Not What It Seems: Living with Discernment & Self-Restraint
Why followers of Jesus must learn to discern slowly, judge carefully, and trust the God who reveals truth over time
blog entry 4/22/2026
blog entry 4/22/2026
Following Jesus calls us into a way of living that is both deeply discerning and deeply restrained. We are not called to be naïve, nor to be harsh or quick in judgment. Instead, Jesus invites us into a tension that requires maturity: to evaluate wisely while refusing to rush to final conclusions. Jesus said, “by their fruit you will recognize them” (Matthew 7:16). We are meant to observe, discern, and evaluate. At times, evil becomes evident, and its fruit leaves little room for confusion. But most of life is not that clear. What appears good at first may reveal itself over time to be harmful. And what appears painful, confusing, or even wrong may become the very thing God uses for good. Jesus’ parable of the wheat and the tares reminds us that mixed realities often grow side by side for a season, and full clarity comes at harvest (Matthew 13:24–30). And sometimes, what looks real… isn’t.
In the early 1970s, a movement emerged within parts of the charismatic world that many believed could answer a real problem in the Church. Large numbers of believers were experiencing spiritual renewal, yet many lacked discipleship, pastoral care, accountability, and mature guidance. Some leaders saw sincere converts full of zeal, but without roots, structure, or formation.
Out of that concern arose what became known as the Shepherding Movement. It was especially associated with a group of influential leaders often called the "Fort Lauderdale Five": Derek Prince, Bob Mumford, Charles Simpson, Don Basham, and Ern Baxter.
The movement emphasized ideas that sounded deeply compelling:
committed discipleship
mutual accountability
submission to spiritual authority
serious pursuit of holiness
honest correction for growth in Christ
pastoral covering and care
To many, it looked like the answer to shallow Christianity. People longed for depth, not mere attendance. They wanted real formation, not casual religion. They wanted leaders who would guide them, challenge them, and help them grow. Many churches truly did need stronger discipleship, clearer care, deeper commitment, and more intentional spiritual formation.
But over time, serious problems emerged in many expressions of the Shepherding Movement:
accountability often drifted into control
guidance became intrusion into personal decisions
submission became pressure
disagreement was sometimes treated as rebellion
questions could be discouraged
shame was sometimes used to enforce alignment
And one of the deepest problems was this: Some leaders were given so much practical authority that they became difficult to question. When human leaders hold too much unchecked power, correction becomes rare, fear grows quietly, and spiritual abuse can take root.
In many places, the most painful damage was amplified in the next generation of leaders. They inherited structures of authority without always possessing the maturity, humility, or restraint needed to carry them wisely. What may have begun as influence often hardened into control when passed into less discerning hands.
By the late 1970s and into the 1980s, criticism increased. Many former participants later testified to spiritual manipulation, fear-based control, damaged consciences, broken relationships, and lasting wounds. Several of the movement’s original leaders later acknowledged mistakes and publicly distanced themselves from its excesses.
What promised growth had, in many cases, produced bondage. What began with a sincere desire for maturity and order revealed how easily biblical themes can be distorted when authority is concentrated and humility is lost. Again, the fruit told the truth.
Now imagine another scene. A small, misunderstood group begins spreading across the ancient world. They have no power, no platform, no protection. They follow a crucified teacher and speak of love, humility, and a Kingdom not of this world. And for this, they suffer.
Under the Roman Empire, they are arrested, scattered by persecution, and at times put to death. From the outside it looks like weakness. It looks like failure. It looks like collapse. If you were watching in that moment, you might conclude: This will not last. This is not winning. This is not of God. But time began to speak. The message spread. Communities multiplied. Instead of responding with violence, they responded with courage, love, and endurance.
And even Rome noticed. When Pliny the Younger investigated Christians, he reported that they gathered before dawn to worship Christ and bound themselves NOT to theft, fraud, adultery, or deceit. What he expected to find as a threat looked more like lives marked by moral integrity. Centuries later, even the hostile emperor Julian the Apostate complained, “These Galileans not only feed their own poor, but ours also.” Their compassion had become so visible that even opponents could not deny it.
People began to notice. They noticed how these believers cared for one another. How they forgave. How they suffered without losing hope. Even observers were struck by it. As Tertullian later said, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” What looked like defeat was, in reality, the quiet expansion of something alive with God. Again, the fruit revealed the truth.
And here is the deeper challenge: Things are often NOT what they appear to be. Some things glitter—but they are not gold. Others look raw, unpolished, even unappealing—but they are diamonds in the rough. What looks impressive may be empty at its core. What looks weak may be carrying the very life of God. This is where we are easily misled. We are drawn to what is visible, immediate, and convincing. We respond to presentation, momentum, and opinion. But God does not see as we see. "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart ." (1 Samuel 16:7).
