Why calling people out without calling them in isn’t helping anyone heal
I’ve seen it happen so many times—
A Christian leader stumbles. A story breaks. A confession is posted. Or worse, leaked.And before the dust even settles, the responses start flying:“Unqualified.”
“False teacher.”
“Woke.”
“Prideful.”
“Should’ve known.”We don’t ask, “What happened?”
We ask, “What side are you on?” And we call it accountability. But really—it’s distance.
We’ve mistaken critique for correction.
We’ve confused commentary for courage.
We’ve convinced ourselves that because we typed it publicly, we’ve done something spiritually meaningful. But Jesus didn’t correct from a distance.
Jesus came close. When the woman was caught in adultery, He didn’t post about her compromise.
He knelt beside her. Wrote in the dirt. Spoke words that disarmed shame and dismantled the mob. When Peter denied Him, Jesus didn’t launch a teaching series on loyalty.
He grilled fish over a fire and invited him to breakfast.
That's what Galatians 6:1 points to:
“If someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted.”
Gentleness. Proximity. Humility.
Not spectacle. Not shame. Not superiority.
But let’s be honest—most of the Church has forgotten how to come close. We've mastered the art of preaching the law without knowing the people we're preaching to. And in our growth, in our broadcasting, in our digital discipleship strategies—we’ve started to forget something deeply important: Paul didn’t write letters to the world.
He wrote to people. People he loved.
People he wept with, worked alongside, broke bread with.
Yes, we read them as universal truth now—but they were born in the intimacy of relationship. They were truth-telling rooted in shared history. We've flipped it.
Now we craft “truth” for an audience we don’t know, in tones we’d never use if they were sitting across the table. We declare from pulpits and platforms what we haven’t taken the time to understand in conversation.
We lob “conviction” across the internet and call it discipleship.
But truth without love isn’t truth. And correction without relationship isn’t Christlike.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth:
The way we often present truth isn’t actually truth—it’s our version of it, shaped by our fear, our pride, our experience.
And the grace we think we’re offering?
Too often, it’s laced with conditions, expectations, and control.We say “love the sinner, hate the sin”—but most people only hear the hate.
We say “speak the truth in love”—but most people never feel the love.That should break our hearts.
I’ve experienced both kinds of correction.I’ve been called out publicly by people who didn’t know my story. Didn’t ask. Just decided.
And I’ve also had someone sit across from me, eyes kind and voice steady, and say, “I love you too much to stay silent, but I’m not going anywhere.”Guess which one led to healing?
If we want to call people out of sin, we have to be willing to walk with them through it.
If we want to speak truth, we have to sit long enough to understand what part of it they actually need.Because not every correction is for every person.
And not every truth is fully understood apart from the tenderness of a real relationship. Even Jesus said, “There is more I want to tell you, but you’re not ready for it yet.”
He knew timing.
He knew hearts.
He knew when to speak and when to weep. We don’t need more bold voices shouting at people from a distance.
We need more broken hearts willing to come close.
So if you feel the urge to call someone out—pause. Ask yourself:
Because until we’re ready to stay with someone, we have no business trying to correct them.
The goal isn’t to be right.
It’s to be redemptive. The goal isn’t to call people out.
It’s to call them in—into grace, into growth, into a journey we’re willing to take with them, not just comment on from afar. Because Jesus doesn’t shout at us from a distance.
He walks with us.
And if we want to be His Church, we have to do the same.