Good Soil, Not Good Optics: Discerning Who to Disciple

There's a lesson I've had to learn the hard way: just because someone is willing to meet with me doesn't mean they're ready for me to invest deeply in them.

Early on, I didn't know that. I thought an open door was the same thing as a God-ordained assignment. If someone said yes to coffee, I said yes to discipleship. My intentions were good. My discernment was not.

This article isn't about how to disciple someone. It's about who. Because before you ever get to method, you have to answer a harder question: who is actually good soil, and who just looks like it?

Two people, two very different verdicts

Scripture hands us the contrast on a silver platter, and it's easy to miss because we read the stories in isolation instead of side by side.

A woman known in her town for one thing shows up uninvited at a Pharisee's dinner, weeping on Jesus' feet, wiping them with her hair. Messy. Public. Scandalous by every social measure of that room. Jesus doesn't flinch. He commends her love and sends her away forgiven.

Then a rich young ruler jogs up to Jesus with a résumé. Kept the commandments since childhood. Respected. Successful. Everything about him screams "invest here." Jesus loves him — the text says so plainly — and then asks him to sell everything and follow. The man walks away sad, and Jesus lets him walk.

Same Rabbi. Two completely different verdicts. The mess was at his feet. The impressive man was far from surrender. Build your discernment on appearances and you'll get both of these people backwards — scared off by the woman, impressed by the ruler.

The goal isn't information — it's formation

Jesus gives us the finish line: "A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone when he is fully trained will be like his teacher" (Luke 6:40). The test isn't whether someone enjoys Christian content or asks good questions. The test is whether someone is actually being shaped into Christ's likeness in real life. So when I'm discerning who to invest into, I'm asking whether God is doing transforming work — not whether someone has generated interest.

My early mistake: confusing availability with readiness

In 2002 I went to a missions conference and heard a missionary from Belize talk about being spiritual mothers and fathers. I'd only been a believer six months, but something in me came alive. I knew the confusion of the pew — years of sitting in church with no idea what it practically meant to follow Jesus — and I wanted to spare other men that same fog.

So I started meeting with whoever would meet. No discernment, no characteristics — just, did you say yes to coffee? Then I said yes to you.

Some of those yeses became extraordinary stories — men now leading churches, companies, and families as faithful disciples of Jesus. But other relationships didn't go that way. Feedback got received as criticism. Spiritual practice became a commitment the calendar couldn't afford. Excitement arrived fast and left just as fast.

The failures became the path to wisdom, the same way they have in every entrepreneurial venture I've built. Good intentions are a fine starting point. Wisdom is the goal — and wisdom only forms through experience surrendered in humility to the Master.

A biblical grid — not a scoreboard

These aren't meant for auditing other people (Matthew 7:1–5). Hold them loosely, in relationship — not as a checklist you run someone through before deciding they're worth your time.

They abide, not just binge. "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples" (John 8:31). Do they show up after the emotional high wears off?

They obey, not just admire. "By this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments" (1 John 2:3). When Scripture confronts them, do they adjust or explain it away?

Fruit shows up in character over time. Paul names it: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control (Galatians 5:22–23). Don't be impressed by gifting before you've seen fruit.

They love other disciples practically. John insists love shows up in deed and truth, not word (1 John 3:17–18).

They count the cost, and keep counting. "Any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple" (Luke 14:33). When obedience gets expensive, do they lean in or disappear?

They receive correction without defensiveness. The men who grew the most weren't the ones who never failed — they stayed humble when they did.

They grow in direction and pattern, not sinless perfection. The question isn't whether they fail. It's what they do when they fail. A serious apprentice confesses; an unserious one justifies.

They reproduce. Paul tells Timothy to entrust what he's learned to people "who will be able to teach others also" (2 Timothy 2:2).

What this actually looks like

A few years ago I sat across from a guy — new to real discipleship, married, drowning in work. I told him, straight, that his hours were quietly starving his marriage. Most men in that spot get defensive or disappear. He didn't. He asked follow-up questions. He came back the next week and told me he'd moved his schedule and told his wife why. That one exchange showed me obedience, teachability, and cost-counting in the same afternoon — not because he had it together, but because something in him was actually listening. That's the tell. Not polish. Movement.

Same starting line, different starting places

None of these eight marks are about where someone starts — they're about direction. Every person carries a different past, family system, and economic reality. Someone raised in chaos may take years to trust correction that someone raised in stability absorbs in weeks. That's not a disqualifier — it's just their soil. The prostitute at Jesus' feet started somewhere most religious people in that room would have written off. Jesus didn't measure her against the ruler's starting line. He measured what was happening in her right then.

What discernment actually costs

I'm an investor by nature — I see time as something to steward, not spend carelessly. That wiring taught me something uncomfortable: in seasons of drift, I can reduce discipleship to a checkbox. Do I have guys I'm meeting with? Check. Move on. That's not discipleship — that's maintenance.

What corrected this wasn't a new technique. It was admitting my early misses often came from misaligned expectations — I had one set, they had another, and nobody said so out loud. Now I name expectations up front and build in a simple off-ramp for people who aren't ready, without turning it into a rupture.

The desert father Abba Moses gave a young monk three words when asked how to grow: "Go, sit, be still." Discernment works the same way — cultivated in stillness before the Lord, watching for what He's already doing in someone rather than what you wish were true.

The question underneath the question

So when I ask who to invest into, I'm not asking who likes me or who impresses me. I'm asking: who is willing to abide? Who is obeying? Who is becoming more loving and more humble? Who receives correction? Who is counting the cost? Who is growing in direction and pattern? Who will eventually reproduce?

Then I do my part — I show up, serve, tell the truth, stay patient, and let the Holy Spirit do what only He can do.

If you're asking this question at all, that's already a good sign. You're not scanning for the polished résumé or running from the mess. You're looking for good soil — and good soil rarely announces itself. It just keeps growing, however slowly, toward the light.