The Most Dangerous Part of Judgment Is What It Does to the Person Holding It

Chapter 1: When Being Right Becomes More Important Than Being Good

You hear something troubling about someone you know, and before you've had time to consider the full situation, you've already formed an opinion. Perhaps a friend tells you that somebody's marriage is falling apart because of an affair. Maybe a coworker has been caught lying, or someone in your family has made a decision that caused enormous pain. The facts may be serious, and your concerns may be justified. But somewhere between hearing what happened and deciding what you think about it, something subtle can occur. You begin feeling better about yourself because of what someone else did wrong. Their failure becomes evidence of your own goodness, and without realizing it, you stop asking how the situation might be handled with wisdom and compassion.

That uncomfortable possibility is what I want to examine through the encounter between Jesus and the woman caught in adultery, recorded in John 8:1–11. In my accompanying YouTube message, we experience this encounter through the woman's imagined perspective, considering what it might have felt like to stand before Jesus while others demanded judgment. But there's another person we need to examine when reading this passage, and that person may be much closer to us than we realize. It's the individual who recognizes someone else's wrongdoing and begins believing that being correct about the sin makes every response to the sinner acceptable.

This connects with the deeper danger of judging another person's suffering without understanding their story. Both encounters remind us how easily religious certainty can become tangled with human pride. We may know what Scripture teaches, understand that certain actions are wrong, and sincerely believe we're defending something important. Yet Jesus repeatedly demonstrated that knowing what is right does not excuse treating people without compassion. The question isn't whether sin matters. It absolutely does. The question is whether our desire to confront sin is actually guided by love, humility, and a sincere concern for another person's restoration.

Consider a conversation that begins innocently enough during a family gathering. Someone mentions a relative who has made a serious mistake. Perhaps the relative has struggled with dishonesty or damaged an important relationship. Before long, several people are discussing what happened, explaining what they would have done differently, and expressing disappointment that the person could behave that way.

Nobody in the room is necessarily defending the wrongdoing. In fact, much of what they say may be accurate.

But imagine stopping the conversation and asking one simple question: What good are we actually accomplishing for the person we're discussing?

That question can become uncomfortable because it forces us to examine our intentions rather than merely the accuracy of our opinions.

In John 8, the scribes and Pharisees brought a woman caught in adultery before Jesus while He was teaching in the temple. They placed her in the middle of the gathering and reminded Him of the seriousness of her offense under the law of Moses.

Then John tells us something essential about their purpose.

"This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him." (John 8:6, KJV)

The woman had committed a serious wrong, but the religious leaders were using her situation to pursue another objective. Their question was designed to create an accusation against Jesus.

This is where the encounter begins exposing a problem that extends far beyond the woman's actions.

People can use a legitimate moral concern to accomplish something that has very little to do with righteousness.

We see versions of this whenever someone uses another person's failure to gain attention, establish superiority, settle an argument, or strengthen their own reputation.

It's possible to speak accurately about wrongdoing while behaving wrongly ourselves.

That doesn't mean we should avoid difficult conversations or refuse to confront harmful behavior. Jesus never taught that truth should be abandoned to make people comfortable.

But He demonstrated that our motives matter, even when our concerns are legitimate.

When the religious leaders continued pressing Him for an answer, Jesus said, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her" (John 8:7, KJV).

Those words changed the direction of the confrontation.

The people who had arrived ready to focus on the woman's wrongdoing were suddenly confronted with the reality of their own moral condition.

One by one, beginning with the eldest, they departed.

Scripture doesn't tell us precisely what each man thought as he walked away. We shouldn't invent private explanations that the biblical account doesn't provide. But we can recognize what happened publicly. The accusation that had brought the woman before Jesus no longer held the gathering together.

Then Jesus spoke directly to her.

After asking where her accusers had gone, He said, "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more" (John 8:11, KJV).

There is an important difference between what Jesus did and what the religious leaders were attempting to do.

Jesus confronted sin without making humiliation the purpose of the encounter.

He did not pretend adultery was acceptable. His final instruction called the woman away from it. But His response also refused to allow her wrongdoing to become a tool for someone else's ambition.

I believe this should make every Christian examine how we talk about the failures of other people.

Imagine discovering that someone in your church has made a mistake that violated the trust of others. There may be legitimate responsibilities involved. People who were harmed deserve protection, and certain actions may require accountability.

But accountability should never become an opportunity for entertainment.

We should be able to address wrongdoing without enjoying the embarrassment of the person responsible.

We should be able to establish boundaries without spreading unnecessary details.

And we should be willing to ask whether the outcome we're pursuing reflects the character of Jesus or simply satisfies our desire to see somebody punished.

This becomes especially important in a world where public criticism spreads quickly. A person's mistake can become the subject of hundreds of conversations before anyone has considered whether those conversations serve a useful purpose.

Sometimes we participate because we feel strongly about what happened. Sometimes we repeat information because everyone else is discussing it. And sometimes, if we're willing to admit it, we enjoy the feeling of standing on the side that appears morally superior.

Jesus' response challenges that instinct.

His words forced the accusers to confront something they had been avoiding: recognizing another person's sin doesn't mean we've escaped the need to examine our own hearts.

Matthew 7:5 records Jesus teaching that we must first remove the beam from our own eye before attempting to remove the mote from our brother's eye.

That teaching doesn't eliminate our responsibility to help one another recognize wrongdoing. It requires humility before correction.

And humility changes the way we approach people.

Instead of asking how we can expose someone's failure, we begin asking what truth needs to be spoken and how it can be spoken responsibly.

Instead of assuming that punishment alone will produce change, we consider what genuine repentance and accountability might require.

Instead of using another person's mistakes to reassure ourselves of our goodness, we remember our own dependence on God's mercy.

The woman in John 8 stood before Jesus because of something she had done wrong. But the encounter also exposed something troubling in the people who brought her there.

They knew how to identify her failure, yet their actions revealed how easily concern for righteousness can be corrupted by the desire to accuse.

And that leaves us with a question worth carrying into every difficult conversation.

When we recognize something wrong in another person's life, are we responding because we genuinely want what is good, or because their failure gives us an opportunity to feel better about ourselves?

The difference may not always be visible to the people listening, but it matters deeply in the way we follow Jesus Christ.

Chapter 2: Choosing Restoration Over the Satisfaction of Being Right

A manager discovers that an employee has made a serious mistake. The error has created additional work, and everyone on the team knows who was responsible. During the next meeting, the manager has a choice. He can embarrass the employee to demonstrate his authority, or he can address the mistake firmly while protecting the person's dignity.

That distinction reaches into the heart of Jesus' encounter with the woman caught in adultery.

Galatians 6:1 teaches believers to restore someone overtaken in a fault "in the spirit of meekness," while remembering their own vulnerability to temptation.

Restoration does not mean ignoring misconduct, abandoning consequences, or placing others in danger. It means approaching correction with a desire for what is right rather than personal satisfaction.

Before confronting someone, we should examine what we hope our words will accomplish. Are we seeking accountability and meaningful change, or simply the pleasure of proving another person wrong?

Jesus demonstrated that truth and mercy can stand together.

And perhaps our character is revealed most clearly not when we recognize another person's failure, but when we decide what to do with that knowledge.

Your friend,
Douglas Vandergraph

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