I saw a picture from a pastor on the hate-to-love platform of Facebook today. It was nondescript, showing no faces. But it was from someone I know on the periphery and I saw the kind of car they drive. It made me mad.
Apparently, I judge pastors.
I’m not a car person. I don’t care about cars, but in this picture a pastor driving his car. A luxury car.
My thoughts bounced around like a pinball:
How does a pastor make enough for that?
Shouldn’t a pastor give his money to people who need it?
Why does a pastor even need a luxury car?
And then I felt a quiet question from inside: why do you care?
Suddenly, the pinball dropped and the game was over. I had no more justifications, no more scathing accusations and assumptions. Just me and my messy heart stuff.
This wasn’t about the pastor’s car, or his heart. It was about mine.
It’s not just pastors I judge, it’s everyone. I know that sounds bad, and really, it is. I’m not mean about it, but deep in my heart I pass judgement after judgement.
What kind of parent does that?
I would never….
Must be nice to have that house.
Look how perfect her clothes are. (cha-ching!)
