Stop Swallowing Spiritual Poison

You’re being fed lies. The scary part? You might have gotten so used to it, you actually like the taste.

We live in a world of spiritual junk food—teachings that claim and promise all sorts of things but deliver emptiness. Claims about God, about you, about events, about love that sound reasonable until you try living them and realize they’re hollow.

The worst part isn’t that false teachings exist. It’s that many have never learned to spot them before they damage us.

Think about the last time you believed something deeply—something that shaped how you saw yourself or God—only to realize months later it was completely wrong. Now imagine how many times that’s happened without you even noticing.

Here’s what the saints figured out: Discernment isn’t complicated. It’s just a skill that requires work and diligence to strengthen. Discover how four Catholic saints learned to separate truth from deception, why slowing down is a spiritual practice, and eight concrete moves you can start today.

This isn’t about becoming paranoid or cynical. It’s about reclaiming your spiritual common sense.

LISTEN TO THE EPISODE 17

The Discernment Diet

Introduction: Spiritual Poisoning Is Real

How many things have you believed this year that you later discovered weren’t true? Not small things—not preferences or opinions—but actual things you thought were real. Things you made decisions based on. Things that shaped how you saw yourself, other people, and God.

Maybe it was something a trusted person told you that turned out to be manipulation. Maybe it was a teaching that sounded profound until you actually lived it and realized it was hollow. Maybe it was a claim about your own worth that you believed for years before recognizing it as a lie you’d internalized.

That’s what we’re going to talk about today. How to recognize when you’ve been fed something toxic—and how to develop the spiritual discernment to avoid it in the first place.

Why We Need to Learn to Taste

We teach kids to chew their food. We teach them to eat slowly. We teach them to notice when something doesn’t taste right. But knowing how to taste spiritually—how to notice when a claim has a toxic aftertaste, how to recognize the difference between nourishment and poison—isn’t the same as actually doing it.

So you consume. You swallow. And sometimes, hours or days or years later, you realize: This was poison. This was never real. This was never good for me.

The real problem isn’t intelligence or spiritual sensitivity. It’s consistency. The Church teaches us how to taste for spiritual poison through our formation. But we don’t always practice what we know. We get lazy. We get trusting. We get careless. And that’s when the poison slips through.

Here’s what the Church also teaches: discernment is not just personal intuition. It’s the work of the Holy Spirit in us—but you have a role to play. You have to do the actual work. The Holy Spirit has given you the gifts of wisdom and counsel. Your job is to develop the virtue of prudence—the practical wisdom to recognize good from evil.

This talk is about learning to taste before you swallow. Learning to develop a spiritual palate so refined that you can recognize poison before it damages you.

Because here’s the thing: Your soul knows the difference. You just have to learn to listen to it.

What Jesus Actually Said About Tasting Truth

Jesus didn’t give us a complicated flowchart for discernment. He gave us something that sounds almost too simple. But here’s what we need to understand: Jesus speaks to us through three channels—Scripture, the living Tradition of the Church, and the teaching office of the Church, the Magisterium. When we taste for truth, we’re not tasting in isolation. We’re tasting in light of what the Church has understood and preserved about Christ’s teaching.

Taste and See

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.” (Psalm 34:8)

Taste. Not analyze. Not debate. Not overthink.

There’s something your body knows that your brain sometimes refuses to acknowledge. When you put something in your mouth, you know immediately if it’s good or if it’s rotten. You don’t have to think about it. You don’t have to consult an expert. Your taste buds tell you the truth.

Jesus is saying: Truth works the same way. When you encounter it, something in you recognizes it—not because you’ve reasoned it out, but because you’ve tasted it.

Judge by the Fruit

“By their fruits you will know them.” (Matthew 7:16)

Here’s where Jesus gets practical. He’s not asking you to evaluate teachings based on how eloquent they are. He’s asking you to look at what they produce.

A good tree produces good fruit. A bad tree produces bad fruit. You don’t need to understand the tree’s root system. You don’t need to debate its botanical classification. You just need to look at the fruit and ask: Is this nourishing or poisonous? Is this life-giving or life-draining?

