Holy, Holy, Holy

“We must not think of God as highest in an ascending order of beings... God is as high above an archangel as above a caterpillar.”
A. W. Tozer

“On the whole, I do not find Christians... sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke?”
Annie Dillard

“Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance... grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

“The grand difference between a human being and a supreme being is precisely this: apart from God, I cannot exist. Apart from me, God does exist. He does not need me in order for Him to be. I do need Him in order for me to be.”
R. C. Sproul

We like our gods soft these days. Accessible, affirming, approachable—preferably filtered through the lens of modern sentiment. “God is love,” we say, not as a deep theological anchor, but as a gentle, saccharine sigh of relief. He understands. He sees. He smiles. And perhaps, in some imagined corner of heaven, He even shrugs. But what if the God we are so quick to make palatable has, in fact, not changed at all? What if He is still terrifying? What if “God is love” (1 John 4:8) only makes sense because God is holy?

The Unapproachable God
Before there is a cross, before there is a cradle, there is a throne. Before we find mercy, we find fire—fire that is no mere flame but the burning purity and judgment of a holy God (Exodus 3:2, Exodus 19:18, Isaiah 66:15–16, Malachi 3:2–3, Hebrews 12:29). Scripture opens not with a hand extended in affection but with a voice thundering the universe into being. While Genesis shows us God’s sovereignty as Creator, the true weight of His nature is captured later in Isaiah’s vision: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!” (Isaiah 6:3, ESV). Not “loving, loving, loving,” though He is that too. But thrice holy. Utterly other. Set apart beyond imagination. If we understood holiness, we would stop trying to pull God down into our sentimental vocabulary. In our age, there is a strong temptation to reshape God into a lenient, tolerant, permissive father—a deity who never ruffles feathers, who overlooks sin with a shrug, and whose love is unconditional acceptance without demand. Even many so-called prophetic voices today paint this portrait, emphasizing God’s patience and mercy while softening or sidestepping His holiness and justice. The idols of a sentimental, “nice” God abound, appealing to our desire for comfort and affirmation. Yet Isaiah’s vision reminds us of a far grimmer, more terrifying truth. Isaiah, upon seeing the Lord “sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up,” does not smile or sigh or soften. He cries out, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips...” (Isaiah 6:5, ESV). This is the right response to a holy God. Not coziness. Not casual nods. But collapse. We do not like that much anymore. We would rather sanitize His glory into something we can handle. But God is not safe. He is not soft. He is not small. He is holy.

Love Without Holiness Is Not Divine
Let’s be honest: when people quote “God is love,” (1 John 4:8) it is rarely as a theological statement. It is a cultural code. It is license. It is immunity. It means God will not mind. It means you can live however you like and still expect a warm reception. But what is love, detached from holiness? It is not divine—it is indulgent. It is sentimentalism dressed in divine syntax. It is a love that does not transform, does not confront, and certainly never condemns. And that is not the love of God. God’s love is holy love. It is purifying, not permissive. It does not cradle your sin; it crucifies it. The same God who so loved the world (John 3:16) is the one who struck down Uzzah for reaching out a hand to steady the ark (2 Samuel 6:7), the one who consumed Nadab and Abihu with fire for offering unauthorized worship (Leviticus 10:1–2), the one who opened the earth beneath Korah for daring to challenge His appointed order (Numbers 16). And He is the same God who struck dead Ananias and Sapphira—not for adultery, not for murder, not for blasphemy—but for lying to the Holy Spirit in the presence of the gathered church (Acts 5:1–11). For pretending. For playing religious theater. For treating the Spirit of holiness as if He could be manipulated by appearance. You cannot read Scripture honestly and walk away with a God who merely smiles. Love, in God, is not opposed to justice—it is fused with it. The cross is not the suspension of divine holiness; it is its most terrifying display. The full cup of wrath poured out—not on rebels, but on the righteous Son who took our place. That is love. That is holiness. You do not get one without the other.

The Fire on the Mountain
When God descended on Sinai, it was with thunder and lightning, with a thick cloud and a trumpet blast so loud the people trembled (Exodus 19:16). He told Moses to put boundaries around the mountain lest anyone break through and die. Even the animals. Holiness is fatal to the unclean. What changed between Sinai and today? Have we grown so enlightened, so evolved, that we no longer quake in His presence? Have we simply lost our sense of what it means to worship a God who is holy? God did not stop being the God of Sinai. We just stopped being the kind of people who see the fire and fall on our faces. Modern Christianity has largely neutered God. We have made Him a therapist, a coach, a cosmic best friend. But the God of Scripture is a consuming fire (Hebrews 12:29). He is light, and in Him is no darkness at all (1 John 1:5). He dwells in unapproachable light (1 Timothy 6:16). His holiness is not a backdrop; it is His very being. And when people encountered that holiness, they did not stay standing, smiling, while loving and basking in the moment.

