The Broken Compass

I’ve been saying this for years—if you wouldn’t speak it to your mama at the dinner table, your boss in a Monday morning meeting, or even the government man with his clipboard, then don’t post it online, because nothing is private, not even that “anonymous” comment you typed while hiding behind a cartoon profile picture.

Every word is a seed, and sooner or later, what you plant will grow, and most folks get this–even the people with twisted thoughts usually know enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.

We call it a filter, the little pause button God installed between our brain and our mouth, or our typing fingers.

You stop, you think, and you ask, “Is this kind, wise, or am I about to unleash evil into the world?”

But some folks today?

The filter between the mouth and the brain is busted.

It’s like trying to make coffee with a spaghetti strainer.

Everything pours straight through, and each person fails to recognize evil even when it is staring them in the face, especially when it’s dressed in the colors of their own tribe.

That’s why we’ve got people out there celebrating the death of a man, laughing and cheering as if it’s a football game. That’s a soul with its compass pointing straight into the abyss.

See, words don’t just float around harmlessly. Words justify actions but cover for violence.

James wrote in Scripture that the tongue is like a spark that can set a whole forest on fire. And he didn’t have X or Facebook.

The problem isn’t just politics. It’s deeper than that.

It’s a moral sickness. People who can’t tell right from wrong, call evil “justice” and cruelty “truth.”

They honestly believe hatred makes them righteous. And when you can’t see evil for what it is—especially when it’s coming from your own side—you’re not just lost, you’re blindfolded and walking toward a cliff.

The Bible said it would happen.

Now, I’ll admit, it’s tempting to fight fire with fire. To swing back twice as hard, spit out the same kind of venom, but that’s not the answer.

Jesus didn’t say, “Love your neighbor, unless he posts something nasty about you.” He said, “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.”

That doesn’t mean we roll over and pretend evil is good—it means we confront evil without letting it poison our own hearts. So, filters matter, not because we’re trying to be fake or polite for the sake of appearances, but because they’re part of accountability.

A working filter says, “I know my words can wound, so I’ll choose them carefully.”

A broken filter says, “I’ll say whatever I feel, no matter who it destroys.”

Guess which one builds up society and which one burns it down?

Our words at the end of the day reveal our moral compass: Are we pointing toward light, or stumbling toward darkness, sowing peace, or scattering sparks that’ll burn someone else’s house down?

So here’s my simple advice, which I’ll repeat until I’m blue in the face–Before you hit “post,” imagine Jesus, your grandma, and your boss all reading over your shoulder: if you wouldn’t say it in front of them, don’t say it at all.

Because one day, we’ll all give an account—not to Facebook, not to the government, not even to the family dinner table—but to God Himself, and I’d rather hear Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” than, “Why did you spend your days lighting fires with your tongue?”