Your conscience—that inner voice that recognizes good from evil—is actually the voice of God speaking to you. But here’s the crucial part: conscience must be informed. It must be educated by Scripture, Tradition, and the Church’s teaching. A poorly formed conscience can mistake poison for food.

The Spirit Testifies Within You

“The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit.” (Romans 8:16)

You have something inside you that recognizes truth. Not your intellect. Not your emotions. But your spirit—the deepest part of who you are.

When truth encounters your spirit, something resonates. Something says yes. Something recognizes home.

When poison encounters your spirit, something recoils. Something says no. Something recognizes danger.

You’ve experienced this. You’ve been in a conversation where someone said something that sounded reasonable, but something inside you screamed, “No. That’s not right.” You couldn’t always articulate why. But you tasted it. And your spirit testified against it.

Here’s what matters: The Holy Spirit works through the Church, not against it. When your spirit testifies to truth, it’s recognizing something that aligns with the deposit of faith that the Church guards. Your inner witness and the Church’s witness should be in harmony, not in conflict. If they’re in conflict, that’s a sign you need to slow down and taste more carefully—perhaps with a spiritual director.

Test Everything

“Test everything; hold fast what is good.” (1 Thessalonians 5:21)

Here’s the radical permission: You’re supposed to test. You’re not supposed to blindly swallow. You’re supposed to taste, evaluate, and then—once you’ve determined it’s good—feast on it without second-guessing.

But most of us do the opposite. We either swallow everything without testing, or we taste everything but never commit to anything. We’re always skeptical. Always questioning. Never nourished.

Jesus is saying: Taste. Test. Then trust.

Saints Who Learned to Taste Poison

Mapping the Flavor of Deception

St. Ignatius of Loyola spent years as a soldier. Then he got injured. During his recovery, he had nothing to do but read spiritual books.

And he noticed something strange.

When he read about Jesus, about the saints, about genuine spiritual transformation—he felt energized. Peaceful. Drawn toward something good. His imagination fired up. He wanted to become better.

But when he read about worldly success, about conquest, about personal glory—he felt a different kind of excitement. It was thrilling at first. But it left him empty. Agitated. Restless.

Ignatius realized: These feel different. One tastes like life. One tastes like death.

So he started mapping the difference. He called one “consolation”—the taste of truth, of God’s presence, of movement toward genuine good. And he called the other “desolation”—the taste of emptiness, of separation from God, of movement toward false good.

Here’s what Ignatius discovered: Deception always has a particular flavor. It might taste sweet at first. But if you wait, if you pay attention, you’ll notice the aftertaste. The hollowness underneath. The way it leaves you wanting more, never satisfied.

Truth, on the other hand, has a different flavor. It might taste challenging. It might be hard to swallow. But it nourishes. It satisfies. It leaves you at peace.

Ignatius wrote: “The enemy of human nature behaves like a false lover. He tries to remain hidden.”

In other words: Deception hides from scrutiny. It doesn’t want you to taste it too carefully. It wants you to swallow quickly and move on.

But truth? Truth invites tasting. Truth welcomes examination. Truth gets better the more carefully you taste it.

Here’s what made Ignatius trustworthy: He didn’t trust his own tasting alone. He brought his observations to the Church. He submitted his method to ecclesiastical authority. He understood that personal discernment—even when it’s accurate—must be tested within the community and teaching of the Church. His Spiritual Exercises became a gift to the whole Church because Ignatius tasted within the Church’s framework, not outside it.

Tasting Her Way to Authority

St. Catherine of Siena lived in the 1300s in a world of competing authorities. The Pope was in Rome. An anti-Pope was in Avignon. Bishops contradicted each other. Theologians debated endlessly. Everyone claimed to speak for God.

And Catherine—a woman with no formal education, no credentials, no authority—learned to navigate this chaos by tasting.

She didn’t try to win theological arguments. She didn’t try to out-credential the credentialed. When someone came to her with a teaching, she would ask:

• • Does this align with what Jesus taught?
  • Does this produce love or division?
  • Does this call people toward holiness or away from it?
  • Does this taste like the God I know?

Because she asked these questions with genuine humility—not trying to be right, but trying to be true—she developed an almost supernatural ability to recognize authenticity.

