The Seat Is Not Mine
On judgment, false righteousness, and why I will not condemn another soul
There are moments in life when a single question reveals far more than the person asking it intends. Recently, I was cornered by a self-proclaimed pastor and asked a question meant, I suspect, to test the boundaries of my faith:
Would I condemn a lifelong Hindu to hell?
My answer was simple.
No. I will not.
Not because truth does not matter.
Not because doctrine does not matter.
Not because I believe all paths are equal.
And certainly not because I deny Christ.
I said no because I am not the Judge.
That seat is not mine.
Too often, in the name of religion, men rush to occupy a throne that does not belong to them. They speak as though they have been vested with the authority to seal the eternal fate of another human soul. They pronounce damnation with a confidence that seems less like holiness and more like arrogance clothed in piety. They imagine that harshness is righteousness, that condemnation is courage, and that presumption is faithfulness.
But I do not see Christ giving ordinary men the right to sit in His seat.
I see the opposite.
I see warning.
I see restraint.
I see humility.
And I see a repeated command that should terrify every self-righteous accuser: the measure you use shall be measured to you again.
In the words of Jesus:
“Judge not, that ye be not judged.
For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”
— Matthew 7:1–2, 1599 Geneva Bible
These are not the words of moral relativism. These are not the words of a Christ who does not care about truth. These are the words of the Son of God warning sinful men not to pretend they are sinless enough to stand above others as final arbiters of their eternal fate.
And Christ does not stop there. He goes further:
“And why seest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, and perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”
— Matthew 7:3
This is not merely a rebuke of hypocrisy. It is an exposure of the human heart. Men are often eager to inspect the souls of others while leaving their own souls unexamined. They are swift to condemn foreign error, yet blind to the corruption of pride, cruelty, vanity, malice, and spiritual self-exaltation within themselves. They hunger to call others damned, but tremble very little before the possibility that they themselves are guilty of usurping the place of God.
That is the danger.
When a man assumes for himself the authority to condemn, he has ceased merely offering testimony and has begun playing judge.
And there is only one Judge.
Scripture says:
“For the Father judgeth no man, but hath committed all judgment unto the Son.”
— John 5:22
If all judgment has been committed unto the Son, then it has not been committed unto me.
Not unto a pastor.
Not unto a preacher.
Not unto a theologian.
Not unto a man with a microphone, a pulpit, a following, or a title.
Unto the Son.
This matters profoundly, because there is a great difference between bearing witness to the truth and pronouncing final sentence upon a soul.
I will absolutely testify to Christ. I will proclaim without apology that Christ is Lord. I will affirm what He Himself said:
“I am that way, and that truth, and that life. No man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
— John 14:6
I will affirm that salvation is in Him. I will affirm that all men stand in need of mercy, redemption, repentance, and grace. I will affirm that no philosophy, no idol, no ritual, and no earthly system can save a human soul apart from God.
But affirming Christ as the only way is not the same thing as appointing myself His replacement in judgment.
That distinction is where many lose their footing.
There are those who seem to believe that faithfulness requires them to condemn particular persons by name and destiny, as though zeal itself were proof of righteousness. Yet the New Testament is full of warnings against exactly this spirit.
Paul writes:
“Who art thou that condemnest another man’s servant? he standeth or falleth to his own master: yea, he shall be established: for God is able to make him stand.”
— Romans 14:4
James writes even more sharply:
“There is one Lawgiver, which is able to save and to destroy: who art thou that judgest another man?”
— James 4:12
That question should thunder in the conscience of every person eager to condemn:
Who art thou?
Who art thou, O man, to seize the authority of the Eternal?
Who art thou, O sinner, to sit above another sinner and speak as if Heaven itself had delegated its throne unto thee?
Who art thou to damn what God has not commanded thee to damn?
There is a kind of counterfeit righteousness that thrives on condemnation. It feels holy because it is severe. It feels bold because it is unyielding. It feels pure because it always points outward. But it is often nothing more than pride dressed in biblical language.
