It was in a passing conversation, see. Finally all the dots were connected, and I knew. I realized what her pet sin was. It was probably one she didn’t even see as I saw, considering just how conniving and blinding these tend to be. 

But what’s telling is this: For at least 24 hours, I did not feel compassion for her. I didn’t pray for her, despite not knowing if anyone else could see what I’d witnessed. I didn’t use it to understand her more, to empathize with what might have brought her there. I didn’t use it to examine my life for my own corrosive habits. 

Instead, I used her weakness to subtly slot myself above her. 

I mentally shook my head: That’s too bad. I considered how it affected her closest relationships, and how good it was I didn’t have the same problem. I considered how I would navigate our relationship so I didn’t fall prey, and maybe would have a chance to help her see the error of her ways.  

God, I thank You that I am not like other people: swindlers, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 

Speaking of—I think back to a night in Uganda around 3 AM, when I was so infuriated, grieved, and traumatized I could have spit nails. I’d witnessed a fatal accident, and corrupt police spent hours trying to bribe me. A man’s death had been their opportunity for gain.  

Opportunists through someone’s demise. How could they? 

“Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” John 8:7