So the question becomes:
Can we learn to see what God sees?
Can we resist being impressed by what merely shines?
Can we remain steady when something looks unclear or unfinished?
Can we trust that time, fruit, and God’s perspective will reveal what is truly from Him?
There is another layer that deepens our humility: Not only is our vision limited—people themselves are still in process. Human beings are not finished. We are not static. We are stories still unfolding. This is especially true for followers of Jesus. What a person is today is not yet what they will be tomorrow. A life that looks faithful now can drift later. A life that looks lost now can be redeemed in time. At almost any point, we could make a judgment—and be wrong in the end. Scripture reminds us of both realities:
“Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared…” - 1 John 3:2
“Now we see in part…” - 1 Corinthians 13:12
Time is not just revealing events—it is revealing people. Even more sobering, a life can turn at any point—even near the end. What ultimately matters is not a moment, but what a person does with their life before God over time. Only God sees the full story. Only God judges rightly. This should make us slow, careful, and humble.
There is yet another danger. What if we are seeing something correctly—but not seeing it the way heaven sees it? This may be even more subtle—and more dangerous. Because it means we can have the facts right and still be out of step with the heart of God.
We see this in the story of the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11). The religious leaders bring a woman caught in sin. Their accusation is real. Even Jesus does not deny it. And in the end, He tells her, “Go, and from now on sin no more.” So in one sense, they were right. But everything else was wrong. They were not aligned with the heart of heaven. They were not discerning what God wanted to do in that moment. They were not moved by mercy or restoration. They saw sin—but not the person. They saw guilt—but not grace. They saw a case to judge and an opportunity to trap Jesus—but Jesus saw a life to restore.
Their problem was not observation—it was posture. They came ready to condemn. Jesus moved to redeem. And in doing so, He exposed not only her sin—but theirs as well.
This reveals something we must not ignore: It is possible to be factually correct and spiritually misaligned. We can identify what is wrong. We can even related the sin to Scripture accurately. And still miss what God is doing. Because God is not only revealing what is true—He is also revealing how He responds to what is true. God has a will. God has a heart. God has a redemptive plan. And He reserves the right to step into a story marked by sin and rewrite it with mercy, truth, and transformation. If we are not careful, we can oppose what God is doing—simply because we are locked into a shallow or premature judgment.
So are we free to judge? Only if we are seeing through heaven’s eyes. And that is not something we naturally possess. We do not see fully. We do not know completely. We do not understand God’s timing or intentions in full. Which means we must remain deeply dependent on God’s Word—to anchor us in truth. Dependent on God’s Spirit—to guide us in how to apply that truth in each specific situation and moment. Because truth without the Spirit can become harsh. And perception without humility can become dangerous.
This brings us back to the way Jesus calls us to live:
To discern—but not rush
To recognize sin—but not take God’s place
To hold truth—but also embody mercy
To see clearly—but remain humble
To be “wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16) is not just about avoiding deception—it is about refusing to judge without the heart of God. Because in the end, it is not enough to see correctly. We must learn to see as God sees—and respond as He responds.
When we rush to judgment, we don’t just make mistakes—we can do real damage. We can wound people. We can misrepresent God. We can shut down what He is trying to grow. We can condemn what He is trying to redeem. Scripture is filled with this warning.
Job’s friends spoke confidently—and were rebuked.
The Pharisees judged accurately—and missed the heart of God.
The crowd was ready to stone—and nearly opposed mercy itself.
When we judge too quickly, we risk placing ourselves where only God belongs. And in doing so, we may find ourselves resisting the very work He is doing.
This kind of discernment is not abstract—it is lived out in everyday moments.
We pause before forming conclusions.
We hold our judgments loosely.
We ask better questions before making statements or making decisions.
We consider the same situation from different viewpoints in case we have missed something important.
We watch patterns over time instead of reacting to moments.
We invite God into our perception: “Lord, help me see this rightly.”
And often, it means learning to say: “I don’t fully know yet.”
This is not easy. We want clarity. We want certainty. We want to decide quickly—good or bad, right or wrong—so we can feel in control. And this shows up everywhere:
in politics
in churches
in leaders—their decisions and how people perceive them
in relationships
in how we interpret motives and intentions
We are constantly forming conclusions—often faster than we realize, and with more confidence than we should. But the way of Jesus calls us higher and lower: Higher in wisdom. Lower in humility. Slower in judgment. A life anchored in truth. Guided by the Spirit. Marked by patience. Shaped by humility.
Discernment grows over time—through Scripture, through the Spirit, and through walking with God in real life. And in that process, we learn to live with holy restraint. We evaluate—but we do not rush. We discern—but we remain humble. We see in part—and we trust the God who sees fully. Because in the end, we are not trying to master perception. We are learning to trust the One who sees perfectly. And in His time, the truth becomes clear. It always does.