Lectio Divina — Monday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time
Theme: Judging
1. Lectio
Gospel: Matthew 7:1-5
«“Stop judging, that you may not be judged.
For as you judge, so will you be judged,
and the measure with which you measure
will be measured out to you.”»
Our Lord does not forbid me from recognizing faults, for He Himself commands me first to remove the wooden beam from my own eye. Rather, He forbids that peculiar kind of judging that is born of pride—the kind that forgets that I too am a sinner standing only by mercy.
The word “hypocrite,” so often aimed by Christ at the Pharisees, is here turned upon His own disciples whenever we become preoccupied with the failures of others while remaining comfortably blind to our own. The measure I use upon others will, in the end, become the measure by which I myself am weighed.
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2. Meditatio
Yesterday, with the arrival of the summer solstice, not only did the season of summer begin, but another lambing season commenced here at The Glenn. Haydee, one of our ewes, presented us with triplets. Their arrival filled me with gratitude—and with the realization that over the next several weeks I shall spend a great deal of time judging.
I shall judge old Jim, my ram, by how many ewes give birth. I shall judge the ewes by the number of lambs they bear and by the tenderness with which they mother them. I shall judge my livestock guardian dogs by how they behave among the vulnerable flock. And, whether I acknowledge it or not, all these judgments eventually circle back upon myself and my stewardship of The Glenn.
Yet I am reminded that human beings often make judgments without possessing all the facts. We choose according to partial information, or according to political, economic, ideological, or emotional interests. Thus prudence is endangered, and our judgments become unbalanced.
This is why the Church’s Social Doctrine does not present itself merely as a catalogue of rules. Rather, it is a process of shared discernment, born from the meeting of the eternal Gospel with the concrete questions of history. It allows itself to be instructed by the signs of the times and enriched by science, culture, and human experience.
Consequently, when the dignity of my brothers and sisters is violated, when politics fails to address human suffering, when economic systems turn against the person, or when science forgets its proper limits, I am called, together with the Church and alongside Christians of other traditions and believers of other faiths, to raise my voice—not in order to dominate, but to promote communion.
Indeed, Social Doctrine becomes a theology of communion lived in history—a history in which the Word made flesh continues to dwell through dialogue, memory, and prophecy.
Still, today’s Gospel reminds me that before I judge the ram, the ewe, the dog, the politician, the bishop, or my neighbor, I must first examine the shepherd. And more often than not, that shepherd is me.
For perhaps the greatest danger is not that I judge too little, but that I judge everything except myself.
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3. Oratio
Lord Jesus, You who alone know the secrets of every heart, save me from the arrogance that delights in measuring others while refusing to be measured myself.
Teach me to distinguish between discernment and condemnation.
Grant me the humility to recognize that I rarely possess the whole truth and that Your mercy toward me far exceeds my mercy toward others.
Bless the work of this lambing season at The Glenn.
Bless Jim, the ewes, the newborn lambs, and the faithful dogs that watch over them.
But above all, bless the shepherd who so often mistakes himself for the Judge.
May I speak when justice requires it, but may I never forget that I stand before You not as prosecutor, but as one who continually needs forgiveness.
Through the intercession of Saints John Fisher and Thomas More, grant me courage without bitterness, conviction without pride, and charity without compromise.
Amen.
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4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
There is something delightfully absurd about a man who imagines himself qualified to sit in judgment upon the universe when he has barely managed to govern his own breakfast.
I suspect that Heaven laughs—not cruelly, but kindly—at our extraordinary confidence in diagnosing the sins of others while remaining curiously incapable of discovering our own.
Saint John Fisher, preparing for martyrdom, uttered words that contain more wisdom than entire libraries of polemics:
«”I condemn no other man’s conscience: their conscience may save them, and mine must save me.”»
And Saint Thomas More, with his characteristic blend of wit and fidelity, declared himself to be
«”the king’s good servant—but God’s first.”»
Neither saint surrendered the truth. Neither saint confused charity with indifference. Yet neither imagined himself to be the master of another man’s soul.
Perhaps that is the true antidote to judging.
For the Christian is not called to sit upon the bench but to stand beneath the Cross.
There hangs the only Judge who ever possessed complete knowledge—and He chose, astonishingly enough, to die for the accused.
The world urges me to divide humanity into sheep and goats before the appointed time.
Christ bids me become a shepherd.
The world tempts me to condemn consciences.
Saint John Fisher reminds me to save my own.
The world commands me to serve kings, parties, and causes.
Saint Thomas More reminds me that every earthly loyalty must kneel before God.
And so I return to the lambing barns at The Glenn, where the newborn lambs know nothing of ideologies, and where the old dogs care little for controversies. There, amid the ordinary work of stewardship, I am reminded of a most comforting truth:
The Judge of the world has not asked me to replace Him.
He has only asked me to follow Him.
Monday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time
