Our obsessions can create emotional and spiritual prisons for us; when we let them run away unchecked, the prison walls become thicker, the spaces between the bars shrink, and soon we're locked in impregnable fortresses. Obsession can take many forms; one is adopting a mindset of criticism towards other people.
Let's consider the covert construction of one such prison. Criticism often starts with some sort of personal wound or trauma. When faced with our own pain, we often feel powerless and our sense of well-being and control evaporates. The human psyche, however, finds creative ways to reassert power—sometimes through criticism.
A critical attitude doesn't remain focussed for long on the original cause of our suffering. Eventually it branches out to innocent people. It's like a wild cat. At first, we may think we have it under control, but soon it escapes, and we realize it was never tame in the first place. It bides its time and ultimately turns against us.
Jesus said:
"Do not judge so that you will not be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ and behold, the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye."
(Matthew 7:1–5)
When we elevate ourselves to take out the speck in someone else's eye, we are focussing on our own supposed spiritual superiority while ignoring our (larger than theirs) shortcomings.
The bigger implication is this: when we become critical, we disable ourselves from growing spiritually. We impair our capacity to absorb and apply godly correction. We so focus on pointing out the faults in others that we lose the ability to scrutinize our own lives in humility. We harden our hearts towards the conviction of the Holy Spirit and render ourselves unteachable. We spiral deeper and deeper into sin without even realizing it. In the end, God judges us for our sin and our hypocritical, critical mindsets [1]; but the irony is that we've already begun our sentence—we've already imprisoned ourselves.
It’s all a matter of focus. We need to be careful of what we're hungering and thirsting for. If we focus on becoming “confident of [our] own righteousness and look[ing] down on everyone else” [2], we are craving self-righteousness, not God’s righteousness.
The temple of Jerusalem was a place to come and worship God. It was a place indwelt by the glory of God, a place where the people of God came to meet Him. In the temple, the people of God were to focus on God's glory, not their own.
The apostle Paul wrote, "You are the temple." [3] (Isn't the temple a building? How can this be?) Paul also gives the reason: "the Holy Spirit dwells in you." [3] The temple—a physical place where God chooses to dwell. Oh, the beauty and wonder of the Christian life!
The Bible later exhorts us, as the new temples of the Holy Spirit, to set our minds on "whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute," whatever is excellent or worthy of praise. [4]
We are to focus on God's glory, not our own.
When we manufacture counterfeit glory for ourselves by elevating ourselves at the expense of others through criticism, we join the Pharisee of Jesus' parable [5], who “[thought] about his own achievement in the temple” [6] and in doing so, profaned the “place in which man is invited to experience the glory of God, not the glory of man.” [6]
When we puff ourselves up through criticism, we profane our temples.
Not only this—when, through criticism, we engage in schadenfreude (a dark pleasure we find in the misfortune of other people [7]) we are disobediently reversing God's command to "rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep". [8] This isn't just a little disobedience. We're choosing to do the exact opposite of what God has commanded. It is a violation of our body-of-Christness. And it is sin—one pregnant with other sins. What's the next step when we encounter something we experience as "good news", even if it's bad news for someone else? We share it. (Hello, Gossip. I must say, I've never seen such an ugly baby.)
Instead of living grace-filled lives, we propel ourselves towards back-biting, viciousness, false superiority, self-aggrandization, and contempt. When threatened, we attack. When unthreatened, we attack. We surround ourselves with misery, and eventually create a reality so distorted that we can't imagine the bliss of a life oriented to utter peace within and without.
The Bible says:
The wicked are like the tossing sea,
For it cannot be quiet,
And its waters toss up refuse and mud.
“There is no peace,” says my God, “for the wicked.”
(Isaiah 57:20–21)
The wicked fling mud. They are restless, tossing. There is no peace for them. This is not a punishment of God, but an observation. Their lack of peace is an attribute of their wickedness. When we adopt back-biting, mud-flinging, contemptuous mentalities, we bring ourselves dangerously close to this classification.
In claiming "I've been hurt", we excuse all of our bad behaviour and questionable decisions and give ourselves a license to do whatever we want, whenever we want—as though we've paid for the right to be sinful with our former suffering. In embracing lives so given over to pride, we disable ourselves from experiencing perhaps the most breathtaking result of suffering: post-traumatic growth.
This is a type of growth that happens specifically after trauma, when the traumatized decides to accept the situation rather than fighting it, allow it to change them, and both discover and create meaning from the abyss of pain. Post-traumatic growth can be completely transformative, and its effects can endure for the rest of our lives.
When we ask, "What can I learn?" instead of, "How can I get ahead?" or "How can I get back what's mine?"—when we willingly, humbly open ourselves to the delight and true victory that post-traumatic growth bestows upon us—we regain that sense of control we clutched after through criticism. But this time, it's not a mirage. This time it's real. This time, we've gained control through post-traumatic construction rather than destruction. We're surrounded with lasting treasures, not with the cinders of our own relational arson.
This is the better way. This is the way that sits us down at a succulent feast at our King's table, rather than living in a world of Pretend, sitting in the rain, making mud pies of ashes.
Get up off the ground, dear one. Come into your Father's house and out of the pigsty. Put on the robes and ring your Father has prepared for you. Come, take part in His banquet.
Jesus has conquered sin and death. He has torn the bars of the prisons asunder, and ripped the chains of oppression apart. All that remains is for us to step from the darkness into His freedom and light.
Come, let's go, together!
NOTES
Unless otherwise noted, all scriptures are taken from the NASB version.
[1] See Matthew 7:1.
[2] My paraphrase of Luke 18:9.
[3] 1 Corinthinans 3:16.
[4] Philippians 4:8.
[5] See Luke 18:9–14.
[6] Kosuke Koyama, Three Mile an Hour God, 2nd ed., London, UK: SCM Press, 2021, page 22.
[7] “Schadenfreude,” dictionary.com, accessed 26 September 2025, https://www.dictionary.com/browse/schadenfreude.
[8] Romans 12:15.
