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Sermon on the Mount
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Knowledge and wisdom are not the same thing.
In the early 1920s, a massive generator at Henry Ford's River Rouge plant broke down, grinding production to a halt. Ford's knowledgeable engineers examined it at length and tried everything they could to fix it. But for all their efforts, all their knowledge, they could not solve the problem.
So in desperation, Ford called in the elderly Charles Proteus Steinmetz, a brilliant but slightly eccentric electrical engineer. Steinmetz spent two days walking around the generator, listening carefully. Then he took a piece of chalk, made a small X on one part of the machinery, and told the engineers to hit that spot with a hammer. The machine suddenly sprang back into life.
Henry Ford was thrilled — until he received Steinmetz's invoice for $10,000. Ford asked for an itemized bill. A few days later he received a short letter that simply read:
"Making mark with chalk on a generator: $1. Knowing where to make mark: $9,999."
Ford recognized Steinmetz's wisdom and paid the bill in full.
That story illustrates that someone can be full of knowledge but lack wisdom. Knowledge is information you acquire and store but don't always know how to put into practice. Wisdom is understanding how to apply the knowledge you have effectively and well. To put it another way: knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.
This is the idea at the heart of our passage this morning, as we come near the end of our time in the Sermon on the Mount. Hopefully, over these past weeks you've soaked up a lot of knowledge from Jesus's teaching. But as we'll see in today's passage, all that knowledge can be dangerous unless we learn how to use it with wisdom — first applying it to our own lives, then to one another's, and beyond.
The verses at the beginning of our passage are some of the most famous and misunderstood in the entire Bible.
"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)
These verses can't mean we never judge in any way. We know this from the context, because shortly afterwards Jesus himself tells us to judge — in verse 15, we're told to discern between a true and a false prophet. There's a sense in which you should be testing what I say right now against Scripture. And in everyday life, we make judgments constantly — what to eat, what to wear, how to encourage others.
So what does Jesus mean by "do not judge"? He's saying we should never condemn others — assuming the position of a judge in a courtroom, pronouncing a verdict of guilt. That position belongs to God alone, and before a holy God, we are all guilty.
Tim Chester outlines the logic clearly: to judge someone is to say they've not made the grade. To say they've not made the grade is to say a grade exists which people must meet. To say there's a grade is to say you yourself must meet it to be accepted. Measured by God's perfect standard, we are all under judgment. If we condemn others, we too stand condemned, because we all fall short.
Yet there will be times when, as Christians, we need to correct one another to help each other live according to God's Word. Correction requires judgment — not judgments of condemnation, but judgments of correction. So how do we do that wisely?
"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." (Matthew 7:3-5)
We're in the carpenter's workshop. How ridiculous would it be to point out a speck of sawdust in someone's eye while you have a whole plank in your own — knocking things over left, right, and center? It's like someone coming out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to their shoe: kind to quietly point it out and help them avoid embarrassment. But if you were covered head to toe in toilet roll while offering that correction, no one would take you seriously.
Jesus's point is not that we should never mention the speck — that wouldn't be kind. His point is that before we correct others, we must first remove the plank from our own eye, so we can see clearly, and only then humbly help the other person see clearly too.
1. Spend time looking in the mirror. It's easy, listening to a sermon or reading the Bible, to think, "I'm glad someone else needs to hear this," rather than applying it to ourselves. God's Word is a mirror that reveals our own sin. It shows we are in no position to condemn others, and that if we want to help anyone else, we must first let God's Word correct us — asking Jesus, the only one who sees perfectly, to take the plank out of our own eye.
2. Don't avoid correcting others humbly. Once we've looked in the mirror, we're called to help brothers and sisters live out the truths of God's Word. Real love is willing to enter hard conversations, even when awkward, because we care for the other person's good. But correction should always be offered with humility — not with a holier-than-thou attitude, not harshly, not hypocritically. This is the beauty of verse 12:
"So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets."
When correcting someone, ask: how would I want to be spoken to if it were the other way around?
3. Allow others to correct you. It's easy to use "you're judging me" as a shield against criticism. That's not to minimize genuinely bad experiences with overbearing leaders in the past — but refusing to ever let others lovingly correct you, or speak God's truth to you in love, is foolishness, not wisdom. The wise listen to correction, weigh it, and allow others to speak into their blind spots and their walk with the Lord.
Sometimes saying a true thing at the wrong time can be deeply unwise — it can backfire or lead to worse consequences than if you'd kept quiet. This is what Jesus shows us in verse 6:
"Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces."
This proverb-like saying takes some chewing over, like the Beatitudes. Jesus seems to be saying: if you offer the sacred, pearly knowledge of God to someone at the wrong time, it may backfire — people may react badly, even turn on you, rather than take it to heart. So choose your moments carefully; exercise discernment when you speak.
This applies both to correcting fellow Christians and to sharing the gospel with those who don't yet follow Jesus. In both cases, people might react badly — and even worse if we speak at the wrong moment. We can't control others' responses, but the wise Christian knows when to press in and when to back off.