Popes listened to her. Bishops sought her counsel. Theologians deferred to her wisdom.

Not because she was clever. But because she was honest. She tasted. She tested. She refused to swallow poison, no matter how many credentials it came with.

Catherine wrote: “If you are what you should be, you will set the whole world ablaze.”

Not through argument. Not through position. But through authenticity. Through living what’s true so clearly that people can taste it in your presence.

Notice what Catherine did: She didn’t set herself up as a judge above the Church. She submitted her discernment to the Church’s authority. When she counseled popes, she did so in obedience, not in rebellion. She tested claims against Scripture and against fruit, yes—but always in light of what the Church taught. Catherine’s authority came not from her independent judgment, but from her alignment with the Church’s wisdom.

The Woman Who Didn’t Trust Her Own Mouth

St. Theresa of Ávila had mystical experiences. Visions. Moments of profound spiritual encounter that felt absolutely real and absolutely divine.

And she was terrified of them.

Why? Because she knew something crucial: Your own mouth can deceive you. Your own senses can lie. What tastes like God to you might actually be your imagination. Or worse, it might be poison dressed up as sweetness.

So Teresa did something radical: She didn’t trust her own tasting. She brought her experiences to her spiritual director. She tested them against Scripture. She asked: Do these visions produce the fruits of the Spirit? Do they call me toward greater love of God and neighbor? Do they humble me or inflate me? Do they align with the teaching of the Church?

Only after multiple people had tasted alongside her did she trust what she was experiencing.

Here’s what should revolutionize your approach to discernment: You need other mouths. Other palates. Other people who can taste what you’re tasting and say, “Yes, that’s real,” or “No, that’s poison.”

You can’t do this alone. Your own biases, your own desires, your own blind spots will deceive you. But in community, with people who love you and aren’t invested in you believing a particular thing, you taste much more clearly.

Teresa wrote: “God has no body on earth but yours. No hands but yours. No mouth but yours.”

But she also lived as if: God has no discernment but community’s. No wisdom but the gathered wisdom of humble people seeking truth together.

Notice what she did: She didn’t dismiss her experiences. She brought them to her spiritual director. She tested them against Scripture and the Church’s teaching. She understood that the gifts of the Holy Spirit—even mystical gifts—must be discerned within the Church’s framework. Your personal experience, no matter how profound, must be tasted alongside the Church’s lived wisdom.

Here’s the revolutionary part: Teresa didn’t trust her own discernment, but she trusted the process the Church provided. Spiritual direction. Community. The sacraments. Scripture and Tradition. When these all pointed the same direction, she could trust what she was experiencing.

Knowing Poison Can Taste Sweet

St. John of the Cross spent his whole life distinguishing between what feels good and what is good.

He understood something that most people miss: Poison can taste delicious. A lie can feel wonderful. A counterfeit can be more appealing than the real thing.

So John’s approach to discernment wasn’t: “How does this make me feel?” It was: “What does this produce over time?”

A teaching might feel amazing because it flatters your ego, because it promises easy answers, because it tells you what you want to hear. That doesn’t make it true. That might make it poison.

A teaching might feel hard because it challenges your sin, because it calls you to sacrifice, because it tells you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear. That doesn’t make it false. That might make it medicine.

John wrote: “The soul that is attached to anything, however much good there may be in it, will not arrive at the liberty of divine union.”

In other words: Even good things can be poison if you’re clinging to them instead of to God.

So John’s practice was: Taste it. Live with it. Give it time. See what it produces in your soul. Does it make you more free or more enslaved? More loving or more self-protective? More alive or more dead?

That’s how you recognize poison. Not by how it tastes immediately. But by what it does to you over time.

But here’s what made John’s discernment trustworthy: He was operating within the Church. He was a friar. He submitted to authority. He tested his own understanding against Scripture and Tradition. The Church later recognized his wisdom by naming him a Doctor of the Church—not because he trusted his own taste, but because his taste had been refined and tested within the Church’s community. His teaching is now a gift to all Catholics because it was discerned, tested, and affirmed by the Church.

