Most of us are used to feedback. We expect some kind of response that tells us where we stand. If something’s gone wrong, a mark comes back, a review lands, a number changes. Even bad news has a strange comfort to it, because at least you’re not guessing anymore.
What unsettles us far more is silence.
And that’s often what we experience morally. We say something questionable, cut a corner, carry a quiet resentment — and nothing happens. No consequence. No correction. Life just carries on as normal. And over time, without really noticing, we start drawing conclusions from that.
When nothing happens, it’s very easy to assume that nothing really matters.
The Bible noticed this long before we did. Ecclesiastes observes that when judgment doesn’t arrive quickly, people take it as permission to continue. Not because they’re especially cruel or careless, but because we’re wired to read silence as approval.
This is where Jesus unsettles us.
He doesn’t make consequences faster or clearer. In fact, he often delays them. He tells stories where unfairness goes unanswered for a while, where failure is met with welcome, and where judgment waits. That can feel risky, even irresponsible, until we realise what he’s doing.
Jesus isn’t removing accountability. He’s relocating it.
Instead of asking, “What will happen to me if I do this?”
He asks, “Who am I becoming if I do?”
That’s a harder question to live with, because there’s no scoreboard now. No instant signal. Just conscience, attention, and honesty. And when nothing happens, the temptation is to stop paying attention altogether.
But silence isn’t indifference, and delay isn’t neglect.
The cross shows us where delayed judgment goes. It isn’t ignored — it’s carried. God doesn’t rush to punish, not because wrongdoing doesn’t matter, but because people do. Patience creates time, and time makes change possible.
So the question we’re left with isn’t whether God notices. It’s whether we do.
Most of faith is lived without applause or feedback, in ordinary moments where nothing obvious happens at all. And that isn’t a flaw in the system. It’s the space where Jesus meets us, forms us, and patiently teaches us how to live well when no one’s watching.