp c

Steve Hoffman When it comes to the  Parable of the Lost Son , we encounter something similar. Most folks think this parable is about the son who went away, the one who was lost and then at the end of the parable is found. We think it’s just like the first two parables in this trilogy: the lost sheep is found and brought home, the lost coin is found and brought home, the lost son is found and brought home. And if we stopped there, we still have a really good parable. But when we get to the point where the younger son has returned home and is celebrating, we realize that the parable is not over. It has two punchlines.  The father had two sons. The younger son left and wasted his money on prostitutes and frivolity. The older son stayed home and obeyed his father. But at the end of the parable, who is with the father? And when we come to the end of this parable, which son is the lost son?  Let’s turn our attention to the older son and we will learn that not only is this parable about the r

I asked the cofounder of The Gospel Coalition why forgiving is so hard, whether it undermines justice, what lessons he’s learned from his marriage to Kathy, and more. (You can also listen to Keller’s Gospelbound interview.) How does our therapeutic age make forgiveness more difficult? It changes the motive. The therapeutic reason for forgiveness is self-interest and self-actualization. You do it strictly for your own mental health, your own “freedom,” and your own peace of mind. Now, true Christian forgiveness can bring you all those things—but as by-products. The ground motive of biblical forgiveness is, first, to honour God—to forgive as he has forgiven you—and, second, to bring about change for the common good. You should want the wrongdoer to repent for his or her sake, for God’s sake, and for the sake of possible future victims. The therapeutic motive of self-interest won’t really work. If forgiveness is all about making you happier—well, lots of people find that nursing a grudge

Many of the most common troubles in the Christian life come from relating to God as if he were like us — as if his kindness were as slight as our kindness, his forgiveness as reluctant as our forgiveness, and his patience as fleeting as our patience. Under impressions such as these, we walk uneasily through the Christian life, insecurity rumbling like distant thunder. John Owen (1616–1683) goes so far as to say, Want of a due consideration of him with whom we have to do, measuring him by that line of our own imaginations, bringing him down unto our thoughts and our ways, is the cause of all our disquietments. (Works of John Owen, 6:500) If we were God in heaven, we would have grown impatient with people like us long ago. Our anger rises quickly in the face of personal offense. Our frustration boils over. Our judgments readily fire. And apart from the daily renewal of our minds, we can easily measure God “by that line of our own imaginations,” as if his thoughts matched our thoughts, an

It is far too easy to judge others over their sins when our own sins are obvious, so here’s why we shouldn’t “sin shame” others when they sin. Condemning Others Jesus said, “Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you” (Matt 7:1-2). The word Jesus used for “judge” has the connotation of condemning someone; similar to being the prosecuting attorney, jury, and judge all rolled into one. It’s so easy to judge others and have others judge us, but we can be wrong, and so can they.  We may not have all the facts, or we’ve got the wrong facts, so it’s best to give people the benefit of the doubt (1 Cor 13:7). The Apostle Paul didn’t care about hurting the church’s feelings because they were being judgmental. He chastised them, telling them that they “have no excuse, O man, every one of you who judges. For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice t

She sits in my office, tears running down her face. Two years ago her mother died in hospice while she lay asleep at home. She was trying to get a decent night’s rest after days spent at her mother’s side. “I just can’t forgive myself. I let her die alone. I knew I should have been there, but I was selfish. I can never forgive myself for that.” Dozens have shared similar confessions with me. Does this resonate with you? What guilt do you bear? What burdens are you carrying because you can’t forgive yourself? If Christ has forgiven you, do you also have to forgive yourself? If Christ has forgiven you, do you also have to forgive yourself? Many are trapped because they can’t forgive themselves. My friend isn’t alone. And she feels trapped. Because she’ll never hear her mother offer her forgiveness, she feels like she can’t release herself from guilt. What Does Scripture Say?   Why can’t you release yourself from your sin? Is it because the weight is too much? Because you know you haven’t

In Luke chapter 9, Jesus deputizes his disciples to go and minister as representatives of God’s Kingdom, giving them  “power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases” (Luke 9:1). Note the distinction. Demons were to be cast out; diseases were to be healed. The former was spiritual, the latter was physiological.  This contrast matters in our present technocratic age. In an interview prior to his death, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks described how modern technology had come to replace functions traditionally delivered from within the religious realm.  Look at where we are right now in the evolution of human civilization. To explain the world today, we don’t need revelation, we have science. To control it, we don’t need oracles and magic, we have technology. To control power we don’t need the prophets, we have elections (even if sometimes they go the wrong way). If we are ill, we don’t go to a priest, we go to a doctor. If we are depressed, we don’t need the book of Psalms, we can take a