Luke 6:37-42 · Judging Others
Getting It Together
Luke 6:37-42
Sermon
by William G. Carter
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Hypocrisy. We know it when we see it.

A newspaper recently quoted a congressman. I had to read the article twice to make sure I got it right. In the midst of a debate, an elected official stood to address the House of Representatives. Here’s what he said: “Never before have I heard such ill-informed, wimpy, back-stabbing drivel as that just uttered by my respected colleague, the distinguished gentleman from Ohio.”

Hypocrisy. We know it when we see it.

Maybe you heard about the leader in another church who was asked to speak to a junior high Sunday school class. The teacher wanted him to talk about the positive aspects of being a Christian, such as how his faith determined his business decisions and set his family priorities. Some of the students began to lose attention.

In an effort to keep their attention, he suddenly stopped, pointed at one boy, and said, “Do you know why people call me a Christian?”

The startled teenager sat up and replied, “Is it because they don’t know you?”

Hypocrisy. We know what it looks like. We know what it sounds like. And we cheer when Jesus turns to speak against it. That’s what Jesus is doing in the passage we heard this morning. There are a number of independent teachings in our Scripture text. Each little block of instruction could be treated independently. The thread that stitches them together is hypocrisy, that nearly fatal condition of acting like somebody you’re not.

• Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye and ignore the log in your own eye?

• You will know them by the fruit they produce. Are figs gathered from thorns or thistles?

• You say, “Lordy, Lordy,” but you don’t do what I tell you.

At least nineteen times in the gospels, Jesus takes on people whom he calls hypocrites. The Greek word is taken from the acting stage. “Hupocrites” are actors or actresses. They put on a show, supposedly for the benefit of others. They wear costumes and masks, so their appearance does not reflect who they really are. There is a difference between their outward appearance on stage and who they actually are when nobody but God is looking.

According to one wry definition, hypocrites are those “who, professing virtues that they do not respect, secure the advantage of seeming to be what they despise.”1 They appear to be something other than what they actually are.

“Let me take that speck out of your eye.” With a self-deprecating air, they mean, “Let me take care of you. Let me point something out to you.” All the while they totally ignore their own inability to see clearly. On the surface, it sounds like they want to care; but something else is going on behind the mask.

As one commentator points out, this kind of hypocrisy is all the more unpleasant “because an apparent act of kindness (taking a speck of dirt from somebody’s eye) is made the means of inflating our own ego.”2 That is, it looks like these people are trying to help others, when actually they are trying to feel better about themselves. They exalt themselves by pointing out something deficient about their neighbors. Then they try to help others in their weakness from a position of superiority. “Here,” they say with transparent deference, “let me help you get that speck out of your eye.”

We know it when we see it.

Ever notice? When somebody criticizes you, the criticism usually has to do more with him or her than it has to do with you. Most likely they are flinging their baggage at you rather than carry it themselves.

A woman recently went through some personal difficulties. She said, “When I went through my divorce, the people who gave me the hardest time were people who came from their own troubled households. On the other hand, the people who saved my life were those who knew what it was like to go through something like that, and they helped me come through it alive.”

Jesus says: “Take the log out of your eye. Keep your grubby fingers out of the eyes of others, and deal with your own blind spots.”

It reminds me of the day when Snoopy was sitting on the roof of his doghouse. Charlie Brown came up and said, “I hear you’re writing a book on theology. I hope you have a good title.”

Snoopy replied, “I have the perfect title.” Then he leaned over his typewriter and typed, “Has It Ever Occurred to You That You Might Be Wrong?”3

That’s the question for every one of us to ask ourselves if we are ever going to get rid of the lumberyard in our own eyelashes. Jesus uses this ridiculous image to score his point. All of us have no problem turning to another person and seeing faults. All of us have a lot of problems owning up to our own shortcomings and faults. It’s difficult to get a proper perspective.

In his commentary on Matthew, Tom Long notes there are two transformations that must occur if we are ever going to be useful to God or anybody else. First, you have to find the wrong in yourself before turning the spotlight on anybody else. You have to face what you spend your whole life avoiding about yourself. Only then, says Long, can you move from self-righteousness to compassion. The good news is that those who deal with their own blindspots can be helpful to others.4 But it means taking a good, long, honest look at yourself.

A number of years ago, novelist Frederick Buechner dared to tell the story of a day in his own life. He began the book by saying:

I am a part-time novelist who happens also to be a part-time Christian because part of the time seems to be the most I can manage to live out my faith: Christian part of the time when certain things seem real and important to me and the rest of the time not Christian in any sense that I can believe matters much to Christ or anybody else ... From time to time I find a kind of heroism momentarily possible — a seeing, doing, telling of Christly truth — but most of the time I am indistinguishable from the rest of the herd that jostles and snuffles at the great trough of life. Part-time novelist, Christian, pig.5

The honesty is refreshing. Religious people face the endless temptation of thinking they are better than they are. Just when we think we’re getting somewhere, when we think we’re actually making some spiritual progress, the truth slices like a two-edged sword. And if you don’t have a sense of humor about your own foibles, you can drive yourself over the edge. One thing I’ve noticed about true-blue hypocrites — they are incapable of laughing at themselves.

