06/03/2026
The Sin of Rationalization: Decision, Elections, Ourselves
By A Country Pastor
What if the greatest spiritual danger is not that we do wrong, but that we become so skilled at explaining our wrongdoing that we convince ourselves it is right?
Human beings have an extraordinary ability to explain the world. We can explain almost anything if the outcome is something we already want. We can justify decisions, excuse behavior, overlook contradictions, and reinterpret facts until they fit the story we prefer to believe. Most people do not wake up in the morning planning to do the wrong thing. They wake up believing they are the good guy in the story. The trouble is that once we decide we are right, it becomes surprisingly easy to explain away things we would otherwise know are wrong.
That may be why one of the most dangerous phrases in human history is, “Everybody does it.” Everybody stretches the truth. Everybody cuts corners. Everybody gossips. Everybody bends the rules. Everybody looks the other way. The phrase sounds harmless enough, but it has probably justified more bad decisions than almost any excuse humanity has ever invented. Once we convince ourselves that something is common, we begin treating it as acceptable. We stop asking whether it is right and begin asking whether it is normal.
Out here in the country, most folks know that people can explain almost anything when enough is at stake. I’ve heard people justify staying angry for years, holding grudges against family members, cheating a neighbor out of a few dollars, or refusing to speak to someone over an old disagreement. The details change, but the pattern is always the same. We start with what we want, and then we work backward looking for reasons. Politics did not invent rationalization. Human nature did.
Yesterday’s California primary offered a fascinating example of how rationalization works. Voters looked at many of the same facts and reached very different conclusions. Some saw experience. Others saw the establishment. Some saw change. Others saw risk. California’s top-two system means the election is not even over. Another round of calculation has already begun. Voters will weigh strengths, weaknesses, priorities, and fears. Some will decide a candidate’s flaws are worth accepting because they believe that candidate will accomplish a greater good. Others will reach the opposite conclusion. The names may change, but the process is as old as humanity itself.
Few figures in modern American life illustrate the power of rationalization more clearly than Donald Trump. What fascinates me is not that people support him. People support politicians for all sorts of reasons. What fascinates me is how often Christians who once spoke passionately about character, honesty, humility, fidelity, kindness, and personal responsibility suddenly found reasons to explain away behavior they would have condemned in almost anyone else.
Some pointed to King David. Others pointed to Cyrus. Others reminded us that God uses imperfect people. All of those things are true. The problem is that the Bible never uses those stories to excuse wrongdoing. David’s sin was still sin. Cyrus was still Cyrus. God’s ability to use flawed people has never meant that flaws cease to matter.
Over the years, many Christians have overlooked insults, cruelty, dishonesty, vulgarity, vindictiveness, attacks on opponents, and behavior that would once have troubled them because they believed a greater good was at stake. Perhaps they believed certain policies were more important. Perhaps they feared the alternative. Perhaps they believed he was protecting values they cherished. Whatever the reason, the process itself is worth examining. When we find ourselves excusing behavior in a leader that we would condemn in our neighbor, our political opponents, or even our own children, we should pause and ask whether we are practicing discernment or rationalization.
The question is not whether God can use Donald Trump. God has always used flawed people. The question is whether we are using God to excuse what we would otherwise recognize as wrong. That is a much harder question because it requires us to examine not only the leader but also our own hearts. When Christians begin measuring leaders primarily by what they can accomplish rather than by the fruit they produce, rationalization is already at work. Jesus did not tell us to judge trees by their promises, their victories, or their popularity. Jesus told us to examine their fruit (Matthew 7:16-20).
That is the danger of rationalization. We stop asking what is true and begin asking what supports our side. We stop evaluating everyone by the same standard and begin creating exceptions for those who help us achieve the results we want. The issue is not whether we are Republicans or Democrats. The issue is whether we are willing to examine our own hearts with the same honesty that we examine the faults of others.
The Bible is filled with people doing exactly that. Adam blamed Eve, and Eve blamed the serpent rather than taking responsibility for their choices (Genesis 3:12-13). Israel demanded a king because all the surrounding nations had kings, convincing themselves that following the crowd was wisdom rather than rebellion (1 Samuel 8:5-18). The religious leaders persuaded themselves that sacrificing one innocent man was necessary to preserve the nation (John 11:49-50). Pilate knew Jesus was innocent, yet surrendered to public pressure because it seemed politically expedient (Matthew 27:24). Again and again, people found reasons to justify their choices rather than honestly confront their hearts.
