If God is all knowing then God knows more about you and me than we know about ourselves.

This is why it is often said that in order to really learn more about ourselves we must to begin to understand more about who God is -because it is only by knowing God that it can be revealed to us who we really are as human beings.

If we follow historically orthodox theology, such reasoning seems to make sense. After all, in the book of Genesis (1:27) we are told that we are made in the Imago Dei, the Image of God. This is not to say that we are the same as God, but it does mean that we are, in some ways, more than just mere appearances, “like” God.

The early disciples of Jesus followed this logic as well, literally, as they sought to learn from Jesus as to how they were to act and be in the world. Understandably then, Christians today often tend to understand themselves as they understand Jesus. For many children, youth, and adults, Jesus is the easiest way for them to understand something about who God is and thus begin to comprehend who they are themselves. Particularly for those who are newly seeking God, or simply ignorant at all about who God is, Jesus becomes the focal point.

Practically speaking, this is one of the reasons that Jesus enters into the world to begin with – to further communicate to us more clearly who God really is.

Countless, books have been written on the subject since very early in the church. Literally, everyday in the ministry that I serve in, at least one person is trying to figure out who they are in relationship to God. So I don’t suppose that in 600 words I might add much to that conversation.

But, while I think that it is of essential importance that we seek to be in relationship to Jesus and know Jesus, I fear that the juvenilization of the Christocentricism of theologians like Karl Barth may have had some negative impact on the Christian mission as well. In some ways, to underplay the other persons of the Trinity -Father and Spirit- I believe, actually minimizes our understanding of who Jesus is relationally.

How then, as person’s seeking revelation about ourselves might we better find understanding through what we believe to be the general attributes of God? How might we understand ourselves in the totality of the Trinity when it comes to being good (Romans 1:22), gracious (1 Peter 2:2-3), or holy (Revelation 4:8)? How do we understand ourselves as persons to be both immanent and transcendent? What aspects of us as persons might be immutable (never changing- James 1:17), incorporeal (being in spirit- John 4:24), or infinite? How might our understanding of how God is jealous (Exodus 20:5-6), of how God is love (1 John 4:16), or even how God is sovereign, apply to us being made in God’s likeness?
I rarely hear people talk about how they are like the Creator God. Additionally, I probably have never heard anyone try to explain how he or she is like the Holy Spirit. But, if God is Trinitarian, and we are like God, then in some ways it is feasible to think that we too are like all of the persons of God.

So relatedly, every week, someone asks me why they should bother reading their Bible, or why they should go to Sunday School, or a small group church study? Per the above, those are questions obviously answered in less than 600 words.

I have found that is important to be positive about what God might do in one’s life.

There is a story in Acts, chapter 9, in the Bible where the Apostle Peter is asked to raise a Christian woman named Tabitha from the dead. This was a feat that, at the time, no disciple of Jesus’ had yet achieved. What is more, not all that long before, this same man, Peter, had publically denied that he was a follower of Jesus’ not once, but three times. Nonetheless, grieved by their faithful friend’s sudden illness and demise, several disciples approach Peter in the hopes that he could somehow do the seemingly impossible. No pressure.

Now it is interesting that other disciples who call upon Peter obviously believe that God could work through him. But you have to think that, even seeing and doing all that he has seen and done in his lifetime, even Peter might be daunted by the task before him.

So, what does Peter do? Well, he doesn’t underestimate what God might do through him. Thus, he proceeds to clear the room as he had seen Jesus do before and then he gets down on his knees and prays. Then he simply says: “Tabitha get up” and amazingly the once dead woman rises – alive. Peter’s faithfulness in simply trying is rewarded in a big way and as such the Bible tells us that, many people in that town (Joppa) come to believe in the Lord.

In my experience, if we simply have faith to try and believe in God– then we too will be blessed and experience good in our lives.

I recently heard an interesting illustration that I think is helpful in regard to how much effort we put into our faith. Apparently, airplanes have among their flight instruments a device called an attitude indicator. From this instrument a pilot can tell whether the wings are level and if the aircraft’s nose is pointing above or below the horizon. When the visibility ahead is uncertain because of poor conditions the pilot can use this device to keep the plane from having a negative attitude and crashing – conversely keeping a positive attitude and maintaining its course or even flying to new heights.

As Christians, I think that our attitude indicator, if you will, also has much to do with how God will use us. So, that being said: What good thing might God have planned for you to do that you have never imagined before now that you could do?

