Seeing as Christ sees!

Seeing as Christ sees: Breaking Free From the Inner Courtroom

I want you to imagine something with me for a moment—just long enough for the Holy Spirit to put His finger on something deeper than “right and wrong.”

What if every time I criticized another person—silently or out loud—I wasn’t actually seeing them at all? What if every harsh word, every private label, every inner sentence that sounded like, they should know better… was actually a mirror being lifted in front of my own heart?

Because I’ve learned something about judgment: it doesn’t stay on the outside. It never lives “over there” where we aim it. Judgment always circles back. It always returns home. It always leaves a residue in the one who releases it.

And that’s why Jesus didn’t speak lightly when He said, “Judge not, that you be not judged.” He wasn’t merely giving us a moral policy for nicer communities. He was revealing a doorway into inner freedom that many believers never step through. He was uncovering a spiritual law—something as precise and unyielding as gravity. Not because God is harsh, but because spiritual reality is honest.

If I live from criticism, I will breathe criticism. If I live from suspicion, I will live surrounded by suspicion. If I live from condemnation, I will experience condemnation—first in my mind, then in my emotions, and eventually in my atmosphere.

And I need to say this plainly: many of us are exhausted not because life is hard, but because we are carrying weights the Lord never asked us to carry. We are weighed down by constant evaluation. Constant commentary. Constant verdicts. We wake up and our mind is already measuring. By noon we’ve already formed opinions. By evening we have rehearsed offenses, replayed conversations, judged motives, judged tone, judged character, judged outcomes—until our inner world feels like a courtroom that never adjourns.

But the Spirit of God is calling His people into peace.

And peace cannot coexist with a judging spirit.

When Jesus said, “With the measure you use, it will be measured back to you,” He wasn’t threatening retaliation. He was describing reality. The measure I use becomes the measure I live under. The atmosphere I release becomes the atmosphere I inhabit. That is why judgment is so deadly—not because it only harms others (though it can), but because it trains my own soul to live in a climate of accusation.

And here’s where the Holy Spirit presses even deeper: so much of what we call “discernment” is not discernment at all. It is insecurity wearing religious clothing. It is inadequacy dressed up as spiritual maturity. It is our need to feel safe by making ourselves superior. It is our need to justify our existence by being “better” than someone else.

That is a hard word, but it is a healing word.

Because if I can admit what judgment is really doing in me, I can finally get free from it.

Sometimes I judge because I feel threatened. I see someone’s confidence and it provokes my insecurity. I see someone’s success and it touches the part of me that wonders if I matter. I see someone’s weakness and instead of compassion rising, I feel an inner need to separate myself from them—at least I’m not like that… And the moment that phrase shows up in my heart, I know I’m not operating in Christ. I’m operating in the flesh. I’m operating in fear. I’m operating in a false identity that needs comparison to feel stable.

Judgment says, “I am safe because I am above you.”

But love says, “I am safe because the Lord is with me.”

Judgment says, “I am righteous because you are wrong.”

But the gospel says, “I am righteous because Jesus is righteous—and He covered me.”

This is why Jesus is so direct: “Judge not.” Because judgment is not just an action. It is a spirit. It is a posture. It is an inner throne the ego wants to sit on, pretending it has authority it does not possess.

Judgment is the human mind assuming it has the right to evaluate another person’s spiritual journey—to approve, condemn, label, and conclude. It is the ego quietly saying, “I know better than God does.”

But God alone sees the whole story.

He sees what was done to them. He sees what they were born into. He sees what they endured. He sees what they’ve survived. He sees what they’re fighting in secret. He sees the generational patterns they didn’t choose. He sees the wounds you cannot see. He sees the warfare behind the behavior. He sees the moment they were betrayed. He sees the night they cried and nobody heard. He sees the day they almost gave up. He sees the seed of destiny still alive under the rubble.

And I want to ask myself honestly: when I judge, am I pretending I can see what only God can see?

