“A mature judge does not rush to conclusions—they wait for God to reveal what is hidden.”
Over the years in the church, I have heard people speak about others and say, “I see no fruit… they openly denied the faith… look at their actions.” As though this is the full measure of a person—based only on what we can see, what we hear, or what we observe. It sounds right. It sounds wise. But it is often incomplete.
The Bible gives us a clear warning about this kind of judgment through Job’s friends. They looked at Job’s life, saw his suffering, and made a conclusion. In their experience, suffering meant sin. They had seen patterns, they had understanding, and they spoke with confidence. But they were wrong. God later said they had not spoken what was right about Him. Their problem was not that they saw something—it was that they believed what they saw was the whole truth.
And we can do the same thing. A lack of visible fruit does not always mean there is no life. A tree can be alive and still not producing at the moment. It may be struggling in ways we cannot see. So when we say, “I don’t see fruit,” we may be right in what we observe, but wrong in what we conclude. This is where we must slow down and become more careful in how we judge.
If we are honest, there are times we say, “This is what the Spirit is showing me,” but our own thoughts are so loud—our experiences, our opinions, even our wounds—that we cannot clearly hear Him. What feels like discernment can actually be reaction. In those moments, wisdom is not found in speaking quickly, but in stepping back, taking it to the Lord, and waiting. Right judgment is not rushed; it is formed in humility and patience.
We also have to hold firmly to this truth: if the Spirit truly lives in someone, He does not leave them. God does not begin a work and abandon it. So what we may be seeing is not someone who has been left by God, but someone who is struggling, resisting, or in pain. And if we judge too quickly, we risk misreading what God is still actively doing.
This is where the story of Peter becomes so powerful. Peter didn’t just fail—he denied Jesus three times, publicly and in fear. If we were judging by what we saw, we would say, “There is no fruit. Look at his actions.” We might even conclude that he had turned away completely. But when Jesus comes to Peter after the resurrection, He does not approach him the way we often approach one another. He does not ask him to explain himself. He does not confront him with his failure. He does not even ask, “Why did you deny Me?” Instead, He asks a deeper question: “Do you love Me?”
In that moment, Jesus goes straight to the heart. Not the action, but the root. Because He knew something we are still learning—failure does not always mean separation. The real question is not simply what someone has done, but where their heart is.
I have experienced this in my own life. There have been people who were in deep pain who would not even let me hug them. They would pull away, resist, and refuse. But if I stayed consistent, if I kept showing up and reaching out, they would eventually break down and let it out. It was never truly rejection—it was pain that had not yet been released. This is what I believe Jesus did with Peter. He did not withdraw because of Peter’s denial. He moved toward him, stayed present, and kept reaching, not to expose him, but to restore him.
And when Peter responds, Jesus does something even more powerful—He entrusts him again with responsibility. “Feed My sheep.” He does not define Peter by his worst moment. He restores him based on what is still alive in him—his love for Christ.
This is how we must learn to judge. Not ignoring fruit, but not stopping there either. Not reacting to failure, but looking deeper and asking, “Is there still love for Christ? Is there still something alive inside?” Because where there is still love, there is still life. And when we see that—even if it is faint, even if it is buried under pain, failure, or resistance—we are not called to step back in judgment, but to step in through prayer. We begin to pray not with accusation, but with faith, asking the Lord to strengthen what remains, to stir their love for Him again, to heal what is wounded, and to break through whatever is holding them back. We pray with patience, trusting that God sees what we cannot see and is able to reach deeper than we ever could. Instead of writing them off, we partner with God, believing that what is still alive in them can grow, be restored, and bear fruit in His time.
And in all of this, we begin to understand that this is part of our calling. Scripture tells us that the saints will judge the world. Jesus commands us not to judge by appearances, but to judge rightly. And we are told that maturity comes as we are trained to discern good and evil. This means we are learning now. Through people, through situations, through moments where we are tempted to say, “I see it clearly,” and God gently reminds us, “Look again.”
He is teaching us to slow down, to listen, to wait, and to love. Because you cannot judge like Christ if you do not love like Christ. Even when you have been hurt. Even when someone has failed. Just as Jesus moved toward Peter, we are called to move toward others with truth and mercy together.
In the end, a mature judge does not simply say, “I see no fruit.” A mature judge says, “I see something, but I do not yet see everything. Lord, show me what is true.” Because only God sees the root, and where the root remains, there is still hope, still life, and still the hidden work of God unfolding.