THE SLOW SLIDE

I’ve carried Psalm 1:1 in my heart for years. “Blessed is the man (woman) who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of the scornful.” It’s short, but it tells a story. One that moves in three quiet, dangerous steps. I didn’t see the full force of the scripture until I was meditating on the verse in prayer one day.

It is showing how the slide can start innocently enough, the way these things often do.

I have worked in mental health for decades, sitting with people in their pain, helping them find clarity. I’ve always believed counsel can be good. Scripture itself says, “Plans are established by counsel” (Proverbs 1:5) and “In the multitude of counselors there is safety” (Proverbs 11:14). Therapy, when done right, builds rapport and reduces the old power differentials (no more Freudian couches looming over vulnerable clients). I’ve seen real healing happen.

But I have also watched the other side. I remember a graduate student in one of my classes years ago declaring she’d “school” any patient considering abortion on its immorality. She meant well, but she missed the point entirely. A counselor’s job is not to impose a personal agenda. It’s to walk alongside someone, not drag them down a path they didn’t choose. That moment stuck with me. Even well-intentioned voices can lead us astray if they aren’t anchored in humility and the ways of the Lord.

Balaam was a famous counselor even to kings, yet his advice brought the Lord’s anger because it opposed God’s people (Numbers 22). The warning in Psalm 1:1 isn’t against counsel itself. It’s against the wrong kind of counsel. “Walk not in the counsel of the ungodly.” I started paying closer attention to whose voices I let shape my steps.

One moment in my life stands out vividly. A colleague offered me marijuana. It was a casual, friendly gesture. It was a lot like one man offering another a beer. He meant no harm. But in that split second, I saw the fork in the road. If I accepted, it wouldn’t just be about one marijuana cigarette. It would erase every conversation I’d had with him and his friends about faith. I’d be standing right in the middle of their path, blocking the view of something better. By saying no, I stayed on the narrow way. 

We are in the world, but we’re not supposed to be of it. I think of a scuba diver slipping into deep water. He wears a mask, tanks, and fins to survive an environment that would otherwise overwhelm him. Without that protection, the pressure would crush the life from him. The armor of God works the same way. We step into the world every day, but we stay insulated by truth, righteousness, faith, and prayer. Lose the gear, and the currents start pulling.

That decision kept me moving forward. But the verse doesn’t stop at walking or standing. It warns of sitting. Settling into judgment. Becoming the one who looks down on others. I’ve seen it happen in my own heart in small ways. When I avoid certain sins, it’s tempting to feel superior. “I don’t drink, I don’t use, I don’t cheat.” Pride slips in quietly. I start thinking I’ve cracked the code that others haven’t been able to. I risk becoming the Pharisee in Luke 18, thanking God I’m not like “that sinner” while missing the log in my own eye.

Jesus didn’t come so we could build thrones of scorn. He came to seek and save the lost. He girded himself with a towel and knelt before His disciples to demonstrate His true mission. He was showing He was not so High and mighty that He would not stoop to wash the filth crusted on their feet. The moment we sit in that seat of mocking, judging, or sneering, we’ve stopped pointing to Him and started pointing to ourselves. It’s a lot like the picture of Dorian Gray. The outside looks clean, but the portrait hidden away in the closet rots with pride and hypocrisy.

I keep coming back to Psalm 1:1. It’s a daily checkpoint. Am I still walking in godly counsel? Am I standing in a place that helps or hinders others? Have I started sitting somewhere I don’t belong, looking down instead of reaching out? The blessed life isn’t about perfection. It’s about direction. Choosing the narrow path day after day, staying humble, and letting my life reflect grace rather than judgment. I don’t always get it right. But I’m grateful for the verse that keeps calling me back before I drift too far.

What about you? Has Psalm 1:1 ever stopped you in mid-step? Has it shown you a slippery slope you didn’t notice at first? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.