Because the truth is, when I judge another person, I am rarely seeing them clearly. In many cases I’m not seeing them at all. I am seeing my own internal condition projected outward. The irritation I feel toward someone else often reveals something unresolved in me. The harsh criticism I direct at someone’s choices often exposes a place in my own heart that still needs healing, still needs humility, still needs grace.

When I point the finger, three are pointing back at me.

And this isn’t just a clever saying. It is spiritual reality. The inner world does not lie.

That’s why Jesus connects judgment so directly to our own experience. He says, “With the judgment you judge, you will be judged.” In other words, the consciousness that condemns outside will experience condemnation within. The mind that criticizes will live under self-criticism. The heart that labels will be haunted by labels. The spirit that measures will feel constantly measured.

Judgment promises control, but it delivers bondage.

And if we’re honest, judgment often feels justified. It feels righteous. It feels like wisdom. It feels like protection.

But most judgment is not protection. It is pride.

It creates distance. It allows me to stand apart instead of looking within. It creates a false sense of safety because it puts the “problem” out there. It makes me the observer instead of the participant. The evaluator instead of the one being transformed. The one with answers instead of the one who still needs mercy.

And that distance is an illusion.

Judgment is rooted in the belief that we are separate—separate from God, separate from each other, separate from the reality that every one of us is in desperate need of grace.

Yet the deeper I walk with the Lord, the clearer this becomes: there is one life. One Spirit. One divine presence expressing itself in many forms. We are not isolated islands. We are not independent kingdoms. We are not separate species of “good” and “bad.” We are human beings made in the image of God—broken in different ways, healed in different measures, growing at different speeds, wounded in different seasons, restored by the same Savior.

How can the ocean judge one of its waves? How can the sun condemn one of its rays?

When I truly see this, judgment becomes impossible. Not because I force myself to stop, but because I begin to see with a different set of eyes.

Now, some will say, “But we must discern right from wrong. We must have standards.” And yes—absolutely. But discernment and judgment are not the same thing.

Discernment is wisdom. Judgment is condemnation.

Discernment says, “That path leads to death.”

Judgment says, “That person is dead to me.”

Discernment says, “That fruit is unhealthy.”

Judgment says, “That person is unhealthy.”

Discernment can keep boundaries without contempt. Judgment cannot.

Jesus Himself modeled this perfectly. He discerned constantly. He did not pretend sin was righteousness. He did not call darkness light. He did not excuse destruction. But He never condemned the person.

He looks at the woman caught in adultery and says, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more.” He didn’t deny the sin. He refused the condemnation. That is divine authority. That is Christ-like power.

He could see failure without losing sight of identity.

And this is the great challenge of spiritual maturity: learning to see people the way Jesus does. Not ignoring behavior. Not excusing harm. But looking through human weakness to divine identity.

I’ve had to learn to look at an angry person and recognize pain beneath the rage. I’ve had to learn to look at an addict and see Christ obscured, not absent. I’ve had to learn to look at those who wounded me and acknowledge that the image of God is still there, even when their behavior was not godly.

That doesn’t remove boundaries. It purifies the heart behind them.

Because you can speak truth without poison. You can confront without contempt. You can correct without condemnation. You can separate from a behavior without separating from love.

This is where so many believers get stuck: they think the only alternative to judgment is compromise. But the Lord doesn’t call us to compromise. He calls us to love.

And love is not soft. Love is holy. Love is powerful. Love tells the truth. Love draws lines when necessary. Love protects what is pure. But love does not need contempt in order to be strong.

Here’s the assignment the Holy Spirit gave me—and it changed everything.

Catch yourself in the moment judgment rises.

Not to condemn yourself for judging—that would just be more judgment—but simply to notice it.

Ah… there it is.

And then ask: What is this revealing about me?

Because in many cases, my judgment is not about their behavior. It’s about my insecurity. My fear. My need to feel justified. My need to feel superior. My need to feel “safe” by creating distance.