The Discernment Diet: How to Taste Before You Swallow

1. Notice Your Gag Reflex

Your body has an automatic response to poison. When something toxic enters your mouth, your body says no before your brain can analyze it.

Your spirit has the same response.

When you encounter a claim that contradicts what you know about God, about love, about truth—something in you recoils. This is the Holy Spirit witnessing to truth within you.

But here’s the caution: A conscience can be poorly formed. So don’t stop at the recoil. Use it as a signal to investigate further. Ask: Why is my spirit saying no? Is it because this contradicts what the Church teaches? Is it because this contradicts Scripture? Or is it because this challenges my ego?

Too many of us have learned to ignore that response. We’ve been told we’re being closed-minded. We’ve been told we need to be more open. We’ve been told that if we can’t articulate why something feels wrong, we shouldn’t trust that feeling.

But your gag reflex is wisdom. Your spirit’s “no” is information. It’s telling you something.

Your first practice: When you encounter a claim and something in you recoils, pause. Don’t immediately dismiss the feeling. Don’t immediately defend the claim. Just notice: My spirit is saying no. That’s data. That’s worth paying attention to.

You might later discover why your spirit said no. You might find the logical argument that explains your instinctive response. But even if you never do, that initial recoil is real information.

Trust it.

2. Slow Down and Actually Chew

We live in a culture of rapid consumption. You scroll. You skim. You swallow without chewing.

And then you wonder why you have spiritual indigestion.

Taste requires slowness. It requires you to actually spend time with something. To notice its complexity. To let it sit on your tongue. To experience it fully before you decide whether to swallow or spit it out.

Your practice: When you encounter a major claim, don’t immediately accept or reject it. Sit with it. Live with it for a while. Read it slowly. Pray about it. Talk about it with someone you trust. Let it reveal itself over time.

Notice what happens when you slow down. Notice how much more clearly you can taste.

This is why the Church gives us spiritual direction. A spiritual director helps you slow down. Helps you taste carefully. Helps you distinguish between the voice of God and the voice of your own desires. You’re not meant to do this alone.

3. Compare It to Something You Know Is True

A sommelier doesn’t taste wine in isolation. A sommelier tastes wine in comparison to other wines. She knows what a good Bordeaux tastes like. So when she encounters a new wine, she can immediately recognize whether it’s authentic or counterfeit.

You need the same reference point.

For you, that reference point is Jesus as understood through Scripture, Tradition, and the teaching of the Church. When you encounter a claim, ask:

• • Does this reflect Jesus’s character as revealed in Scripture?
  • Does this align with what the Church teaches?
  • Does the Catechism address this? What does it say?
  • Does this call people toward the Church or away from it?

If a claim contradicts Jesus, it’s poison. If a claim obscures Jesus, it’s poison. If a claim promises something Jesus never promised, it’s poison.

Your practice: Before you accept a major claim, ask yourself: How would Jesus respond to this? What would He say? Would He affirm this teaching or challenge it?

Notice how quickly that clarifies things.

The Catechism is not a limitation on your discernment. It’s a refined palate. It represents the Church’s 2,000-year taste-test of what’s true. Use it.

4. Look at What People Are Eating

You can tell everything about a diet by looking at the person living it. Someone eating junk food is sluggish, sick, tired. Someone eating well moves with energy and clarity. Their body tells the story.

Same with spiritual teaching. The poison is slower, which makes it more dangerous.

A toxic teaching doesn’t kill you immediately. It kills you over years. So look at the people who’ve been consuming it for a decade. Are they more loving or less? More free or more enslaved? More alive or more dead inside?

Don’t listen to the promise. Look at the person.

Your practice: Find someone who’s lived this teaching for ten years. Spend time with them. Notice their peace. Notice their freedom. Notice whether they’re becoming more human or less. Then ask: Do I want to become like that?

That’s your answer.

Pay special attention: Are they growing in virtue? Are they more charitable, more patient, more humble? Are they more connected to the sacraments, to prayer, to the Church? Or are they becoming isolated, defensive, certain they alone have the truth? The fruits of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Poison produces the opposite.

5. Bring It to Someone Else’s Mouth

Your own palate can deceive you. Your own taste buds can be compromised. Your own mouth might be so used to eating poison that poison tastes normal.

