Judging Hearts: The Pharisee Within Us All

Two men went up to the temple to pray. One stood apart, lifted his eyes, and thanked God that he was not like the rest of men—extortioners, unjust, adulterers—or like the tax collector he saw kneeling in shame nearby. The other bowed low, beat his breast, and whispered only one thing:

“O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” (Luke 18:13) Jesus tells us plainly which man went home justified. It is a parable as sharp as a sword. And yet how easily we read it as though it were about other people—Pharisees out there somewhere—rather than recognizing how often we are the Pharisee, standing in the temple of our own hearts, convinced we see the world as it really is.

The Righteousness Trap

Righteousness is a good thing. We are meant to hunger and thirst for it, as Christ declares in the Beatitudes. Yet righteousness can become a subtle idol. It can lead us to measure our worth—and the worth of others—by how closely they match our own understanding of holiness.

“Thank you, Lord, that I am not like those Catholics who support this Pope’s initiatives.”
“Thank you, Lord, that I am not like those rigid traditionalists.”
“Thank you, Lord, that I am not like those sinners whose sins are different from my own.”

So many of our conversations—especially online—are modern-day versions of the Pharisee’s prayer.

St. Augustine observed: “Pride is the mother of all heresies.” It is also the mother of all harsh judgments. Because when we judge the hearts of others, we begin to place ourselves above them. We become their spiritual superiors, forgetting that before God, we are all beggars for mercy.

Philosophical Reflections: Forgiveness and Our Own Condemnation

Philosophers from Socrates to Aquinas have wrestled with the tension between justice and mercy. Justice gives each his due. Mercy offers what is undeserved. Yet to withhold mercy from others can become a form of self-condemnation.

Jesus warned: “For the measure you use will be measured back to you.” (Luke 6:38)  If we demand perfection of others, if we lock the door of mercy because of someone’s past sins, political opinions, theological missteps, or moral failures, we risk barring our own entrance into God’s mercy.

This is not to say sin does not matter. Sin wounds. It must be named and healed. But there is a difference between correcting someone in charity and condemning them in pride. St. Thomas Aquinas explains that fraternal correction is an act of love, seeking the good of the other’s soul, never a satisfaction of our own indignation.

Are we truly helping others draw closer to God? Or are we merely proclaiming our own righteousness?

He Who Is Without Sin

In John’s Gospel, the scribes and Pharisees drag a woman caught in adultery before Jesus. The Law demanded her death. They press Him:

“So what do You say?”

Jesus bends and writes in the dust. Then He stands and declares: “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone.” (John 8:7)

One by one, they leave.

Jesus does not deny her sin. He tells her, “Go, and from now on do not sin any more.” But He first refuses to join in the condemnation. This passage is not merely about sexual sin. It’s about any sin we imagine gives us license to publicly shame, exclude, or destroy others. Christ’s challenge echoes down the centuries:

“Are you without sin? Then cast your stone.” And who among us dares claim such purity?

The Saints and Doctors: Disagreement Without Condemnation

Many saints have disagreed passionately with popes and church leaders. St. Catherine of Siena urged the Pope to leave Avignon and return to Rome. St. Athanasius defied emperors and bishops over Arianism. St. Thomas More resisted Henry VIII’s break with Rome.

Yet none of these saints declared the Pope illegitimate or heretical simply because they disagreed with his decisions or feared confusion in the Church. They did not sow public discord to the point of schism. Even in correction, they acted within the bonds of obedience and charity.

The Catechism teaches: “Mindful of Christ’s words to Peter, the supreme pontiff enjoys infallibility…when, as supreme pastor and teacher of all the faithful…he proclaims by a definitive act a doctrine pertaining to faith or morals.” (CCC 891)

Much of what Catholics debate today—including certain prudential decisions, pastoral guidelines, or episcopal appointments—does not fall under the scope of papal infallibility. This leaves room for respectful discussion. But it does not leave room for rash condemnation, accusations of heresy without proof, or public declarations that the Pope is leading souls to hell.

These are not merely matters of opinion. They risk violating the unity for which Christ prayed: “That they may all be one.” (John 17:21)

Pope Leo XIV, Pope Francis, and the Danger of Stones

In our present moment, many Catholics are deeply troubled by the direction of the Church under Pope Francis and now Pope Leo XIV. Documents like Fiducia Supplicans spark heated debate. Concerns about doctrinal clarity are not automatically acts of rebellion. The faithful have the right—and sometimes the duty—to express concerns.

But let us not become Pharisees in the temple, thanking God we are not like “those Catholics.”

If we insist that Pope Leo XIV is simply “Francis 2.0,” that the entire hierarchy is corrupt, that bishops we dislike are agents of evil, we may well be standing with stones in our hands. And Christ’s words remain: “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”

The saints corrected errors with humility, tears, and prayer. They did not shout from rooftops that the Pope was an antichrist, nor call fellow Catholics “enemies” because of disagreements over prudential judgments. They understood this fundamental truth: “Mercy triumphs over judgment.” (James 2:13)

The Call of the Tax Collector

Jesus said the tax collector went home justified. Not because his theology was perfect. Not because he had no sin. But because he knew he needed mercy.

Perhaps the most radical act a Catholic can perform today is not writing a viral condemnation of others, but praying in secret: “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

It does not mean silence in the face of error. But it does mean speaking with humility and love, remembering that we, too, will one day stand before the judgment seat of Christ. May we lay down our stones. May we go home justified. And may the Church find unity in truth—and charity—in these turbulent times.

God Bless