When I judge someone’s pride, sometimes it’s because I’m wrestling with insecurity. When I criticize someone’s anger, sometimes it’s because I have anger I haven’t admitted. When I resent someone’s success, sometimes it’s because I fear lack. When I despise someone’s failure, sometimes it’s because I’m terrified of my own weakness.

That’s not psychotherapy. That’s spiritual alchemy. That’s transformation.

Judgment becomes the doorway to self-awareness—if I let it. It becomes a signal light on the dashboard of my soul: Pay attention. There’s something here that needs healing.

And this is where the enemy loves to trap believers. Because judgment gives you the feeling of being “right,” while quietly stealing your peace. It gives you a sense of control, while quietly poisoning your inner world. It gives you a temporary thrill of superiority, while dulling your compassion and hardening your heart.

Then we wonder why worship feels dry. We wonder why prayer feels heavy. We wonder why joy feels distant.

But if my mind is a courtroom, how can my heart become a sanctuary?

The judging mind cannot rest. It cannot be still. It is always scanning, evaluating, measuring, building cases, rehearsing offenses.

True spiritual freedom begins the moment I release my need to judge. Not because someone commanded me to stop, but because I finally recognize that judgment serves no purpose except to keep me imprisoned in separation and conflict.

And here’s the beautiful paradox Jesus reveals: the less I judge others, the less I judge myself.

The inner critic grows quieter. The measuring ends. The constant evaluation ceases. And in its place comes a peace that truly does pass understanding.

This is what Jesus held out to us—not as a distant reward, but as a present reality available the moment I shift my consciousness.

When judgment falls away, something else rises: the sacred now.

Judgment is almost always rooted in the past. It freezes people at their worst moment and calls it identity. It takes a mistake and makes it a label. It remembers what someone did and refuses to believe they can change.

But the Holy Spirit lives in the now.

When I meet someone without dragging their history into the moment, something holy happens. I create space for grace. I allow room for transformation. I allow the Lord to surprise me with redemption.

That doesn’t mean I forget patterns. That doesn’t mean I abandon wisdom. It means I stop relating to a memory instead of a person. It means I remain open to the possibility that God is still writing chapters I haven’t seen.

And yes—this is hard. Because judgment likes the certainty of a final verdict. It likes the security of a sealed file.

But love believes all things. Love hopes all things. Love endures all things. Love creates space for redemption.

So let me say it plainly: the world does not need more judgment. It has plenty of that already.

What the world desperately needs is vision—Christ vision.

Eyes that can see past appearances to reality.

Eyes that can recognize the divine spark even in the darkest places.

Eyes that can hold truth without poison, boundaries without contempt, correction without condemnation.

Eyes that can say, “I see what’s wrong, but I still see who you are.”

That is the kind of sight the Holy Spirit wants to cultivate in the believer.

And this is what I’m choosing, by God’s grace, to practice: to catch judgment at the door before it turns my heart into a courtroom. To let the Spirit expose the insecurity beneath my criticism. To let the Lord deal with the inadequacy that makes me compare. To repent when I realize I’ve tried to justify my being by making someone else “less than.”

Because the cross removed my need to prove myself.

I don’t have to be better than you to be loved.

I don’t have to be above you to be secure.

I don’t have to be right about you to be right with God.

Jesus is my righteousness.

So I’m learning to begin right here, right now, with the next person I encounter. To look at them not with the eyes of judgment, but with the vision of Christ. To see them not as their worst moment, but as a soul made in the image of God. To meet them not with accumulated opinions, but with the freshness of the present moment.

And every time I choose that—every time I release condemnation and choose mercy—I feel something lift. I feel the atmosphere of my mind change. I feel peace return. I feel love flow.

Because judgment always builds walls.

But mercy always opens doors.

This is the path Jesus revealed.

“Judge not, that you be not judged.” (Matthew 7:1)

Not because He wanted to burden us with another rule, but because He wanted to free us from a prison most people don’t even realize they’re living in.

So I’m asking the Lord to help me live this daily. Hourly. Moment by moment.

To stop judging others.

And in doing so… to finally live free. Much love!