But someone else’s mouth? Someone else might immediately recognize what you’re blind to.

This is why you need a spiritual director. This is why you need a mentor. This is why you need community.

Your practice: Identify one or two people in your life who are genuinely wise. People who help you see clearly. People who ask good questions. People who aren’t afraid to tell you the truth, even if it’s hard.

When you encounter a confusing claim, bring it to them. Taste it together. Notice how much more clearly you discern when you’re not alone.

Specifically, bring it to a spiritual director. The Church provides this gift precisely for this reason. A spiritual director isn’t there to tell you what to think. They’re there to help you taste more clearly. To ask questions. To help you distinguish between the voice of God and the voice of your own desires. To connect your personal discernment to the Church’s wisdom.

If you don’t have a spiritual director, find one. This is not optional for serious discernment.

6. Notice the Aftertaste

Some poisons taste great initially. They’re sweet. They’re appealing. But the aftertaste is unmistakable. Hours later, you’re still tasting something bitter. Something wrong.

Truth is the opposite. It might taste challenging initially. It might be hard to swallow. But the aftertaste is nourishing. Hours later, you’re still tasting something good. Something right. Something that’s settling into your soul and making you stronger.

So don’t judge a claim by your initial reaction. Judge it by the aftertaste. By what lingers. By what you’re tasting hours and days and weeks later.

Your practice: When you encounter a teaching, notice your immediate reaction. But then—give it time. Live with it. Notice what you’re tasting a week later. A month later. Does it still taste true? Does it still nourish? Or does the aftertaste reveal something toxic underneath?

Trust the aftertaste. It tells you the truth.

Pay special attention to this: Does this teaching draw you deeper into the sacramental life? Does it make you want to receive the Eucharist more frequently, to go to Confession more often? Or does it make you suspicious of the sacraments? Does it draw you toward obedience to the Church, or toward independence from it? The fruits of authentic spiritual teaching always lead you closer to Christ in the Church.

7. Know When to Spit It Out

Here’s permission you might need: It’s okay to spit it out.

If you taste poison, you don’t have to swallow. You don’t have to be polite about it. You don’t have to worry about offending the person who served it to you.

You spit it out. You rinse your mouth. You move on.

We’ve been taught to be so gracious, so open-minded, so accepting that we swallow things that are poisoning us. We don’t want to seem closed-minded. We don’t want to offend. We don’t want to be judgmental.

But Jesus was incredibly clear about poison. He called it out. He warned people. He said some teachings would destroy you.

Your practice: When you taste poison, spit it out. Don’t apologize. Don’t overthink it. Don’t try to find the good in it. Just recognize: This is poison. This is not for me. And move on.

Your spiritual health is more important than your politeness.

But here’s the Catholic nuance: When you spit something out, ask yourself: Am I rejecting this because it contradicts the Church’s teaching? Or am I rejecting it because it challenges my sin? There’s a difference. Sometimes the poison tastes bad because it’s calling you to conversion. Don’t spit that out. That’s medicine.

8. Know What Not to Taste

But there’s one more thing about discernment that’s equally important: Sometimes the wisest choice is not to taste at all.

We live in a culture that tells us to try everything, explore everything, question everything. But not all knowledge is meant for us. Not all doors are meant to be opened.

‘For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.’ (Luke 8:17)

God reveals what we need to know in His own time, for our own good. And He conceals what would harm us if we knew it too soon.

Think about Adam and Eve. The forbidden fruit wasn’t poison. It was knowledge they weren’t ready for. It promised enlightenment but delivered brokenness. They satisfied their idle curiosity and lost everything.

There are teachings, ideas, and rabbit holes that will do the same thing to your soul. They appeal to your desire to understand, to know secrets, to be enlightened. But tasting them doesn’t make you wiser. It makes you confused. It makes you vulnerable. It makes you separated from God.

So here’s your practice: When you encounter something that feels forbidden, that promises hidden knowledge, that appeals to your curiosity more than your need—ask yourself: Am I pursuing this because I genuinely need to understand it for my spiritual health? Or is it just idle curiousity?