The Seraphim Still Cry
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!” (Revelation 4:8, ESV). The echo from Isaiah reverberates into eternity. Even now, as you read this, the seraphim still cry out. Not because they are programmed to repeat a phrase, but because they cannot stop being undone by the infinite purity of His being. There is no fatigue in that praise. No weariness. No boredom. We, however, are quickly bored. We reduce the holy to the familiar, the familiar to the tame, and the tame to the irrelevant. Church becomes a place for life tips. Scripture a place for quotes to encourage us. God becomes a divine accessory to our lives—not the fearsome center. But heaven has not lost its awe. Only earth has.

Holiness Is the Reason for the Gospel
Why did Jesus come? Not merely because God is love—but because God is holy. Without holiness, the cross is absurd. Without holiness, sin is not a problem. Without holiness, judgment is a relic of a more barbaric age. But if God is holy—utterly, blazingly, terrifyingly holy—then every sin is treason, every act of rebellion a death sentence. We do not need a buddy. We need a Savior. The gospel is not the abolition of God’s holiness—it is the only hope we have in light of it. Christ does not save us from a grumpy old deity. He saves us from the right and righteous wrath of a holy God. And He does so not by bypassing judgment, but by bearing it. That is love. But it is love in the shape of a cross, forged in the furnace of holiness.

Be Holy, for I Am Holy
Here is the scandal of it: this holy God calls us to be like Him. “You shall be holy, for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16, ESV). That is not a suggestion. It is not a vague ideal. It is a command. But how? Only by becoming new. Only by being made clean. Only by being born again—not into sentiment, but into reverence. The kind of reverence that trembles. That obeys. That kneels before a throne rather than skipping into it with flippant familiarity. Holiness is not optional. It is the mark of all who belong to Him. “Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord” (Hebrews 12:14, ESV). You want to see God? Then be holy. Because He is. And yes, holiness means obedience. But not mere rule-keeping—it is likeness. Holiness is not drudgery; it is glory. It is not about saying no for the sake of saying no, but for the sake of being clean, of being whole, of being radiant with the very character of God Himself. It means you do not wink at your sin. You do not laugh off what put Christ on the cross. You do not use grace as an excuse. You bow. You weep. You change. Because God is holy.

The Fear We Have Forgotten
What is missing in much of modern faith is not another podcast, another conference, or another small group. What is missing is fear. Not terror at a tyrant, but reverence before a King. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10, ESV). Not the fear of missing out. Not the fear of man. But the kind of fear that silences you, that floors you, that awakens your soul to the weight and worth of God. We have been taught to speak boldly in prayer—and yes, we can come boldly because of Christ (Hebrews 4:16)—but do we understand to whom we speak (Ecclesiastes 5:2, 1 Timothy 6:15– 16)? Do we realize it is a throne and not a lounge chair? Do we realize that even now, the angels hide their faces (Isaiah 6:1–5)? That even now, thunder surrounds His throne (Revelation 4:2–5)? We fear too many things. But we have forgotten to fear the One who matters most (Exodus 19:16–19, Psalm 89:6–7, Psalm 99:1–3).

The God Who Must Be Worshiped
There is no gospel without holiness. There is no God worth loving who is not first holy. Holiness is not His mood—it is His majesty. It is the blazing essence of all He is. And until we recover it—until we fall before it, quake beneath it, and long to reflect it—we will never understand what it means to be saved, or to worship. The invitation is not merely to know a God who loves, but to behold a God who is holy. And in doing so, to see that it is His holiness that makes His love so astounding.

Dear reader, let this not be another article that passes over your eyes like a breeze over dry bones. You cannot read of a holy God and remain the same. If you can, then either you have not truly known Him, or your heart has grown dangerously numb. The Church has enough teaching. Enough coddling. Enough “safe spaces.” What she needs is awakening. A trembling that begins at the altar and does not stop until holiness burns away every last remnant of the casual, comfortable, loving religion we have built in His name. So I ask plainly: When was the last time you trembled before Him? When was the last time your knees bent—not out of routine, but out of fear (Revelation 1:17)? When was the last time the weight of His holiness brought you to tears? Not because He does not love you—but because He does. And that love is not light. It is weighty. It is costly. It is holy. Do not be deceived—He will be revered, or He will not be known at all. So strip off your excuses. Burn your idols. Come barefoot, as Moses did, and let Him make the ground holy beneath your feet. Yes, He is love. But He is love that burns. And only those who are willing to be refined by His fire will ever see the beauty of His face. So draw near—but not lightly. Speak to Him—but cover your mouth. Love Him—but worship in fear. For the Lord our God is holy. And He will be treated as holy by all who draw near to Him.

Leviticus 10:3 — Among those who are near me I will be sanctified, and before all the people I will be glorified.
Hebrews 12:28–29 – Let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.