The Judgment We Call Love

On the Cross, Mercy, and the Poverty of Our Vision

“At that time, my mind was standing, weeping, at the place where Christ was crucified.”

Synopsis of Tonight’s Group on The Evergetinos Volume III Hypothesis II Section H paragraphs 23-27

The Fathers tell us again and again not to judge.

We nod our heads.

We agree.

We repeat the commandment.

And then we continue judging.

The reason is simple.

We do not believe judgment is judgment.

We believe it is love.

That is what makes this passion so dangerous.

Most sins appear ugly to us. Anger, envy, lust, greed. We recognize them immediately. Judgment rarely arrives wearing such obvious clothing. It comes disguised as concern. It arrives as discernment. It introduces itself as responsibility. It speaks in the language of truth, order, and correction.

The ego is infinitely creative when it wishes to remain on the throne.

In these stories, one is struck not only by the weakness of those who fall but by the subtlety of those who believe themselves to stand.

Abba Pior carries his sins behind him and his brother’s sins before him. The image is almost absurd, yet it reveals the absurdity of our ordinary spiritual life. We spend years staring at the failures of others while remaining largely blind to the darkness within ourselves. We discuss their faults. We analyze their motives. We evaluate their decisions. Meanwhile our own hearts remain unexplored territory.

The Fathers call this blindness.

We call it discernment.

There is a difference.

The truly discerning person sees first his own poverty.

The man who sees clearly does not become harsher.

He becomes merciful.

This is why Abba Paphnoutios, upon seeing a man and woman in sin, immediately began praying for his own sins. He understood something that we have largely forgotten: the line separating righteousness from sin does not run between people. It runs through every human heart.

The Fathers knew that given the right circumstances, the right wounds, the right temptations, almost any sin becomes possible.

Humility is simply the recognition of this fact.

Pride is the refusal to recognize it.

Yet perhaps the most disturbing story is the Elder who discovers the brother and the virgin sinning beside him.

He does not rebuke.

He does not expose.

He does not lecture.

He stands interiorly at Golgotha.

This is the scandal of Christianity.

The Cross is not merely the revelation of God’s justice.

It is the revelation that God’s justice is mercy.

That is the stumbling block.

We would prefer a God who confirms our judgments.

A God who separates the worthy from the unworthy.

A God who validates our indignation.

Instead we encounter Christ praying for those who crucify Him.

The Elder’s heart has become so united to Christ that when confronted by the sin of others, he does not first think of correction.

He thinks of Calvary.

His mind stands where Christ stands.

His heart breaks where Christ’s heart breaks.

And because of this, repentance flowers naturally in those who sinned.

What correction could have accomplished what mercy accomplished?

What lecture could have pierced the heart more deeply than love?

The Fathers understood something that modern Christianity often forgets: very little repentance is born from condemnation.

Almost all genuine repentance is born from encountering mercy.

The final story reveals the deepest root of judgment.

The Elder condemns a brother for eating more than he thinks necessary. Shortly thereafter he discovers that even his own ascetic rule depends entirely upon grace. The strength he thought belonged to him vanishes.

Suddenly he sees.

What he considered virtue was not his achievement.

It was a gift.

This may be the greatest illusion in the spiritual life.

We mistake grace for personal accomplishment.

Then we compare ourselves to others.

Then we judge.

The Fathers relentlessly attack this illusion because they know that pride can survive even inside holiness. Indeed, it often thrives there.

One can fast and become proud.

One can pray and become proud.

One can preach mercy and become proud.

One can even condemn judgment and become proud.

The self always finds a way to return to the center.

This is why purity of heart is so rare.

How can we see another clearly when we do not yet see ourselves clearly?

How can we judge another’s motives when our own motives remain hidden from us?

How can we speak of justice when we scarcely understand mercy?

The Fathers do not ask us to ignore sin.

They ask us to stand closer to the Cross.

For the closer one comes to Christ crucified, the less interested one becomes in condemning others.

One begins to see that every human being is carrying wounds unseen by the world.

One begins to understand that salvation itself is mercy from beginning to end.

One begins to realize that the greatest miracle is not that sinners exist.

The greatest miracle is that God continues to love them.

And among those sinners, first and foremost, is myself.