Imagine two Christian friends talking after the service. The conversation turns deeper — one admits they're dreading the week ahead at work, venting some legitimate complaints, though not always in a godly way. The listening friend has two options: simply listen and pray for them, or gently challenge some of the faulty thinking. What should they do?
The answer is: it depends. There's a time to simply listen and pray, and a time to lovingly challenge. This is what we see in Jesus himself — the wisdom of God — who spoke boldly to the woman at the well, yet remained silent before Pilate. Wisdom weighs the moment and acts accordingly.
Growing up as a pastor's kid, I had plenty of Bible knowledge combined with a cheeky confidence — a Sunday school teacher's worst nightmare. But for all that knowledge, I lacked wisdom, as children often do.
When my grandma died — she was a Christian who had suffered years of early-onset Alzheimer's — I said to my dad, just a day afterwards, something like: "I'm really glad grandma has gone to be with Jesus, because now she isn't suffering anymore." What I said was true. My dad believed it too. But the timing was wrong — saying it so soon after he'd lost his mother was naive and childish. It lacked wisdom. That was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.```
How we say something, and when we say it, often matters just as much as the truth we're communicating. This echoes the wisdom of Proverbs 26:4-5, which can sound almost contradictory:
"Do not answer a fool according to his folly, or you yourself will be just like him... Answer a fool according to his folly, or he will be wise in his own eyes."
There's a time to speak up and a time to hold back. Verse 12 gives us a guiding principle here too: how would I want someone else to correct me in this situation? Is speaking now necessary, or can it wait a day?
But we should also be honest that we can use "wisdom" as a cover for cowardice — avoiding hard conversations out of fear of conflict rather than genuine discernment. Ask yourself: am I not speaking because it truly isn't the right time, or because I'm afraid? And if I don't speak now, will I get another chance?
It's not straightforward. But the good news is we don't have to work this out alone.
Between 1961 and 1963, JFK was arguably the most powerful man in the world — President of the wealthiest nation, with immense power at his fingertips. To get a meeting with him required importance, vetting, and careful process — unless you were his child.
As Christians, we can approach the God who made and holds the universe with the same intimacy and access that a child has with their father. If you've had a difficult, absent, or painful experience of an earthly father, this truth may take time to grasp — but it remains a wonderful, unique truth of the Bible. If you're a Christian, you have unfiltered access to God at any time, in any place, about anything — whether something serious or something small — because he is a good and loving Father, and you are his precious child.
"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" (Matthew 7:7-11)
If, reflecting on knowledge and wisdom this morning, you've concluded, "I really lack wisdom" — that's the first step to becoming wise. The second step is to come to your Father in heaven and ask him for it. From the context, this seems to be exactly what Jesus means when he says to ask, seek, and knock: wisdom is what we're to receive.```
Notice the certainty we can have: if sinful humans know how to give their children good gifts, how much more will our Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him? It's the lie of the enemy that says God is stingy, that he doesn't want what's best for us. The truth is God is generous, gracious, and kind, and delights to give wisdom to all who ask him — as James 1:5 also tells us:
"If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you."
If you have a difficult conversation ahead this week, ask your Father for wisdom. If you find yourself fielding hard questions about Jesus from a friend or family member, ask for wisdom in the moment — he might give you the words to say, or simply the humility to say, "I don't know, can I get back to you?" If you know you need to make changes in your life after hearing this sermon series, ask your Father for the wisdom to make those changes — and don't put it off.
If you've been exploring the Christian faith through this series — maybe you came along with a friend, or you're returning to church after time away — the wisest thing you could do this morning is knock on God's door in prayer. That might look like quietly saying in your heart:
"God, I've not been living wisely. I've been living for myself, not for you — for this life, not for eternity. I'm sorry. Would you let me in, please? I'd love to be able to call you Father."
If you pray that prayer, God will not dismiss you or hold you at arm's length. He will throw open the doors and welcome you in as his precious, adopted child — not because your wisdom earned it, not because you found the right words, but because of Jesus, the wisdom of God, who came from his Father in heaven to make a way.
At the start, we heard how Ford's engineers had a ton of knowledge but couldn't fix the generator, while Steinmetz walked around, listened carefully, and knew exactly where to place the chalk mark. That's what Jesus has been doing throughout the Sermon on the Mount — putting chalk marks on our hearts.
We might have thought our problem was out there with other people; Jesus has shown us the problem starts within. We might have thought we just needed a few behavioral improvements; Jesus has shown us we need an entirely new heart.
But unlike Steinmetz, Jesus didn't simply diagnose the problem and leave someone else to fix it — he came to fix it himself. The perfectly wise Son of God stepped into our world, lived the wise life we failed to live, died for our foolishness on the cross, and rose again so that fools like us could become children of God with new hearts, able to live for him wisely.
If today you've realized how much wisdom you lack, don't despair. Come to your Father in heaven. Ask. Seek. Knock.