A man may know many verses and still not know Christ.
A man may speak often of hell and still have no fear of his own presumption.
A man may claim to defend God while dishonoring Him by acting as though God needs help occupying His own seat.
And here is the deeper danger: when Christians become known primarily for their hunger to condemn, they cease to reflect the posture of Christ toward sinners and begin to reflect the posture of the accuser.
Jesus did not shrink from calling sin what it is. He did not compromise truth. He did not bless falsehood. But He also did not authorize ordinary men to thunder final damnation over every person they encounter. Instead, He repeatedly turned the gaze back upon the heart of the one doing the accusing.
When the woman taken in adultery was brought before Him, and her accusers stood ready in their self-assurance, Jesus said:
“Let him that is among you without sin, cast the first stone at her.”
— John 8:7
That moment is devastating, because it reveals a truth many religious people still resist: the one most eager to condemn may be the one least prepared to do so.
This does not mean sin is ignored. It means that judgment belongs rightly to the sinless One, not to the guilty crowd.
And we are the guilty crowd.
That is why I will not condemn a Hindu to hell. Nor a Muslim. Nor an atheist. Nor anyone else by my own authority.
I may grieve for error.
I may speak truth.
I may testify that Christ is the way.
I may urge repentance.
I may warn that all men must face God.
But I will not pronounce myself the steward of eternal sentence.
Because I, too, must stand before the judgment seat.
“For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:10
Not the judgment seat of a pastor.
Not the judgment seat of public opinion.
Not the judgment seat of religious ego.
The judgment seat of Christ.
That reality should produce fear and trembling, not swagger.
It should produce repentance, not theatrical condemnation.
It should produce humility, mercy, and sobriety in every believer who understands that he lives not by his own righteousness, but by grace.
And perhaps this is what troubles me most about those who are so eager to pass sentence on others: their confidence often seems untouched by the terrifying possibility that they themselves may be judged by the very spirit they wield so casually.
Christ warned us plainly: with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged.
If you make your life into a tribunal, do not be surprised when you are summoned before one.
If you choose severity over mercy, do not imagine yourself immune from severity.
If you delight in placing burdens on souls, do not assume your own soul is weightless.
This is why I believe that one who insists he is called to pass judgment upon others is walking on spiritually dangerous ground. I do not say this lightly. I say it because there is a profound difference between discernment and condemnation.
Christians are indeed called to discern. We are called to test spirits, to reject falsehood, to recognize sin, to rebuke evil, and to hold fast to truth. But discernment is not the same as usurping divine authority. Warning is not the same as sentencing. Fidelity is not the same as self-deification.
The moment a man imagines himself righteous because he condemns, he has already fallen into one of the oldest temptations: to become as God.
That is why, in The Way of Quiet Light, I cannot embrace a faith posture rooted in self-exaltation. The light of Christ does not call me to enthrone myself. It calls me to kneel. It calls me to repent. It calls me to speak truth without becoming possessed by the intoxication of power. It calls me to remember that I am a servant, not a sovereign.
And so I say this plainly:
I believe in Christ.
I believe He is the way.
I believe every soul ultimately answers to Him.
I believe truth matters.
I believe error is real.
I believe salvation belongs to God.
But I do not believe that I, as an ordinary man, have the authority to declare the eternal fate of another human being as though I were seated in the court of Heaven.
That authority belongs to Christ alone.
And I will not steal what is His.
The world does not need more self-anointed judges masquerading as saints. It needs more men broken enough to remember that they, too, require mercy. It needs more Christians who fear God more than they enjoy condemning others. It needs more souls willing to point upward rather than sit higher.
So when asked whether I would condemn a lifelong Hindu to hell, my answer remains the same:
No.
I will testify to Christ.
I will speak what I believe to be true.
I will not deny the Gospel.
But I will not place myself in the seat of judgment.
Because the seat is not mine.
It never was.
And it never will be.