About a year-and-a-half ago I download an app for my iPhone called the “Offender Locator.” This app allows one to use their “current location” to locate the names, addresses, and faces of sex offenders. Upon downloading, I launched the application, pushed “current location” and within seconds, a list of 100 or so names appeared on the screen of my iPhone. Much like the Starbucks app or the Home Depot app, the Offender Locator app lists the names of the “sexual sinners” in accordance to how close in proximity to my iPhone they live.

Much to my dismay, several of them lived much closer to my iPhone than I would have liked. One guy in particular lived less than 1/10th of a mile from my iPhone.

“Oh, my gosh, a sex offender lives in my condo complex,” I thought, and then I selected his name, which opened up a page that included his picture, address, and his crime–sexual exploitation of a minor. As soon as I saw his picture, I thought, “I think I’ve seen that guy…” In truth, he looked like a lot of guys I know or have seen, so I wasn’t sure.

Meanwhile, conversations about this app happened from time to time among friends and me. “I bet realtors love that app,” I remember one friend saying. “It would come in handy if you’re looking for a new house,” said another. “Will you look up my address,” asked another, “I want to see if any of them live close to me.” And then another said, “Well, it does make me feel a little safer to know…”

And then one more friend said, “I think that app is a little gross. I mean, it’s one thing to be able to find out that information by logging into a government-run website, but when it’s on an app, it feels icky–like there are no boundaries or limitations when it comes to ‘feeling safe.’ And since there are no real details regarding a person’s crime, people simply assume the worst… ”

I didn’t really think about that friend’s comments until a couple months later when, as I walked across my condo association’s parking lot toward the gym, I saw him–you know, the sex offending him who lived closest to my iPhone. As soon as I realized who he was, I’m embarrassed to say that I labeled him and then I judged him and talked to myself about making sure I keep Elias away from him. As he walked by me our eyes met for a split second and then I turned and looked the other way. A part of me was disgusted by the sight of him, a part of me feared him, and a part of me wished he would move to someone else’s neighborhood.

As I worked out I kept thinking about the man’s face. Did he realize that I knew? Did he care? Did a small part of him want to explain his situation, offer me a reason to not be afraid of him? And then I thought about my reaction and I felt shame.  The next day I talked to a friend (one of the three from the earlier paragraph) about what happened.

“If I hadn’t downloaded that stupid app, I wouldn’t have known anything about him,” I said. “I wouldn’t have had any reason to judge him or want to shun him. Dude, a part of me wanted to walk on the other side of the road. That’s crazy.”

“Well, you shouldn’t judge him,” my friend said, “But that’s not the app’s fault. At least you know not to use him as a babysitter. Don’t feel guilty about what happened. I like the app. I think information is power and we need to protect our kids from predators.”

“But what if our faces were connected to our sins and put on an iPhone app? How can anybody heal or become better when there’s an app that labels them by their sin?”

“He should have thought about that before he did the crime. Besides, statistics show that sex offenders don’t get better.”

“That might be true in certain cases, but that shouldn’t just be something we assume.”

“It’s a fact, Matthew. If it means our kids will be safer, I think it’s okay to assume.”

“But in most cases, the information on the app doesn’t tell you if the person is pedophile or a 20-year-old who sleeps with his 16-year-old girlfriend. And the information provided differs from state to state. And so we just end up assuming the worst.”

I’ve seen my “offending neighbor” several times since judging him. Rather than judging his 2006 crime, I started saying a short prayer for him whenever I saw him. Nothing too extravagant. Just a prayer that mercy finds away into his story. Two weeks ago, as I walked home from the gym, I saw him playing frisbee with his dog. His dog started running toward me. I leaned down and pet his head. The man walked toward me, yelling for his dog.

“Nice dog,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“By the way, my name’s Matthew.”

He tells me his name, though I already knew it.

“Nice to meet you.” I patted his dog’s head one last time. “Have a good afternoon.”

He nodded. I walked home and deleted the Offender app off of my iPhone. My friend is right: information is power. But sometimes it can also instill fear and  unfairly judge a person’s “here and now.”

What if your name, face, and address were listed by your sin and then put on an iPhone app? What would be the category? Would it be liar? Gossip? Abuser? Deadbeat father? Slut? Druggie? Bragger? Bitch? Cheater? I know what some of you are thinking… “My sin doesn’t harm innocent children.”

Maybe not sexually. But certainly some of our sins can hurt our own children emotionally or mentally or socially…

But think about this: What if you were trying to not be a “slut” or trying not be a “deadbeat father”? How difficult would it be to overcome your past when anybody in the country could download your past onto their iPhone and shun you?

Please know that I’m not writing this post to offer answers or take a side. I’m all for keeping our children safe. But I’m also a huge proponent of redemption, hope, and second chances. And sometimes, navigating the line between those two idea isn’t easy…