We’ve been looking at shame this month. Is it always a bad thing? And what’s the difference between shame and accountability?

In our polarized society, sometimes it feels like we have two choices: you can be a squishy liberal who loves everyone and passively tolerates everything, or you can be a merciless conservative who longs to inflict draconian punishments in an attempt to control the behavior of others.

But the more I’ve been thinking about it, the more I think love and accountability are two things that have to live in tension.

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Two books are currently influencing my thinking on this topic: Calling In by Loretta Ross, and The Power of Parting by Eamon Dolan. Ross talks about the importance of relationship building and gentleness when confronting others (“calling in” vs. “calling out”) while Dolan stresses that we need not tolerate abusive behavior, even and especially from those closest to us.

Both authors, I think, hold this tension: that we can love people and treat their mistakes with kindness while refusing to tolerate ongoing abuse. They insist on giving people chances to change, but not an infinite amount. We can have limits and compassion.

What would this kind of compassionate accountability look like?

An example (though an imperfect one) might be something that happened in my church as I was growing up. It’s an incident with a man I’ll call “Paul.” (I’ve changed names and identifying details in this story.)

Paul had an advanced degree but worked in a public service capacity with vulnerable youth. Let’s say he was a lawyer who worked in the family court system with runaway teens.

Paul was well-liked and served in several capacities in church leadership, including as a youth group leader when I was in high school. I regularly babysat Paul’s kids and he drove me home several times.

I found Paul funny and charming. But sometimes our interactions had a weird vibe I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He was maybe a little overly familiar, treating us youth group kids more like peers than children. To be honest, part of me was thrilled: what teen doesn’t want to feel more grown up? But another part was wary.

Then, one day, Paul wasn’t in youth group anymore. At first, all I knew was that he’d been asked to step down from leadership, but gradually it came out that he’d moved one of his teenaged clients into his family’s home and begun “having an affair” with her.

(Viewing this scenario in 2026, I’m doubtful this relationship could be considered truly consensual, but at that time, the teen was seen as a willing participant.)

Paul’s wife demanded that he end the relationship and that the teen move out, among other things. Paul refused. So, she took the problem to the board of elders. Two elders met with Paul and tried to get him to see the error of his ways, but Paul refused to end his relationship.

Following this refusal, the board of elders called Paul into a larger meeting and again confronted him. When Paul wouldn’t back down, he was stripped of his church membership.

Even though he was no longer at church, because we lived in a small town, I heard things about Paul. I knew Paul’s wife filed for divorce and ended up moving out of state with their kids. I knew he lost his job and his law license, but also that he eventually married his teenaged victim and that they were active in many other civic groups, including ones involving youth.

Was this justice? Maybe? Partially?

I think a few things went right here:

* the church believed the victim, despite the perpetrator’s relatively higher status

* the church supported the victim (or at least one of the victims—more on that below)

* the church attempted to call Paul in before calling him out

* the church acted to protect young people

* likewise, professional organizations recognized his unacceptable behavior and blocked him from perpetrating further

Then again, I can’t help but think his teenaged victim did not get the justice she deserved. She needed a legal advocate and instead was taken advantage of. They’re still together.

As an outside observer, I can only speculate as to why criminal charges were never filed against Paul. Maybe the criminal justice system, itself, is a poor remedy, but without it, this “accountability” feels incomplete. I’m sure Paul’s wife and kids didn’t find this resolution satisfying, and I couldn’t help but think about how easily that poor girl could’ve been me or one of my friends.

What we really want, in Paul’s case, would be repentance and repair. But we can’t make other people do the right thing.

I’m hesitant to recommend excommunication as a means of accountability—I know it has been weaponized against women fleeing domestic violence and queer people simply for being who they are. Losing your community at a vulnerable time can be very traumatic. But in cases like Paul’s, where someone poses a threat to others and refuses to change, it can be necessary.

The funny thing is, none of this “calling in” discourse is new. Jesus recommended a similar process in Matthew 18:15-17. But it hits differently in 2026, where much social interaction happens online rather than in real-life, local communities. Is such accountability even possible anymore?

What do you think? Did Paul deserve exile? Prison time? What would real justice look like in this sort of scenario? Do you think excommunication is always a bad thing? As always, I love to hear your thoughts in the comments or via DM or email.

BONUS MATERIALS:

* here’s a great interview with Loretta Ross on The Integrated Schools Podcast

* some of the best Olympics jokes of the week:

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