Have you ever caught yourself feeling morally superior to someone else? Maybe you’ve seen another person’s failure and thought, “I would never do that.” It’s a common impulse—but if we’re not careful, it can quietly steer our hearts down a dangerous spiritual path.

Jesus tells a powerful parable that gets right to the point. Two men go to the temple to pray—one is a respected religious leader, the other a despised tax collector. The religious man stands tall, proud of his spiritual résumé. He prays, “God, I thank you that I’m not like other people… I fast twice a week and tithe ten percent of everything I earn.”

Meanwhile, the tax collector stands at a distance. He won’t even lift his eyes. Instead, he beats his chest in grief and says, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

At first glance, we might assume the religious leader is the one in good standing with God. He’s doing all the right things, after all. But in a stunning reversal, Jesus says it’s the tax collector—the one who owns his brokenness—who goes home justified.

This flips our expectations upside down.

It reminds us that God isn’t looking for spiritual performance or moral scorecards. He’s looking at the heart. And the heart that’s open to grace is the one that receives it.

The Pharisee’s prayer reveals something subtle but spiritually corrosive: pride. He’s so busy cataloging his own righteousness that he can’t see his need for mercy. Worse, he uses his perceived virtue as a platform to look down on others.

The tax collector, on the other hand, offers no defense. No excuses. No comparisons. Just a raw and honest plea for mercy—and that humility becomes the doorway to transformation.

This parable uncovers a critical truth: self-righteousness blocks grace. When we operate from a place of pride, we lose touch with how much we need God. We minimize our own faults and forget the depth of mercy we’ve received. And slowly but surely, this distortion affects how we see others.

We start thinking we’re better. We become critical. We exaggerate others’ flaws and excuse our own. We begin to believe that people deserve whatever consequences come their way. But if God measured us the way we measure others, none of us would stand a chance.

The truth is, this attitude often sneaks in through something as simple as a snap judgment. We size people up based on what we see—or what we think we see. And we silently write them off.

We hold others to the standard of their worst moment, but we want to be judged by our best intentions.

When we mess up, we hope for understanding. “I was tired… it’s been a hard week… that’s not who I really am.” But when someone else fails, we assume it’s just who they are.

This isn’t just a personal problem—it’s a communal one. When churches fall into this mindset, we stop being communities of grace and start acting like spiritual country clubs. We divide people into insiders and outsiders, assuming we’re the faithful few while the rest are beyond hope.

And that kind of thinking doesn’t just hurt—it can lead to real injustice, even violence, all in the name of protecting purity or preserving truth.

It’s no wonder so many people view Christians as judgmental or hypocritical. And sadly, sometimes they’re right. But it doesn’t have to be this way.

True spiritual growth moves in the opposite direction. It doesn’t lead to arrogance—it leads to humility. It doesn’t build walls—it opens doors.

It helps us say, “But for the grace of God, there go I.”

When we’re honest about our own brokenness—when we stop pretending and start praying—we begin to see others differently. We’re not surprised by their failures. We’re moved by compassion. We start to extend the same grace we so desperately need.

And here’s the kicker: the more we recognize our own need for mercy, the more merciful we become toward others.

So how do we begin to live this way?

It starts with a posture of honesty. We admit what’s real—not just the mistakes everyone can see, but the quieter sins buried in our hearts. We stop hiding behind performance or appearances. We tell the truth about our need.

There’s a simple prayer that’s been used by Christians for centuries: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” It’s called the Jesus Prayer. And it’s not about shame—it’s about clarity. It helps us stay grounded in God’s grace and rooted in humility.

What if we made that our regular prayer? Not just on Sundays, but in the middle of our day? Not as a ritual, but as a quiet way to come back to who we are—and who God is?

What if we whispered, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner,” when we felt tempted to judge, gossip, or assume the worst?

What if we paused and extended mercy in those ordinary, unremarkable moments—when someone cuts us off in traffic, or frustrates us at work, or disappoints us in a relationship?

Grace isn’t something we’re meant to keep to ourselves. The moment we do, it stops being grace. It only becomes real when we pass it on.

Jesus put it like this: “Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Matthew 7:1–2)

So let’s be people who live with open hands, open hearts, and open arms. Let’s be people who remember—again and again—that God’s mercy is not only the ground we stand on… it’s the gift we’re called to give away.