If it’s the latter, don’t taste. Don’t open that door. Don’t pursue that knowledge.

‘For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.’ (Habakkuk 2:3)

God will reveal what you need to know when you need to know it. Trust His timing. Protect your soul from knowledge that would poison it.

Sometimes the most refined palate is one that knows what not to consume. Sometimes the wisest discernment is saying no.

The Danger of Eating Poison Without Knowing It

Consider this stark truth: Most people are eating poison and don’t even realize it.

They’ve been eating it so long that it tastes normal. They’ve been eating it in community, so they think it’s good because others are eating it too. They’ve been eating it from “trusted” sources, so they assume it’s safe.

But here’s the specific danger for Catholics: They’ve been eating teachings that contradict what the Church teaches—and they don’t even realize it. They’ve been listening to voices outside the Church’s wisdom. They’ve abandoned spiritual direction. They’ve stopped going to Confession. They’ve become their own magisterium.

And they don’t even realize that they’re eating poison.

So let me ask you: What have you been swallowing without tasting? What claims have you accepted without testing? What teachings have you internalized without asking whether they’re actually true?

Maybe it’s something about your own worth. Maybe it’s something about God’s character. Maybe it’s something about what love looks like. Maybe it’s something about what success means. Maybe it’s something about what you’re supposed to be.

Taste it. Actually taste it. Ask: Is this true? Does this nourish me? Does this produce fruit in my life? Or is this poison that I’ve been swallowing because I didn’t know how to taste?

Final Thoughts

You’re not broken. Your discernment isn’t dead. Maybe you’ve just been swallowing without tasting. You’ve been eating without noticing. You’ve been consuming without paying attention.

But here’s what the saints understood that we need to recover: Discernment is not a solitary act. It’s a practice done within the Church, with the Church, through the Church. The Holy Spirit works through the Church. The gifts of wisdom and counsel are given to help you recognize truth. And the virtue of prudence—practical wisdom—is developed through community, through sacraments, through spiritual direction, through submission to the Church’s teaching.

Start today. Slow down. Taste before you swallow. Notice your gag reflex. Compare claims to Jesus as the Church understands Him. Look at the fruit. Bring it to a spiritual director. Notice the aftertaste. Spit out poison. But do all of this within the Church’s framework, not outside it.

Over time, your palate will refine. Your discernment will sharpen. And you’ll recognize something crucial: Your refined taste is not separate from the Church’s wisdom. It’s an expression of it. The Holy Spirit is witnessing in you to what the Church has always taught.

And you’ll help others learn to taste as well.

Because in a world drowning in poison, people need someone who can taste. Someone who can say, “This is true. This is false. This nourishes. This destroys.”

You can be that person.

May God grant you a refined palate for truth, the courage to spit out poison, the humility to taste with others, and the freedom that comes from actually knowing what’s real.

ACTION ITEMS

5 THINGS YOU CAN START DOING NOW

1. Pause Before You Swallow. Today, when you encounter a claim—whether it’s from social media, a podcast, a friend, or even a homily—stop. Don’t immediately accept or reject it. Just pause and ask: “Does this sit right with me?” That gut reaction is data. Write it down if you need to.

2. Find One Person to Taste With. Identify one person in your life who’s genuinely wise—someone who loves you but isn’t afraid to tell you hard truths. Text them today. Ask if they’d be willing to be a sounding board when you’re unsure about something. You’re not meant to figure this out alone.

3. Ask the Jesus Question. When you’re evaluating a teaching, ask one simple question: “Did Jesus say this?” Not “Does this feel good?” Not “Does this make sense?” Just: Would Jesus affirm this, challenge this, or reject this entirely? Let that answer guide you.

4. Look at the Fruit, Not the Promise. Find someone who’s been living a particular teaching for five or ten years. Spend time with them. Notice: Are they more at peace or more anxious? More loving or more defensive? More connected to the Church or more isolated? The person tells you everything about the teaching.

5. Schedule a Spiritual Direction Appointment. If you don’t have a spiritual director, find one this week. Not next month. This week. One conversation with someone trained in discernment will change how you evaluate everything else. This is the most important action on this list.