Acceptance Is Not Approval

And Confusing Them Is Wrecking Us

“I will ACCEPT you, saith the Lord GOD.”
— Ezekiel 43:27

Somewhere along the way, a quiet lie slipped into the church and made itself comfortable:

“If I accept you while you’re in sin, I must be approving of your sin.”

So parents cut off kids. Siblings ghost each other. Churches treat people like radioactive material. All to protect “holiness” that looks suspiciously like relational self-protection.

The tragedy? God Himself doesn’t relate to us that way.

He says, “I will accept you.” Not because we’re spotless, but because He is. Because the whole story of Scripture is God walking toward sinners, not flinching away from them.

This essay is about that razor-thin line we’ve blurred: the difference between acceptance and approval—and what happens to our hearts when we confuse the two.

The Hard-Heart Club: Pharaoh, Saul, Haman… and Us

Watch this pattern:

• Pharaoh felt disrespected when Moses didn’t play by his ego rules. He hardened his heart.
• Saul felt betrayed when David’s favor exposed his insecurity. He hardened his heart.
• Haman felt robbed when Mordecai wouldn’t bow. He hardened his heart.

Different stories, same script:

“They didn’t treat me the way I think I deserve. So I will close my heart and call it righteousness.”

When we refuse to accept someone unless they meet our standards, we’re not defending God’s honor; we’re defending our own image.

That’s not holiness. That’s spiritualized ego.

I’ve done this. I have hardened my heart toward people in the name of “conviction,” convinced I was standing for truth—when really, I was just refusing to let God love them through me.

Here’s the uncomfortable reality:

Refusing to accept a person is not primarily an insult to them. It’s an insult to God’s grace.

It’s telling Him, “You can accept sinners on Your terms, but I will only accept them on mine.”

“Another Person’s Sin Can’t Spiritually Hurt Me”

We act like someone else’s sin is contagious—that if we get too close, we’ll be guilty by association.

But spiritually speaking, another person’s sin has no power to damage my standing with God.

• Their addiction doesn’t stain my righteousness in Christ.
• Their sexuality doesn’t rewrite my identity in Christ.
• Their rebellion doesn’t infect my obedience.

My danger is not what they’re doing. My danger is how I choose to respond.

When I withdraw acceptance to prove I “disapprove,” I’m not protecting the gospel. I’m distorting it. I’m saying:

“First, repent enough to make me comfortable. Then I might consider reflecting Jesus toward you.”

That’s not the pattern of Christ. That’s the pattern of the Pharisees—with better branding.

What Acceptance Actually Is (And Isn’t)

Let’s untangle this slowly and clearly. Four angles.

1. Acceptance is facing reality, not endorsing it

Acceptance does not mean approval.
Acceptance means I acknowledge that life is what it is right now—and move forward in truth.

When I accept someone, I’m saying:

“This is where you are today. This is who you are to me. I’m not going to live in denial, pretend you’re someone else, or try to control you so I feel safe.”

I can:

• Accept that my child is living with their partner.
• Accept that my friend is deep in addiction.
• Accept that my sibling has walked away from the faith.

Without for one second saying, “This is good, wise, or holy.”

Refusing to accept reality doesn’t make it more holy; it just makes us more dishonest.

Acceptance is spiritual clear-eyedness: I see what is. I name what is. I stay present anyway.

2. Acceptance means I stop trying to be the Holy Spirit’s unpaid intern

Acceptance means I stop struggling with what is not my responsibility to change.

When we collapse acceptance and approval, we secretly believe:

“If I keep love and closeness on a strict leash, maybe I can pressure you into repentance.”

That’s not discipleship. That’s emotional blackmail dressed in a Bible cover.

Scripture never commands, “Control one another into holiness.”
But it does command, “Love one another,” “Bear one another’s burdens,” “Forbear one another in love.”

So:

• We are called to accept everybody.
• We are not called to approve everything.

That means:

No matter what people do,
or who they do it with,
or how long they keep doing it—
you are still called to love them.

You may need boundaries. You may need wisdom. You may need to say, “I can’t support that choice.” But you are never released from the call to love and accept the person.

When we withhold acceptance as leverage, we’re admitting we don’t trust God’s Spirit to do what only He can do.

We’re saying, “Step aside, Lord. Your kindness might lead them to repentance too slowly. Let me try rejection instead.”

3. Acceptance is trusting God’s competence more than my control

Acceptance means I trust God’s ability to handle things.
Approval says, “This is good.”
Acceptance says, “This is real—and God is not panicking.”

God loves me deeply, yet He does not approve of everything I do. If His love required His approval of all my behavior, I’d be doomed.