Of course – maintaining a positive attitude all of the time may seem easier said than done. I can understand how is not always easy to believe that God will use us personally to advance his Kingdom.

But there is an allegory that I have heard that I think sheds light on each of our personal situations in this regard. The allegory begins by saying that, after his resurrection, Jesus ascended into heaven and was approached by several angels.
The first angel asks Jesus: “So who will do your work back on earth now that you are away?”
Jesus replies: “My disciples.”
The second angel somewhat concerned asks: “Them? Really?”
Jesus replies: “Yes, them, really.”
Seriously concerned the third angel asks: “Yes, but what if they fail?”
Then Jesus simply replies back to the angels: “They cannot fail.”

Jesus promises his followers that our efforts in the Lord simply will not fail. Christ will use his faithful disciples to redeem creation – so then all we must do is, follow him, keep a positive attitude, and try.

People often ask me how they should talk to others about their faith. I consistently try to remind them that one doesn’t always need to have all of the answers figured out to make a sound case for something. The approach that one takes in a matter is often times as important as the matter itself. Take teaching for example. One can have all of the right answers, but if one doesn’t take an approach that allows the student to hear and absorb what you are teaching – it is likely that they may never learn a thing from you.

In, Apology, the famed work of the Classical Greece philosopher Plato, we are told of the philosophical approach of Plato’s great mentor Socrates. In the tale, Socrates’ comrade Chaerephon goes to the sage Oracle at Delphi to ask if there is anyone in the world who is wiser than Socrates. The oracle responds that there is not. Upon hearing this proclamation, Socrates is confounded by the answer. Seeking clarification he begins to go door to door to investigate the oracle’s claim.

Initially, he approaches a politician who thinks himself wise. When Socrates tries to convince the politician that he isn’t wise, the man becomes indignant. After some conversation, Socrates leaves the man thinking to himself, “I am wiser than this man: neither of us knows anything that is really worth knowing, but he thinks that he has knowledge when he has not, while I, having no knowledge, do not think that
I have. I seem, at any rate, to be a little wiser than he is at this point: I do not think I know what I do not know.”

Over and over in the story Socrates approaches many different people of famed wisdom – poets and artisans alike – asking them each how they are wise. In every circumstance though, the same conclusion is reached – humility proves wiser than hubris every time – for human wisdom is worth little at all.

Several hundred years later, the Apostle Paul would echo this sentiment as he wrote to Christians in the Greek city of Corinth (1 Cor. 3:18). “Do not deceive yourselves. If any of you think you are wise by the standards of this age, you should become ‘fools’ so that you may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight.”

Often times, as human beings, we focus more intently on being “right” instead of simply being humble. We worry far more about what people will think of us in the moment than what we might gain, in the long term, through correction. Systemically, such behavior provides little grace for people to grow as human beings. Instead, we encourage people to act in a way that sets them up for failure and provides them no viable way to gain the tools they need to actually get better. As such, those who actually try to genuinely learn and extend grace to others are often met with criticism, ridicule and – in Socrates case – even death.

Christians in particular, in my experience, do far more on behalf of the Kingdom of God when they drop the pretenses and just tell others about what Jesus has done in their own lives, how they see God moving in the world, or how the Lord has blessing them personally. To be sure, such witness may simply be one’s perception of an occurrence but sometimes, a faithful and humble perception is far more compelling and true than a proud and pretentious “fact”.

In my experience, one of the perspectives that most limits young people from being willing to confess a belief in Christian principles is the perception that – if you become a Christian – you are necessarily in opposition to scientific thought or, more the case, thinking altogether. This is, of course, a relatively modern notion that has been purported by those seeking to capitalize on conflict methodology.

In fact, there really is no reason for Christians to generally be in opposition to scientific/technological development or theories. Most Christians that I know, young and old alike, actually love scientific/technological advancements for the comforts they provide and for the relationships that they can help to solidify. I don’t suspect that most people are willing to give up the comforts of motorized travel, cell phones, social networking or anesthesia for theological reasons.

