Jesus Before Herod
He answered him nothing.” (Luke 23:9)
My dear friends,
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Gratefully,
How to Confront Evil Without Losing Your Own Soul
How to remain grounded, human, and faithful in a world that keeps pulling you toward anger and contempt, even when you’re right…
By Fr. Rich Vitale
There’s a question I get asked from time to time.
“Do you think someone like _______ could ever go to heaven?”
You can fill in the blank with whoever you want.
A public figure. A criminal. Someone who has caused real harm.
And usually, when people ask it, they’re not really asking about heaven.
They’re asking something deeper.
They’re asking whether a person like that
deserves mercy.
deserves redemption.
deserves anything other than judgment.
And underneath that question is another one, quieter but more important:
What do we do with people who have done real harm?
Because there are things happening in the world right now that are genuinely wrong.
Not complicated. Not gray.
Wrong in a way that causes real harm to real people.
And if you’re paying attention, it should disturb you.
It should unsettle you.
It should matter.
If it doesn’t, something in us has already gone numb.
But there’s another danger we don’t talk about as often.
The danger is not just what evil does to the world.
It’s what it does to us while we are confronting it.
Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably felt it.
That slow shift.
The way something in you tightens.
The way your thoughts get sharper.
Less patient. Less generous.
The way anger lingers longer than it used to.
The way it becomes easier to write people off.
To reduce them.
To stop seeing them as fully human.
Not because you don’t care.
But because you do.
And over time, without even realizing it, that begins to shape you.
Evil doesn’t just provoke a response.
It teaches.
We tend to think of evil as something obvious. Extreme. Out there somewhere.
And sometimes it is.
But more often, it works in quieter ways.
Evil is anything that strips away the dignity of another person
and then convinces us it was justified.
You see it in violence.
You see it in systems.
You see it in the way people are talked about, dismissed, reduced.
And if we’re honest, we can feel the pull to do the same.
Not because we are indifferent.
But because we are trying to respond to something that is real.
And that’s where the line begins to blur.
The longer we confront what is wrong,
the more tempting it becomes to meet it with the same kind of energy.
Contempt for contempt.
Harshness for harshness.
Dehumanization for dehumanization.
And we tell ourselves it’s different when we do it.
Because we’re right.
But that’s the trap.
The danger is not just that evil exists.
It’s that it teaches us how to behave.
And if we are not careful, we do not just oppose it.
We begin, slowly, to resemble it.
St. Paul names this clearly:
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:21)
That is not a soft statement.
It is a warning.
Because evil does not only work outwardly.
It works inwardly.
It can take hold of you
not by defeating you, but by reshaping you.
This is where Jesus becomes not just relevant, but necessary.
Because Jesus never denies the reality of evil.
He sees it clearly.
He names it.
He confronts it.
But He never mirrors it.
He says:
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:44)
Not because what they are doing is acceptable.
But because hatred has a way of taking root in the one who carries it.
Because the moment someone else’s behavior determines the condition of your heart,
you have already lost something.
And we see this most clearly at the Cross.
In the middle of violence and humiliation, Jesus says:
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)
He does not deny the harm.
He does not excuse it.
But He refuses to let it turn Him into something else.
He refuses to become like what He is suffering under.
So what do you do?
You begin by interrupting the reaction.
You pause.
Even for a moment.
Not to ignore what is happening.
Not to pretend it does not matter.
But to create just enough space so that your response is chosen, not automatic.
You breathe.
Because your body and your soul are not separate things.
And when everything around you is escalating, your body will follow unless you bring it back.
That pause matters more than it seems.
Most of the damage we do happens in moments where there is no pause at all.
Then you seek understanding.
Not to excuse what is wrong.
Not to soften real harm.
But to remember something true about every human being.
As the psalmist writes:
“Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me.” (Psalm 51:5)
No one begins as a blank slate.
People are shaped.
Formed by wounds, environments, systems, and stories they did not choose.
Some of the very things we now confront as evil
are the result of lives that were bent long before we ever encountered them.
That does not make those actions acceptable.
And it does not remove the need to confront and stop what causes harm.
But it changes how hatred takes root.
Because when you begin to understand, even a little,
it becomes harder to reduce someone entirely to the worst thing they have done.
Understanding does not weaken your response.
It purifies it.
And then there is love.
Which is where most people struggle.
Because when Jesus says:
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,”
it can sound unrealistic.
But love, in the way Jesus is speaking about it, is not a feeling.
It is not approval.
It is a decision about what you ultimately desire for another person.
To love someone is to will their good.
And that good is not shallow.
It includes change.
It includes accountability.
It includes the ending of the very behaviors that cause harm in the first place.
Love does not ignore evil.
It refuses to become it.
And this brings us back to that question.
“Do you think someone like _______ could ever go to heaven?”
My answer is always the same.
I hope so.
I hope they do.
Not because what they have done does not matter.
Not because justice is not real.
But because I hope that God’s mercy is that deep.
That His understanding is that wide.
That the human soul is still capable of repentance, even after everything.
Because the moment I can no longer hope for someone’s redemption,
something in me has started to close.
And I do not want to become that kind of person.
To wish heaven for someone is not to excuse them.
It is to refuse to give up on the possibility that they could become something different than what they are now.
And that is what love looks like.
Scripture puts it simply:
“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” (Proverbs 4:23)
Everything flows from it.
The way you see people.
The way you speak.
The way you respond.
So pay attention to the shift.
Notice when conviction begins to harden into contempt.
Be intentional about what you take in, because it is shaping you whether you realize it or not.
Refuse to speak about people in ways that strip them of their dignity, even when it would feel justified.
And pray for those you struggle with.
Not because it excuses anything.
But because it keeps your heart from being formed by hostility.
The world will continue to give you reasons to be angry.
Some of those reasons will be justified.
But anger, if left unattended, does not stay where it started.
It becomes something heavier.
Something sharper.
Something that begins to live in you.
You do not defeat darkness by learning how to wield it.
You do not confront evil by becoming more like it.
You confront it by refusing to let it decide who you become.
You do not lose your soul all at once.
You lose it slowly
in the way you begin to see people, speak about them, and respond to them.
And the world will give you endless opportunities to make that trade.
But you still have a choice.
You can confront what is wrong in this world
without losing your own soul in the process.
If this spoke to you, I’d love to hear from you.
Where do you feel this tension most right now… the pull to respond, and the challenge to stay grounded?
Share your thoughts in the comments. I read them, and they matter more than you think.