The Church doesn’t need another round of exposés. It needs an awakening. Discernment without love is suspicion. Love without discernment is sentimentality. The Church must recover both, truth that sees clearly and love that stays steady.

Discernment was never meant to be content. It was meant to be courage, the kind that loves truth enough to restore, not perform.

Once, discernment ministries stood as the church’s last line of defense.

Men like Justin Peters stood boldly against the false teachers who flooded Christian television. When prosperity preachers promised healing for a “seed offering,” Justin stood on stage with a cane, explaining the difference between biblical faith and manipulative fraud. He was a watchman, and he still is.

Those early years mattered. The Word of Faith movement deceived millions, and men like Justin refused to let wolves go unchallenged. I thank God for that kind of courage.

But over time, something shifted. Somewhere along the way, discernment became content, and content became currency.

This past week, I’ve experienced that tension firsthand. I received criticism from both the right and the left. I reached out to an offended party on the left and to trusted friends on the right — not to win an argument, but to understand and, if necessary, to grow. I’m always open to correction.

Sadly, both sides either never responded or doubled down on the idea that we can’t even speak to one another. In one instance, those I reached out to took to social media to announce to their followers that I had contacted them, proudly declaring they were “taking a stand” and “there would be no discussion.”

That’s not a call to repentance. That’s a performance.

What should have been a private exchange between brothers became content. What could have been a conversation became a spectacle. And once the performance begins, no one repents, because the crowd isn’t there to see reconciliation. They’re there to see a fight.

When Discernment Became a Performance

I’m not talking about faithful correction. I’ve received more than one phone call from my brother Justin when he believed I’d gone astray, and I was grateful for it. That’s accountability: private, humble, and rooted in love for truth.

I’ve seen that kind of accountability firsthand through my friend Justin Peters. Each call came from a place of concern and care. He would lovingly ask about something he’d seen or was worried might lead others to confusion. More times than not, our conversations helped clarify intent, motive, and what was really happening. Every discussion ended with us growing in mutual understanding and respect for one another.

Justin is always warning, but his warnings, at least in my case, have come from a place of love and restoration. Justin may not always agree with something I’ve chosen to do or say, but we are clear on why, and that clarity gives us an opportunity for good-faith discussion, one I’m always open to.

That’s what true discernment looks like: not a public performance, but a private pursuit of truth and reconciliation between brothers. The goal isn’t to prove we’re right; it’s to help our brother walk in the truth. That’s the difference between discernment that heals and discernment that harms. One seeks victory over error; the other seeks restoration of a soul. When our desire to win overtakes our desire to see repentance, we’ve stopped discerning and started performing.

What concerns me is what happens when discernment turns into sport. There’s a kind of excitement that runs through social media when someone says something heretical. People rush to clip, post, and comment, not because they’re grieving the error, but because they know it will light up their feed.

It’s not about protecting sheep anymore. It’s about feeding algorithms.

Some seem to need fresh heresy the way tabloids need scandal. And it’s easy to confuse that constant outrage for zeal. But zeal without grief is not discernment. It’s entertainment.

The Weariness of Tribal Policing

Many believers feel it, a fatigue that sets in when every disagreement becomes a crisis and every theological misstep becomes grounds for excommunication.

We’ve traded the Berean spirit (Acts 17:11) for the spirit of the mob. We test men, not messages. We assume motives before asking questions. We speak about “them” when we should be praying for him.

If you see something that troubles you, don’t assume motive; ask a question. You can’t see someone’s heart, but you can pick up the phone. If you have someone’s contact information, use it. Make the call. A conversation can do more to win your brother than a statement ever will.

Some will argue that public error requires public rebuke. At times, that’s true when the Gospel itself is being distorted or when false teaching has spread so widely that silence would imply consent. But even then, the posture must be pastoral, not performative. Paul’s rebuke of Peter in Galatians 2 was not about reputation; it was about protecting the Gospel. Public correction may be necessary, but it should never replace private pursuit when possible. The order of Matthew 18 still applies, even in an online age. Our goal should be to win our brother, not wound him.

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