Conversely, there are some issues that many Christians have become convinced that they should be direly concerned about. The theory of evolution is one of them. Simplistically put, the main disagreement behind such theoretical angst tends to be that both sides of the dispute dislike the arrogance that the other side has in holding their opinions. Whole organizations have been developed and millions of dollars have been spent among disagreeing Christians in order to advocate the particular stance that their camp holds. One might argue that such division helps to advance the Reformed motto: Ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda! (reformed and always reforming) according to the Word of God. Others though might wonder if such conflict promotes unity in the church and if such allocated funds might better be used serving the poor.

Personally, as one who actively works between the realms of science and theology, I have found that talking about evolution as it pertains to the creation of the universe is oftentimes not a productive endeavor. Regardless of one’s personal convictions on the subject, the topic is not Biblically a salvific issue. In my opinion, if such discussion causes conflict in one’s church, then it is sometimes better not to get into our personal interpretations as to how God created everything.

That being said, I don’t think that Christians should be against the theory of evolution. Actually, I think that they should be, and necessarily are, very in favor of it. Allow me to explain.

According to the Bible, after Jesus is resurrected, he appears to his disciples for forty days. And, in addition to being raised from the dead, it seems that Jesus is quite a bit different than he was before his crucifixion.

On one-hand, Scripture tells us that when Jesus is resurrected he indeed has a physical body. He has physical flesh and bones (Luke 24:39). He has touchable wounds (John 20:24-31). Jesus is even regularly hungry (Luke 24:41 & John 21:1-14). On the other hand though, the resurrected Jesus doesn’t seem to be like us at all. He can show up instantaneously in a crowd (Luke 24:36-46) even through locked doors (John 20:19-22). He appears in many different unrecognizable forms (Mark 16:12-13) -even to people who have followed him for years and know him intimately (Luke 24: 13-35). He can even ascend into heaven. In some ways, the resurrected Jesus is just like a pre-resurrected living human being, yet in other ways, he is clearly – instantaneously – an evolved form of Jesus.

If Christians are indeed to, take up their cross and follow Jesus and eventually be resurrected to eternal life, it seems to me that this eschatological evolution should be something that we are all not just in favor of, but striving toward.

Years ago on a Sunday morning, arriving in the parking lot of the Ohio church to which I was called, I remember being excited because, that afternoon, I would be ordained and installed as a pastor. Years of work had culminated toward that event.

As I stepped out of my car though I began to see a billowing plume of smoke coming from a residential area a couple of blocks away. Everything reasonable in me said to just go inside, start Sunday School, and allow things to be business as usual. For some reason though, I got back in my car.

I immediately drove to the vicinity of the site, trying to identify where the now heavy cloud of smoke was originating. As I ventured closer, I could hear the crackling of the fire, feel the heat from its flames. Just as I arrived on the scene the fire department’s ladder truck was also arriving. As hoses were being attached, a courageous fireman started up the ladder as it simultaneously swung towards the upstairs window. Soon he was inside.

At almost the same time, a young boy near me was crying. I asked him his name and through the veil of tears he proceeded to tell me that that was his house on fire and that his mother and sister were still inside. When he had realized that the house was on fire he had run outside to safety, but his family had never come out.

I turned him away from the fire and asked if we could pray together. As the child agreed, held my hands and bowed his head, the fireman emerged with a limp charred child’s body. My heart sank at the sight. In a moment like that what does one say? What prayer could possibly suffice?

I don’t remember specifically what words I prayed but I thanked God for the boy’s safety, assured him that his mother and sister loved him, and asked for God’s care over them. The next moment, the boy’s mother was handed out of the window. It was clear that she and her daughter had both died of smoke inhalation. Stunned, I prayed all I could think to say to the boy: “We thank you God because we know that no-matter what You love us.” The boy looked up with tears in his eyes and said “Thank You.” I hugged him and then local medical authorities whisked him away to be cared for.

Realizing that church was about to start, I drove back to the service where I led prayers of confession, dedication, petition and thanksgiving. All service the events from the morning reeled through my mind and the smell of smoke served as present reminder of the horrors that I had just witnessed.

That afternoon at my ordination, things felt different than I expected. My morning had somehow been an appropriate introduction to ministry. I was left struggling with the tragedy before me. Truth be told, I may never be able to shake the image of that little girl being carried out of that window.
But in the midst of such heartache I was also clearly made aware that, even when unthinkably bad things happen to people, God never abandons us. For in that day, illogical as it would seem, I had blindly been led toward the fires of Hell in order to hold a little boy’s hands, show him care, and assure him that God loved him even when his entire world seemed to be falling apart. For that gift I am, and always will be, grateful to God.