When I read the Bible through the lens of Jesus, I do not see a story about good people and bad people. I see a love story about people repeatedly choosing their own way and God repeatedly calling them back. Again and again humanity chooses power, certainty, fear, revenge, and self-interest. Again and again God calls humanity toward love, mercy, justice, humility, and grace. The Bible is not simply a record of ancient events. It is a mirror showing us the same struggle unfolding in our own hearts today.
That struggle is the conflict between man’s way and God’s way. Man’s way seeks power while God’s way seeks service. Man’s way seeks victory while God’s way seeks reconciliation. Man’s way asks how something can be justified, while God’s way asks whether it is loving. Man’s way asks how to win, while God’s way asks how to remain faithful. The names change, the circumstances change, and the centuries change, but humanity keeps arriving at the same crossroads.
Perhaps the most dangerous form of rationalization is the belief that a greater good excuses a lesser wrong. That was Caiaphas’s argument when he declared it was better for one man to die than for the nation to suffer (John 11:50). It was Pilate’s argument when preserving order seemed more important than justice. It is still our argument today. We convince ourselves that winning is so important, defeating the other side is so important, protecting our interests is so important, that we begin overlooking things we once believed were important. The rationalization is rarely that wrong becomes right. The rationalization is that the greater good outweighs the wrong. Yet Jesus continually pulls us back to a different question. Not what works. Not what wins. Not what advances our cause. But what is loving, just, merciful, and faithful.
When human beings encounter information that challenges what they already believe, they rarely change their minds immediately. More often, they change their explanation. We explain away contradictions. We excuse behavior we would once have condemned. We reinterpret facts to fit the story we already want to be true. The mind is a wonderful gift from God, but it can also become a lawyer defending a verdict it reached long before the evidence arrived.
The people who opposed Jesus did not believe they were opposing God. They believed they were serving God. The religious leaders believed they were protecting the faith. Pilate believed he was preserving order. The crowd believed it was choosing the better man. Saul believed he was defending God’s honor while persecuting Christians (Acts 8:3; 9:1-2). That reality should humble every one of us. The greatest spiritual danger is not that we knowingly choose evil. The greatest spiritual danger is that we convince ourselves that what we have chosen is righteous.
We become so certain that God agrees with us that we stop listening for God’s voice. We become so convinced of our cause that we stop examining our hearts. We become so committed to winning that we stop asking whether we still resemble the Jesus we claim to follow. Being certain is not the same thing as being faithful.
That sentence may be one of the hardest lessons in the Christian life. Being certain is not the same thing as being faithful. The religious leaders were certain. Pilate was certain. The crowd was certain. Saul was certain. Yet all of them stood on one side of the story while Jesus stood on the other. That should make every one of us a little slower to declare that God fully agrees with our politics, our tribe, or our preferred outcome.
That is why Jesus remains our lens for understanding Scripture, faith, politics, and life itself. Jesus welcomed those the crowd rejected. Jesus challenged those who abused power. Jesus taught people to love their enemies (Matthew 5:44). Jesus taught people to treat others as they would want to be treated (Luke 6:31). Jesus revealed that greatness is found in service rather than domination (Mark 10:42-45). Whenever our beliefs, politics, fears, or ambitions pull us away from the example of Jesus, something has gone wrong.
When I read the story of Jesus’ crucifixion, what haunts me most is that almost everyone involved believed they had a reason. The religious leaders had a reason. Pilate had a reason. The crowd had a reason. Yet there stood Jesus, revealing a completely different way. While others justified themselves, Jesus offered grace. While others pursued power, Jesus chose sacrifice. While others demanded victory, Jesus embodied love.
Two thousand years later, we still stand in that same crowd. We still tell ourselves stories. We still justify what benefits us. We still excuse what advances our cause. We still convince ourselves that our tribe, our party, our leader, or our fears deserve exceptions that others do not receive. Human beings have not changed nearly as much as we imagine.
Yet Jesus continues to stand before us asking the same question. Jesus is not asking whether we can win, justify ourselves, or see our side prevail. Jesus is asking whether we will follow him. Human beings will always have reasons. We will always have explanations. We will always have rationalizations. The question has never been whether we have reasons. The question has always been whether we are following Jesus.
Perhaps that is why rationalization is such a dangerous sin. It rarely looks like rebellion. It usually looks like wisdom. It rarely announces itself as self-interest. It often disguises itself as righteousness. It whispers that our cause is so important, our fears so justified, and our goals so necessary that ordinary standards no longer apply. Yet the way of Jesus keeps calling us back to a different path, one marked by truth, humility, mercy, justice, compassion, and love. The question before every generation is the same. Will we follow our rationalizations, or will we follow Jesus? One path tells us what we want to hear. The other tells us the truth. Only one of them leads to life.