So ask yourself:

If God can separate love from approval in how He treats me, why am I unwilling to do the same for others?

When I insist that “accepting” someone means “endorsing” their choices, I’m not being more biblical than God. I’m being less like Him.

Acceptance is me stepping back and saying:

“Lord, You see more clearly than I do. You love better than I do. You can convict more deeply than I can. I won’t confuse my discomfort with Your holiness.”

That’s not compromise. That’s worship.

4. Acceptance is grace and mercy walking arm in arm

Jesus said:

“Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.”
— Matthew 5:7

Mercy isn’t a vibe. It’s a choice to treat someone better than they “deserve” (by our standards) because God treated us better than we deserve (by His standard).

Acceptance is what grace and mercy look like in your body:

• In your posture when they walk into the room.
• In your voice when they tell you their news.
• In your presence when their choices break your heart.

Let’s ask the terrifying question:

What if God chose not to accept me?

Not approve. Accept.
What if He decided, “You’ve crossed the line. I will no longer accept you, listen to you your cries for forgiveness, or give you access to My presence until you fix yourself first”?

The only people that scenario doesn’t shake are those who secretly believe they’re doing pretty well without grace.

The rest of us know:
If God did not accept us in our mess, we would have no hope.

The Older Brother: Patron Saint of “I Don’t Approve”

The Prodigal Son story is not just about the wild kid. It’s also about his older brother—the hard-working, “faithful,” deeply resentful one standing outside the party, arms crossed, theology loaded.

“Lo, these many years do I serve thee… and yet thou never gavest me a kid… but as soon as this thy son was come…” (Luke 15)

Translation:

“I have standards. He doesn’t. How dare you accept him without consulting my sense of justice.”

The father’s response?

He doesn’t say, “You’re right, let’s cancel the party until we’re sure he’s really repented.”
He says, essentially:

“Son, you are always with me. Everything I have is yours. But if my acceptance of your brother feels like a threat to you, the problem is not my mercy. It’s your heart.”

Here’s the gut-check:

When God throws His arms around someone whose sin disgusts or scares you, do you feel more like the Father—or more like the older brother?

If we keep equating acceptance with approval, we will keep choosing the porch over the party. We will stand outside grace, congratulating ourselves for our “faithfulness,” while God rejoices over people we refused to welcome.

The Cost of Staying Confused

If you don’t learn the difference between acceptance and approval, here’s what will quietly happen:

• You will mistake hardness for holiness.
• You will call fear “discernment.”
• You will lose relationships you were called to steward, not control.
• You will teach the watching world that God’s love is as small as your comfort zone.

And perhaps most dangerously:

You will train your own heart to resist the very mercy you depend on.

Because the measure you use on others always creeps back on you. When you refuse to accept people who are not yet “fixed,” you will slowly lose the ability to believe God still welcomes you in your unfixed places.

That’s not a distant possibility. That’s a slow-burn disaster already happening in churches and families everywhere.

So What Does Love Actually Do?

Let’s strip away the fog.

Love is not saying, “I approve of everything you do.”
Love is saying, “I accept you in spite of the unacceptable things you do.”

It’s not saying, “I accept what you do,” but “I meet you where you are, and I love you right here.” Acceptance is not the destination; it’s the starting line where redemption begins its deepest work.

Love doesn’t lie about sin. Love doesn’t rename darkness as light. But love also doesn’t weaponize distance to prove a point.

Real love looks someone in the eyes and says:

“I don’t agree with you. I do not believe this choice is good for you. But I am not abandoning you. I am not withdrawing my affection to manipulate you. I’m staying. I’m listening. I’m here.”

That’s what God has done with us. That’s what He calls us to reflect.

Questions You Can’t Ignore Forever

Let’s land this in your real life—not the hypothetical metaverse.

1. Who is the person you have refused to accept because you’re terrified it would look like approval?
   The one whose name is in your throat right now? That’s probably them.

2. What would it look like to accept them without rewriting your convictions?
   A phone call? A text? A meal? An apology? An act of kindness?

3. What are you protecting—God’s holiness, or your reputation as “the one who never compromises”?

4. If God treated you with the same level of acceptance you’re offering them, would you feel safe drawing near to Him today?

God’s word is not vague:

“I will ACCEPT you, saith the Lord GOD.”

If the Holy One can separate acceptance from approval, then so can we.

Not because sin is small—
but because His grace is bigger.

And because mercy, once received, was never meant to be hoarded. It was meant to move through you to the very people you’re most afraid to stand next to.

That’s where the heart of the Father is. The only real question is whether your heart is willing to go there too.