In my personal experience, many folks often mistake “feeling close” to God as being spiritually mature.

In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis uses an “allegory of nearness” to clarify. He says, let’s suppose that we are taking a mountain walk to a village that is our home. At some point in our journey we come upon the top of a cliff where we are, in space, very near to our home because it is just below us. We can see it but, as we are no cragsmen, we can’t get down. We must go a long way round, five miles maybe, in order to reach our destination. In so doing, we may be detoured many times and statistically be farther from our home than we were when we stood upon the cliff. But only statistically. In terms of progress, we will be far nearer to our home than before.

Many times, we see Lewis’ example made manifest in our own lives. It is easy for us to perceive our observation of God as being a sort of spiritual maturity. Often we may go to a conference, or hear a sermon, or even catch a glimpse of sunlight through the trees in just the right way that we see God’s glory. This feeling might inspire us, rejuvenates us, or even give us a feeling of peace. But we are mistaken if we look upon this glory and assume that, like the house below the cliff, we are actually anything more than statistically close to it. As prideful people we must be careful not fool ourselves into believing that we have already faithfully made the journey home when we have simply been watchful observers.

Part of growing in spiritual maturity is having the humility to actually recognize where we are in relational proximity to God and to then seek to advance our progress as appropriate.

In her book, The Joy of Loving, Mother Teresa shares about how she and the Missionaries of Charity once picked up a man from the drain who was half eaten by worms. They then brought him to the Home for the Dying in Kalighat where the man thankfully said, “I have lived like an animal in the street, but I am going to die as an angel, loved and cared for.”

After the missionaries and Mother Teresa had removed the worms from the man’s body, all he said with a big smile was: “Sister, I’m going home to God,” and then he died. The Blessed Teresa of Calcutta reflected later how wonderful it was to see the greatness of a man who could speak like that without blaming anybody, without comparing anything. He had completed his journey. And while he appeared weak to many, he actually had -through God’s grace- an internal satisfaction, known by few.

Certainly, most of us would not even begin to compare ourselves with the level of holiness exuded by the man in the story. For that matter, most of us wouldn’t venture to compare ourselves with Mother Theresa or the even the Missionaries that served so faithfully with her. But, when one reads stories like this it is hard not to reflect and wonder: “How far down the allegorical mountain have I actually journeyed?”

For while most of us will surely never have to face such destitute circumstances as described by Mother Theresa, we are often faced with the reality of the question; “How is it that one can actually begin to draw nearer to God?”

I think the answer may be: by daring to take the next step in the journey.

A week into Lent and you may now be wondering if self-discipline is really all that it’s made out to be. If you are craving the chocolate, fast food, T.V., caffeine, carbs, Facebook, Twitter, or whatever you might have given up until Easter, you have likely already gone through some sort of withdrawal.

Conversely, if you took something on for Lent –like writing a letter everyday to a loved one, exercising, praying more intently, spending more time with others, reading the Bible daily, or getting more involved at church- you might now be wondering exactly what you were thinking when you made such a commitment.

Since the traditional purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer through repentance, prayer, penance, almsgiving and self-denial it might be helpful to have a little perspective in such a time of personal trial.

Acclaimed theologian and former Duke Divinity School professor and dean, Will Willimon, is quick to remind us in his book, Remember Who You Are: Baptism, a model for Christian Life, that in the second century church, Christian commitment meant a bit more that forty-days of P90X or abstention from Starbucks. Actually, in those days, people who wanted to join the Church had to go through a rigorous three-year process before they were admitted as a follower of Jesus.

Back then, Christianity was illegal within the pagan state and adherents faced grim consequences for publically professing their faith. As such, the bar for joining the community of faith was set very high. Many people were outright denied admission to examination for membership because of the immoral or then pagan connotation to their profession. Idolaters, actors, pimps, gladiators, harlots, astrologers, magicians and circus performers (sorry, no Bozo’s allowed!) were sent packing. Soldiers and high government officials were often also rejected unless they took certain vows of allegiance in order to concretely separate themselves from the pagan state. Even artists and teachers were treated as suspect because, back then, they were considered notorious dabblers in pagan myths and fables.

