When We Mistake the Unfamiliar for Evil

There is a troubling habit among people who sincerely believe they are defending God: the tendency to interpret what they do not understand as something that must be opposed in His name.

An unfamiliar idea becomes suspicious. An unfamiliar language becomes dangerous. An unfamiliar expression of faith becomes evidence of spiritual deception.

And before anyone has taken the time to understand what is being said, a verdict has already been delivered.

It is called New Age. It is called pagan. It is called demonic.

Sometimes, the accusations go further still.

But on what grounds?

When did unfamiliarity become evidence of evil? When did personal discomfort become spiritual discernment? And when did we begin confusing the certainty of our convictions with proof of their correctness?

These are not small questions. They concern the way we treat one another, the way we interpret the world, and the responsibility we carry when we speak in the name of God.

The danger of claiming to see what we have not examined

There is a difference between discernment and suspicion.

Discernment asks questions. It examines evidence, considers context, tests claims, and remains willing to distinguish between what is known and what is merely believed.

Suspicion begins with fear and searches for confirmation.

The distinction becomes especially important when someone claims spiritual authority for their conclusions. To say that the Holy Spirit has revealed something to us is a serious claim. It should make us more conscious of our responsibility to speak truthfully, not less willing to examine our assumptions.

A person's sincerity does not guarantee the accuracy of their interpretation. Nor does the intensity of a spiritual conviction establish that its source has been correctly understood.

Scripture itself calls for discernment. First John 4:1 instructs believers to test the spirits rather than believe every spirit. First Thessalonians 5:21 says to test everything and hold fast to what is good.

Testing is not the enemy of faith.

It is part of the responsibility of faith.

If we believe that truth matters, we cannot be afraid of examining our own conclusions.

Jesus was not always recognised by the people who believed they understood God

The Gospels present us with an uncomfortable reality: religious familiarity did not guarantee recognition of Jesus.

He challenged assumptions. He questioned the conduct of religious authorities. He crossed social boundaries and directed attention towards people whom others overlooked. He exposed the difference between outward displays of righteousness and the condition of the heart.

His words were not always comfortable for those who believed they already knew what God required.

This does not mean that every unconventional idea is Christlike, or that opposition automatically proves someone is following Jesus. Such reasoning would be as careless as the accusations being challenged.

It means something more precise.

The fact that an idea unsettles established expectations is not sufficient evidence that it is contrary to God.

It must be examined for what it actually teaches, what it asks of people, what it produces, and whether its claims can withstand honest scrutiny.

We cannot replace one form of unthinking certainty with another.

David, Moses, and the nature of a life directed towards God

Consider David.

His story is not one of flawless conduct or uncomplicated faith. It is a story of devotion, courage, profound failure, confrontation, and repentance. His relationship with God cannot be understood by examining only the moments that make him admirable. The difficult parts matter, too.

Consider Moses.

He was called into a responsibility that he did not initially feel equipped to carry. His story is one of encounter, obedience, struggle, leadership, and dependence upon God.

Neither story gives us permission to declare that our own ambitions are divinely authorised simply because we feel strongly about them.

But both invite us to take seriously the possibility that a life of faith may involve a purpose that demands more than conventional comfort or the approval of other people.

The appropriate response is neither automatic acceptance nor automatic condemnation.

It is careful examination.

What does the person believe they are being called to do? What is the nature of that work? What does it demand of them? How do they treat others? Are they accountable? Can their claims be questioned? Do their actions reflect the values they profess?

These are more meaningful questions than whether their language, methods, or ideas immediately feel familiar to us.

Radical love is not the same as religious appearance

What does it mean to love Jesus?

It is a question that deserves more than a superficial answer.

For Christians, love for Christ is expressed not merely through the vocabulary of faith but through the life that faith shapes: love of neighbour, humility, truthfulness, mercy, justice, obedience, and a willingness to confront one's own failures.

Jesus says in John 13:35 that His disciples will be recognised by their love for one another.

That is a demanding standard.

It asks us to consider whether our faith changes how we treat people who disagree with us. Whether our conviction makes us more truthful or merely more certain. Whether our desire to defend God leads us towards patience and understanding, or towards accusations we have not adequately examined.

A person can use religious language and still be mistaken about another person's intentions.

A person can speak confidently about spiritual danger while failing to investigate the very thing they are condemning.

And a person can sincerely believe they are protecting someone while causing unnecessary harm through assumptions presented as fact.

The language of faith does not exempt us from the ordinary responsibilities of honesty, fairness, and reason.

If anything, it increases them.

Complexity is not proof of spiritual corruption

We live in a world of complicated systems, institutions, technologies, social structures, and human problems.

Some work requires technical language. Some ideas take time to understand. Some initiatives bring together disciplines that do not ordinarily occupy the same conversation.

Complexity can certainly obscure the truth. It can also be used to manipulate, intimidate, or conceal wrongdoing. We should never romanticise it.

But complexity alone tells us very little about the moral or spiritual character of a project.

The appropriate response to something difficult to understand is to ask for an explanation.

What is its purpose? How does it work? Who benefits? What are its assumptions? What evidence supports its claims? What safeguards exist against misuse?

If the explanation is inadequate, say so. If the evidence is weak, challenge it. If there is misconduct, investigate it.

But do not substitute an accusation for an examination.

Calling something evil does not establish that it is evil. Calling something godly does not establish that it is good.

Both claims deserve scrutiny.

The responsibility of speaking in God's name

There is a particular seriousness attached to telling another person that their work is serving the devil, that they have been deceived, or that they are participating in a spiritual conspiracy.

Such statements can damage trust, create fear, and close the door to meaningful conversation.

They should never be made casually.

If there is concrete evidence of exploitation, coercion, financial misconduct, religious manipulation, or harm, bring that evidence forward. Examine it honestly. Protect those who may be vulnerable.

But when the evidence consists primarily of a person's interpretation, an unfamiliar idea, or an intuition that something feels sinister, intellectual and spiritual humility require us to acknowledge the limits of what we know.

We must be willing to say, I do not understand this yet.

That sentence is not a failure of faith.

It may be the beginning of wisdom.

And if we believe the Holy Spirit guides us into truth, we should have the courage to seek truth even when it requires us to reconsider our own assumptions.

A different starting point

Perhaps the question is not whether every unfamiliar idea should be welcomed.

It should not.

Nor is the answer to abandon discernment, ignore legitimate warnings, or assume that every person who invokes God is acting in good faith.

The question is whether we are willing to examine something before condemning it.

Whether we can distinguish evidence from interpretation, disagreement from danger, and unfamiliarity from wrongdoing.

Whether we can allow another person to explain what they believe, rather than assigning their intentions to them.

And whether our love for God can coexist with the humility to admit that we may not understand everything immediately.

Radical love for Jesus does not require us to stop thinking. It requires us to take truth seriously enough to examine ourselves as rigorously as we examine others.

It asks for more than certainty.

It asks for integrity.

Before declaring that something is not of God, have we taken the time to understand what it actually is?

Have we examined its substance, its purpose, its conduct, and its consequences?

Have we listened to the person whose work we are condemning?

Or have we mistaken our inability to recognise something for evidence that it cannot be good?

We cannot claim to defend truth while refusing to investigate it.

And we cannot claim to act in love while denying another person the fairness of being understood.

Sometimes the most responsible thing a person of faith can say is not, I know what this is.

It is:

I do not yet understand. Let me look more closely.

Because if truth is what we seek, we should not be afraid of the examination.

And if love is what we profess, we should be careful about what we condemn in its name.