They ought to know better. Life has a way of unrolling so that all things are revealed. Jesus says, “Look at the results!” Good trees bear good fruit; bad trees have rotten fruit. Build a house on solid ground, and it will survive every storm. Build on a shaky foundation, and sooner or later the whole enterprise will fall apart.

So today we are called upon to get it together: to seek out the truth about ourselves and to trust God to do something positive with what we discover. Jesus has a lot to say to hypocrites, probably because he knows that hypocrites are the only people who can ever pay any attention to him. There isn’t a person here who is anything close to what he or she professes.

Through this text, the Risen Lord calls us to move toward a unity of word and deed, a consistency of intention and accomplishment, an integrity between what is seen and what is hidden. It is so easy to mislead ourselves. The evidence of our sin is that we can construct a view of the world that ignores the obstructions of our own making.

When I was a student in seminary, I preached my first sermon to a dozen classmates. It was preaching class, and they were scattered around Miller Chapel. Each of my classmates sat a few pews apart from one another, with clipboards and notebooks on their laps. I did the best I could and put together a sermon on the text where Jesus says, “Don’t be anxious! Look at the birds of the air, and the lilies of the field.” I stood up with that text and preached my heart out. I wagged my finger and said, “Don’t be anxious! Stop fretting! Cease your worry!”

The sermon came to an end. Everybody got out of their pews with their clipboards and gathered in the chancel for a critique. The professor said, “What do we need to say about that sermon?” Nobody said much; I thought, “I really gave it to them today!” I sat there, basking in my own manufactured limelight.

Then somebody said something that I will never forget. In fact, it was so truthful, so on-target, that it forever changed the way that I approach preaching. She said, “Bill, your sermon was full of confidence and power. Even your title is ‘Defeating Anxiety.’ But as I listened to you today, I found myself wanting to ask, ‘Have you ever felt anxious about anything?’”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “Everything you said in your sermon is true, at least on paper. But it would be easier for me to hear you talk about anxiety, if you could find the courage to tell me about the times when you have known it and gotten through it.”

It was more honesty than I expected, but I’m glad for it. She gave me more than her opinion, which would have reduced the feedback to her word against mine, which is always a dead-end street. Rather she pushed me to speak with the kind of integrity that sees life for all of its promises and pitfalls.

God knows we are not the people that we want others to see. There is always a shadow between our intentions and our accomplishments. But God has sent Jesus Christ to save us from our own poor records of achievement. Jesus never had a log in his eye, but he was nailed to a great big piece of timber. And on the cross, he has taken away every sin. In his mercy, every speck and blemish has already been removed. Thanks to Jesus, we have been freed to serve God without needing to feel inadequate. All we have to do is trust that it’s true.

And along the way, we learn how to love and laugh. A woman named Lois volunteered to help with a congregational mailing. As she scanned the address list, she noted a lot of people had drifted away from the life of the church. She picked up the phone and began to call them. “We’ve been missing you in all kinds of ways. Why don’t you come back next Sunday?”

She called one man, and got nowhere. The next week, she called him again with the same result. The following week she tried again. Finally he said, “Don’t you get it? I’m not going back to that church. There are too many hypocrites in the congregation.”

Lois laughed, and she said, “Yeah, you’re right. We have a church full of hypocrites. And we always have room for one more.”

The man began to laugh. The next week, he was sitting in the fourth pew. After that, he was back almost every Sunday. Most of the time he had a smile on his face.

That is a picture of the gospel working itself out through us. None of us measures up to the righteousness of God, but all of us are held up by the mercy of God. Each one of us must work through that mercy, admitting the moments when we could not see, when we did not act, when we turned out to be something less than we were created to be. This morning Jesus is saying, in effect, “Before you point any fingers at anybody else, first take a long look in the mirror. Stand there and keep looking, until you know that you stand only by the grace and good humor of God.”

Today he tells us to give up our incessant criticism of others. He challenges us to stop reading other peoples’ situations through our own lenses, and start paying attention to the places where our own lives have gone out of focus. He teaches us to stand on something more secure than the shifting sands of self-affirmation. We can stand firm, instead, on Christ the Rock, who has enough mercy and forgiveness for all of us hypocrites.

And blessed are you when you laugh at yourself. For your laughter is God’s opportunity.


1. Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary (New York: Dover Publications, 1993), p. 53. Slightly altered, so that men and women can be included in the definition.

2. John R. W. Stott, Christian Counter-Culture: The Message of the Sermon on the Mount (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1978), p. 178.

3. Charles M. Schulz, And the Beagles and the Bunnies Shall Lie Down Together: The Theology in Peanuts (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1984).

4. Thomas G. Long, Matthew (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), pp. 77-78.

5. Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1970), pp. vii-viii.

CSS Publishing Company, Praying for a Whole New World, by William G. Carter