“You know you’re a pharisee if sin disgusts you more than it moves you to compassion.”
Jesus had harsh words for the Pharisees. And for good cause: they created stumbling blocks for those who sought God, they prided themselves in their good works and self-righteousness, and they despised the tax-collectors and ubiquitous “sinners.” Jesus called them “white-washed tombs” and a “brood of vipers.” He didn’t exactly sugarcoat his condemnation of them.
Which is why I’ve tried to stay as far away from the label “pharisee” as long as I could, even though in my heart-of-hearts I knew that I probably was one.
Me? A Pharisee?
In my own life, I’ve been deeply hurt by someone I love dearly.
This person (who I looked up to more than any other person on the planet) had become so blinded by and entangled in sin that his presence was a threat to my well-being and those around him. And so he left, partially because I put up walls and partially because he would rather leave than give up his sin.
Our relationship died that day, and I went through shock, disbelief, anger, and bitterness, before finally resting in a place of loss.
It’s been over three years. Three long years.
And now I feel The Father tugging on my heart, telling me it’s time to act in reckless love.
But The Pharisee in me doesn’t want to hear it.