If you’ve spent any time at all beating yourself up, you’re in good company. I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve been both Judge and jury in my own mind, replaying what I could have done better, weighing myself on invisible scales, and always feeling less than enough. But I’ve come to believe by blood, sweat, and a lot of God’s mercy that this is not what God wants for us.
Paul, who knew a thing or two about failure and forgiveness, wrote these words that have changed me: “It is a very small thing that I should be judged of you, or of man’s judgment: yea, I do not even judge myself. For I know nothing by myself; yet am I not hereby justified: but he that judgeth me is the Lord.”
Can you imagine that freedom? Paul says, “I don’t even judge myself.” Most of us have never tried that in our lives. We’re so used to the courtroom in our heads, the constant reviews, the mental lists of where we fall short, the gavel coming down again and again. But Paul walked right out of that courtroom. He decided he was done with self-judgment, not out of arrogance, but because he trusted God to know the whole story.
I’ve lived enough pain to know just how exhausting it is to be your own prosecutor. Some days, we’re blind to our faults; other days, we dig at old wounds that God has already forgiven. Either way, we make a poor god. Our conscience can be a fickle thing; sometimes, it’ll excuse us when we should see the truth and other times, it’ll accuse us long after God’s moved on in mercy. Romans 2 tells us our hearts and thoughts “accuse or else excuse one another; In the day when God shall judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ.” Only God sees everything.
Here’s the hard truth that sets us free: There is no rest in putting yourself on trial every day. You can’t shame yourself into wholeness. You’ll never heal by swinging that gavel over your head. I know I’ve tried. All it ever did was to deepen the pit I was already in.
The gospel isn’t a summons to self-improvement it’s an invitation to step out of the courtroom and let grace have the final word. God never called you to be your own Judge. He didn’t save you so you could keep dragging yourself back into court. He called you to rest in His love right here, in the middle of your mess, before you’ve cleaned up a thing.
So let me tell you what I’ve learned in the dark and the light: God loves you. Right now. Not after you fix everything, not after you figure yourself out. He loves you with the same love that sent Jesus to the cross, knowing every secret about you. That’s the verdict that counts. When God looks at you, He sees Jesus. He doesn’t see a project to be fixed. He sees His beloved child, clothed in righteousness.
When you put yourself back in the Judge’s seat, you’re missing the whole point of the cross. Your self-judgment isn’t humility; it’s unbelief. It’s telling God, “I know you said I’m forgiven, but I’d rather hold on to my own verdict.” But grace invites you to step out of the courtroom, and rest in the finished work of Jesus.
Maybe today is the day you lay down your gavel. Maybe you let the grace of God be the loudest voice in your life. You are not just off the hook; you are embraced, delighted in, and carried by a love that will never let you go.
You make a poor god, but you are a wonderful child of God.
So stop judging yourself. The Judge has already spoken, and He calls you His own.