HIGH GROUNDS AND LOGS

 

February 15, 2026

 

“The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” – Luke 18:11, 13-14

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We live in an unprecedented time in which much of our lives (and the lives of others) is plainly visible online, on social media, and through countless other public avenues. In such a world, it has also become easier and more common than ever for people to share their opinions, which often take the form of judgments about those visible lives. Ours is a time of heightened moral awareness, even as moral opinions themselves become more and more deeply divided.

 

Much of this moral concern surely arises from a place of genuine care. Yet it can quietly drift into something else. Moral opinions become moral clarity; moral clarity becomes moral comparison; moral comparison becomes moral elevation. From the outset, I want to be clear: I do not suggest that anyone lower their moral standards, but that we all examine our moral postures. Jesus’ teaching here is less about what we believe and more about how we stand in relation to others.

 

Jesus was keenly aware of how easily moral concern can distort vision through perceptions of moral superiority. In the words we know as the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus asked, “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while 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 neighbor’s eye.”

 

When Jesus says that we should first take the logs out of our own eyes so that we can see clearly, he is not offering a formula for moral advancement. He is not suggesting that, with enough effort, we will eventually reach a place where we are qualified to stand above others and judge them. The work he describes is never a step toward superiority, but a lifelong discipline to attention.

 

The log in our own eye is not something easily removed and set aside (so that we can get back to the work of judging others, as some seem to interpret it). It represents the accumulated habits, assumptions, fears, biases, and blind spots that shape how we see the world and interact with it. These are not obstacles we overcome once and thereby become irrevocably perfect. These are realities we must continually attend to. And because they belong to us, they are the hardest for us to see.

 

Jesus did not want us to lack moral awareness; he was concerned that we often misunderstand the purpose of moral awareness. The work of faith is not to position ourselves as clearer or cleaner than others, but to remain engaged in the slow, humble task of self-examination. Jesus constantly reminded us to walk humbly. As long as our humble work of self-examination continues, we can be guarded against the illusion of moral high ground.

 

Jesus was always warning against the stance of moral superiority, which rarely announces itself loudly, instead often settling quietly into the heart, reshaping how we see without our noticing. Such an attitude may seem to promise clarity and confidence, but over time it narrows our vision. When we begin to see ourselves as standing above others, curiosity gives way to inflexible certainty, and godly humility is replaced by harsh defensiveness. We stop asking what we might still need to learn and start assuming we already know, at least better than those other people.

 

This posture may even feel stable, especially in a divided and uncertain world, but it comes at a cost. Moral superiority hardens the heart. It weakens empathy, not because we no longer care, but because we believe our caring has reached its proper end. For the morally superior, care becomes conditional, expressed primarily through correction (pointing out specks), and when others do not respond as we hope, we may feel justified in withdrawing concern altogether.

 

Jesus’ concern was never that we would care too much about what is and is not godly, but that we would allow moral concern to close us off from further formation and even push others away from us. Moral superiority seems to promise righteousness, but it quietly erodes the very humility that makes faithfulness possible.

 

With the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, Jesus brought this dynamic into sharp focus. The Pharisee was not portrayed as careless or insincere. He was very attentive to his own moral life and earnest in his own devotion. Yet Jesus told us that he stood by himself and his prayer quickly turned into comparison. His own sense of righteousness was framed not by self-examination, but by contrast. He was not thankful for God’s mercy or goodness, but for his distance from others. I wonder why he bothered praying in the first place.

The tax collector, by contrast, did not attempt to justify himself or measure himself against anyone else. He stood honestly before God, aware of his own need and unshielded by comparison to anyone else. His posture was not one of utter despair, though he beat his breast in his fervency, but of openness and dependence. He did not claim moral clarity; he relied on God’s mercy.

 

Jesus did not commend the tax collector on the basis of moral superiority, nor did he condemn the Pharisee for caring too much about living a godly life. Instead, Jesus told the story to draw our attention to the difference between standing apart and standing honestly and humbly. One posture closes the heart while the other leaves it open. In Jesus’ telling, it is openness, not elevation, that allows room for grace.

 

Jesus’ toughest teachings are often tough not because they are unclear, but because they refuse to let us elevate ourselves above our peers. Again and again, Jesus turned our attention away from comparison and back toward inner formation. He invited us to tend our own hearts, to notice the logs we carry, and to remain honest about the ways our vision is shaped and limited. This work is never finished, and that is not a failure, but the shape of faithfulness itself.

 

If humility is the posture Jesus taught and commended, then faith is not something we ever truly complete, but something we continue to practice. It is learned slowly, through attention, self-examination, and willingness to keep working with the logs in our own eyes rather than fixating on the specks we may notice elsewhere. We are not asked to see perfectly, but to keep seeking clearer vision without claiming the moral high ground. And perhaps that is where grace does its best work: not in elevating us above others, but in keeping us grounded, human, and open to becoming more humble, loving, and open to teaching that we were before.

 

“For the LORD takes pleasure in His people; He adorns the humble with victory.” – Psalm 149:4

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Rev. Brian J. Kelley

Director of Ministry Resources, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)