More Like Jesus? Start With Mercy.

We begin this post by unravelling how Pentecostal performance culture has reshaped discipleship into a system of conditions. Behind soft language and polished sermons, there is a darker gospel at play. Grace with strings. What is offered is not resurrection. It is a restoration with requirements.

“The way you go is the way you return.”

A phrase like that is unmistakably engineered. It does not disappear. It lingers. It follows your faith journey, quietly deciding who gets to come home and how.

This was not just a sermon illustration. It was a gatekeeping tool. Spoken softly, wrapped in theological polish, it told the listener: If you want to come back, come back the right way.

That is not grace.
That is choreography.

And it is not biblical.

Jesus does not require matching movements. The Prodigal Son did not return rehearsed. He did not mirror his exit. He collapsed into mercy, messy, barefoot, unscripted. The Father did not wait for posture. He ran.

But in performance-based discipleship systems, especially in Pentecostal spaces where outer actions are everything, this phrase becomes a toll gate. The message is clear:

Come back, but only if your repentance looks the way we want.

We call it grace, but it is compliance culture dressed in church clothes.
We say mercy, but we whisper management.

When Hosea says, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (Hosea 6:6), he was not rejecting ritual for the sake of reform. He was declaring war on conditional love. He was confronting leaders who demand spiritual theatre before opening the door. He was tearing down systems that preach restoration but require you to earn it first.

Because grace does not match exit to entry.
It resurrects.
And resurrection does not ask for permission.

Baptism as Gatekeeping

In the Pentecostal world, baptism is a powerful moment. But under pressure, it becomes something else.

A symbol of grace is turned into a threshold for belonging.

“If you want to be more like Jesus, have you been baptised?”
“Maybe you missed the boat.”
“Will you follow Him into the waters?”

It sounds like a challenge.
It feels like encouragement.
But it is spiritually loaded and dangerous.

This is not theology.
This is leverage.

When baptism is framed as the final evidence of “true” discipleship, mercy stops being the fuel for obedience. Obedience becomes the price of mercy.

He calls it:

“The outward sign of inward repentance… the power of this outward expression is so critical.”

This is performance gospel.

You are not just encouraged to be baptised.
You are questioned if you’re not.

He even recounts his own baptism story, placing himself as the obedient example. Then comes the appeal:

“What is preventing you from being baptised? Maybe you’ve missed the boat.”

This is not a pastoral invitation.
This is a spiritual ultimatum.

Let us examine his citation of Matthew 3:15:

“Let it be so now. It is proper for us to do this to fulfil all righteousness.”

In Hebrew thought, the word for righteousness is צְדָקָה – Tzedakah.

But here is the problem. Tzedakah is not merely about legal correctness or outward obedience. It is deeply tied to justice, mercy, and faithfulness, the same trio Jesus invokes in Matthew 23:23:

“You have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy, and faithfulness.”

The speaker reads righteousness as replicating Jesus’ actions; that is, “He was baptised, so you must be too.” But in Jewish thought, Tzedakah is about covenant fidelity, not copy-paste compliance.

To fulfil all righteousness is to honour the heart of God, not mimic the movement.

And what is that heart?

חֶסֶד — Chesed
Unfailing mercy. Covenant love. A love that initiates, not reacts.

What the speaker is doing with baptism fits a known psychological pattern used in high-control religious environments:

These tropes mirror established cultic mechanisms and are referenced from outlines in both the BITE Model and ICSA’s Characteristics of Cultic Groups. Performance-based belonging, coercive shame, and the spiritualisation of obedience rituals are classic hallmarks of high-control religious systems, especially where baptism becomes a gatekeeping act, not a grace response.

The result?
Discipleship is not about union with Christ.
It is about passing the checkpoint.

Let us be clear:

• The thief on the cross was never baptised. Jesus said “Today you will be with me in paradise.”
• Cornelius received the Holy Spirit before being baptised (Acts 10:44–48).
• In Acts 8, Simon believed and was baptised; but Peter rebuked him for a heart that was still bound.

Baptism is not proof of transformation.
Nor is it a ticket to entry.

It is a sign, a gift, a declaration. Not a demand.

What the speaker frames as “obedience to Christ” is really a soft coercion into conformity.

But in the Hebrew tradition, mercy always precedes obedience.
It is not “do, then belong.”
It is “belong, and be changed.”

That is Chesed.
That is Gospel.
That is Jesus, who baptised no one, but welcomed everyone.
Who offered the Kingdom to unwashed hands and unmet expectations.
Who never said, “Maybe you missed the boat.”
He said, “Come.”

Fruitfulness as a Discipleship Metric

On the surface, it sounds like growth. Progress. Movement.

But the language reveals something deeper. A redefinition of discipleship through the lens of output.

The speaker teaches from John 15:

“Remain in me and I will remain in you… you will bear much fruit.”

But then he turns it:

“Are those you are discipling growing closer to Jesus? Are there more of them?”

And just like that, the fruit of the Spirit becomes metrics. Discipleship becomes production. Faithfulness becomes a number.

This is not abiding. This is auditing.

Jesus’ metaphor of the vine is deeply relational. In Greek, the word for “remain” — menō — speaks of communion. Dwelling. Ongoing intimacy. It is about being, not producing.

But the speaker reframes “remain” as perseverance toward output. He calls it:

“The fruit of a disciple is in other disciples.”

Then the question:

“Are you making more of them?”

This turns intimacy into industry. You are not fruitful unless you multiply. You are not faithful unless others can see it.

This is performance gospel wearing a smile.

Hebrew Context: Peri vs. Production

In Hebrew thought, fruit — פְּרִי (peri) — is never separated from the life-source. It is the overflow of being rooted in God’s covenant. You do not grow fruit to prove connection. Fruit grows because you are already connected.

Even in Isaiah’s vineyard parable (Isaiah 5), fruitfulness is not about expansion. It is about covenant faithfulness and justice. When God looked for fruit, He expected mishpat (justice) and tzedakah (righteousness). Not numbers. Not reach. Not retention rates.

But here, the teaching implies:

If you are not making more disciples, your fruit is questionable. Your faithfulness is in doubt.

Which leaves only one conclusion. You are either producing, or you are failing. That is not the Gospel. That is a business model.

This is not the language of Jesus. This is the language of metrics-based spirituality. And it becomes deeply manipulative when used to measure your place in the church, your progress as a disciple, or your worth as a leader.

Jesus never said, “Grow or go.”
He said, “Remain in me.”

Fruit may come. Or it may not look how others expect. But your value is not in what grows from you. It is in who you are rooted in.

Discipleship is not about duplication. It is about communion.

You do not need to prove you are faithful by how many follow you. The truest mark of abiding is not fruit that can be counted. It is a life that cannot be moved.