If you happened to be one of the lucky ones who made the cut though, then you would begin the intensive three-year process of instruction and worship. The primary purpose of this time was to learn to become morally disciplined in compliance with the ethical expectations of the church. As a matter of fact, until the process was complete, catechumens were only allowed to attend the first part of the Sunday worship service where Scripture was read and the sermon was preached. They were kindly dismissed before corporate prayer and the Lord’s Supper.

Day after day, month after month, these catechumens, engaged in intense prayer, service, fasting, being anointed with oil, and having ceremonial exorcisms performed over them as a preparation for Baptism, membership into the church, prayer, and then communion. There was no being a cultural Christian back then. The goal was to die to one’s sinful self and live fully in Christ. Either one must be determined to be a whole Christian, or one must be no Christian at all.

I don’t bring Willimon’s research to your attention to imply that we should return to such practices or initiate people into the faith this in way today. I do though think that such a vantage point certainly gives some perspective to our meager forty-days of abstention, service, and/or discipline. Hopefully in knowing that the saints of the Christian tradition were willing to endure so much, often at great cost, to be called followers of Christ, our motivation too will be strengthened and encouraged to see our humble Lenten goals through to Easter.

For more than a decade now I have been running almost exclusively by myself. I have a fairly regular distance that I travel and, wherever I may be living at the time, I run virtually the same route every time. This may sound monotonous to some but I am relatively comfortable with it. As a matter of fact I enjoy it.

Recently though my routine had a proverbial wrench thrown into it. One of our High School Seniors from the church who lives down the street from me asked if I wanted to run with her one Saturday. I agreed. Of course I agreed with conditions. I wanted to run my route, my distance. She, being younger and in superior athletic condition, agreed.

So the running day came. Worried that I might not be able to keep up or worse yet that I might keel over in front of the young lass I had begun mentally preparing myself for the challenge. Surely, at the very minimum, I didn’t want to embarrass myself.

When she showed up I was uneasy but off we ran. To my surprise though her pace was about half the speed of mine. I hadn’t even considered that she is shorter than me and as such her stride is shorter. I soon found myself slowing down so as not to run off from her. As such, my breathing was much calmer than normal and I found that I began to be more concerned about my running partner’s well being than my own. Before I knew it we had gone the agreed upon distance. She then suggested that we go farther. I hadn’t been father in a long time but I felt pretty good so we continued on. By the time we had finished, we had doubled my normal distance and we had exceeded the standard route. Afterwards I felt like I could have tripled or even quadrupled the distance that I had routinely done for the last decade. Next time I run with her I plan to try to do so.

Thinking back on it, my running experience is a lot like going to church. So often as human beings we believe that we can make it on our own. We find ways to manage, and even do “well” in, our lives. We get into a comfortable routine. We plod through the same route over and over pushing ourselves with our own expectations somehow thinking that they will make us our best.

Unfortunately, much like my decade of running by myself, we actually limit ourselves in isolation. We tend to put the emphasis on the wrong things; we set the wrong pace; we judge others and ourselves inappropriately; and, in the end, we are left with a race run short when we actually could have run and experienced so much more.

For many, a community of faith serves as a environment by which we can gauge our progress, better our pace, focus our energies, right our wrongs, live in grace and learn how we can be a better version of what we believe that God calls to be.
Of course, for many, church also comes with a lot of apprehensions: “Can I maintain my privacy?” “Can I keep my constants that keep me undisturbed and comfortable?” “Might I still generally keep my status quo life?”

To all such questions I would answer: “Probably not.”

But, I can assure you, that having someone to run the race with you far exceeds all of the benefits that you think you have when you are trying to run it alone.

The church is certainly not a place for perfect people. Contrary to the beliefs of many, the church is actually a place where self-proclaimed sinners gather to intentionally work at being better than they currently are.

As such, it is the case that when working in ministry, one can definitely expect challenges. People can act badly. Actually, people can act very badly.

Often times, in the midst of such conduct it a minister’s role is to endure some of this bad behavior in the hope of redirecting a person in a positive direction. This though is often far more challenging that it might initially seem.

In my personal experience, the way that a minister handles such adversity often determines how fruitful their ministry will be in the future. If the minister can manage to keep a positive outlook throughout the ordeal, normally those around them will rebound and move in a positive direction. If, on the other-hand, the circumstances of the situation consume the minister to the point where they allow themself to lose such positive perspective, then usually a hailstorm of adversity follows. Add additional disgruntled individuals, forming groups of people, and circumstances often exponentially increase in difficulty and can quickly spiral out of control.

Most people can relate to this in their own lives. How many times have you been around someone who complains and bemoans the negative aspects of something, even if such aspects don’t exist, until the person actually manages to bring their complaints – real or imagined – to fruition? It is a fact that there are people in this world who are consistently antagonistic, who consistently exhibit intimidating or aggressive behavior, and who communicate in ways that are accusatory, blaming, belittling and defensive. These folks tend to engage life through a conflict methodology usually learned honestly through observing the actions of others.

In some ways the conflict method may intuitive to our nature as human beings. Oftentimes our first thought upon being hurt is to fight back, to return insult for insult, injury for injury. Of course along with the constant pursuit of this line of thinking comes the old phrase: “An eye for an eye and everyone ends up blind.” Christians, on the other hand, are called by Christ to see a different way.

Jesus calls persons to disarm bad behavior through love, nurture, patience, service, forgiveness and joy.

Such disarming behavior obviously doesn’t seem to be a unique philosophical point in this stage of human history but, I would contend, that what is still somewhat novel is to actually see such philosophy/theology put into practice. Keeping such a fact consistently in the forefront of our minds can be both beneficial and challenging at the same time.

Thus the question I would ask you to consider is: Does engaging in negativity or a conflict methodology actually benefit a person at all long-term? I believe the answer is unequivocally “no.” As such might not a better approach be to begin to ask ourselves with consistency and intention: “Am I trying to be a positive influence in the world and am I succeeding in that goal?”

I bring this to your attention because in my particular religious tradition, everyone is considered a minister not simply the pastors of the church. Were we all to actively adhere to such a positive call in our lives, I think undoubtedly our world would instantaneously become a much better place.

Sometimes a thing needs to be pruned before it can bloom…

In C.S. Lewis’ classic work of fiction The Great Divorce the reader is introduced to an unsubstantial, dark and oily Ghost who faces such a dilemma. In this dream of the eschatological, the Ghost has what appears to be a little red Lizard perched on his shoulder – whispering unholy things into his ear. What we know of the Ghost is that he is on his way to a holier place and the lizard asked to tag along. The Ghost agreed to bring the little critter with him on the sole condition that he would stop whispering his profane ramblings.

Like most things that we take on that are unholy – the Lizard’s whispers deter the Ghost and convince him to abandon his pursuits of sanctification. But just as the Ghost is about to give in to the Lizard, he encounters a flaming spirit, an Angel. The Angel asks the Ghost if he would like him to silence the Lizard and thus his vulgarities. Initially, the Ghost agrees but, once he finds out that the process may be initially painful, he reconsiders and begins to make a variety of excuses.

The Angel quickly assures him that, while the process might hurt, it won’t kill him. The Angel pledges that, in the end, the Ghost will be better off than he is now. There is one condition though. The Ghost must grant the Angel his permission to purify him.

At this assertion the Lizard begins to wildly attempt to convince the Ghost that he can’t live a worthwhile life without him. Thus the Angel asks the Ghost:
‘Have I your permission?’
‘I know it will kill me.’ Replies the Ghost
‘It won’t. But supposing it did?’ answered the Angel.
The Ghost considering the alternative says; ‘You’re right. It would be better to be dead than to live with this creature.’

With permission, the Angel reaches out and sears the Lizard from the Ghost. The Ghost screams in agony. But, as the Lizard is torn from the Ghost and thrown to the ground, the Ghost begins to solidify into a man and, remarkably, the once meddling little Lizard is transformed into a gallant stallion. After crying tears of joy from his renewal, the new-made man hops onto the horse and once again heads for the holy land.

I don’t know about you but I frequently find myself wrestling with my own versions of lizards on my shoulder. Removing them never seems to be easy. Fortunately, I too have had a few individuals act as angels in my life. In the end though, the decision to try and be better always seems, by God’s grace, to start with me.

The pain of admitting our flaws is often, initially, personally devastating, even painful. Over time though, once we start the process of being refined, our tolerance to such sanctification grows and we become better people than we were before.

George MacDonald once wrote. “There is no heaven with a little bit of hell in it – no plan to retain this or that of the devil in our hearts or our pockets. Out Satan must go, every hair and feather.”

Sometimes it may feel like hell removing the whisperings of the profane from our lives, but in the end, that seemingly fretful process helps to makes us more substantial as human beings and consequently reveals the majestic transcendence of beauty that is to come.