In the Room of His Holiness

Beloved friend,

Last Wednesday evening, October 1st, I walked into prayer service with no expectation of what God was about to do. After preaching, the pastor began leading us in familiar songs—"Worthy is Your Name" filled the sanctuary as we lifted our voices together. But when we transitioned into "Holy Forever," something shifted in the atmosphere. I felt myself going deeper into worship, past the surface of mere singing, into that sacred place where we encounter the Spirit of God.

Then something extraordinary began to happen—something I still struggle to put into words. I felt a sensation as though my body was expanding, growing taller, as if I were somehow lifted above the natural realm and looking down at the congregation below. My eyes were mostly closed, but occasionally I would open them, trying to make sense of this otherworldly experience.

As we continued to travail in worship, pressing deeper into His presence, I received a vision. I found myself standing in an empty room—but calling it "white" feels inadequate. It was the purest, most brilliant white I had ever witnessed, a brightness that didn't hurt to look at but seemed to radiate with the very essence of holiness itself. And in that moment, surrounded by this blinding purity, I felt smaller than I had ever felt in my life. Not small in a diminished way, but small in the face of infinite majesty and glory. I became acutely self-aware—not in the self-conscious way we feel when we're worried about others' opinions, but in the way Isaiah must have felt when he stood before the throne of God.

I collapsed to the floor, my head tucked between my knees, overwhelmed by what I can only describe as the weight of glory and the reality of His holiness. The congregation was still singing "Holy Forever" around me, but their voices began to fade as though I were wearing noise-canceling headphones. The physical room dimmed, and the spiritual reality I was now experiencing intensified. In that white room, alone with the presence of the Holy One, my spirit began to contemplate what it means that God is holy—not just morally pure or set apart, but utterly, transcendently, incomprehensibly holy.

Two profound truths gripped me in that moment, truths that I believe the Holy Spirit wants to impress upon us today.

First, I experienced an overwhelming sense of insignificance—but not in a negative, self-deprecating way. Rather, it was the liberating realization that in the presence of God's holiness, everything we obsess over in our earthly lives shrinks to its proper size. The job I'd been anxious about, the conflict I'd been replaying in my mind, the opinions I'd been seeking, the achievements I'd been chasing—none of it mattered in that room. In the best possible sense, I didn't matter in my natural, earthbound identity. What mattered was Him—His glory, His holiness, His majesty. And in that realization, I found myself looking inward with a clarity I had never experienced before.

When you come face-to-face with the holiness of God, you see sin for what it truly is. Not as mistakes or shortcomings or "missing the mark," but as rebellion against infinite purity—as darkness attempting to coexist with unapproachable light. All I could think about was repentance. As A.W. Tozer, in the book The Root of the Righteous wrote, "The man who has met God is not looking for something—he has found it; he is not searching for light—he has found the Light." And when you find the Light, you cannot help but see every shadow in your own heart.

But here's the second truth that marked me forever: while I was on the floor in this vision, collapsed under the weight of His holiness and my own unworthiness, I felt a breeze. It moved across my face, under my arms, surrounding me completely. If I had to describe that breeze in one word, it would be this: love. It was refreshing, calming, overwhelming—it felt like being embraced by love itself. In the very moment when I was most aware of my sinfulness, I was also most aware of His love. That's the paradox of encountering God's holiness: it simultaneously undoes us and remakes us, convicts us and comforts us, humbles us and lifts us up.

Eventually, the sounds of the sanctuary began to return. I could hear the worship again, voices still declaring His holiness. And immediately, Scripture flooded my mind—Isaiah 6, that magnificent chapter where the prophet encounters the Lord high and lifted up. I remembered how the seraphim cried out, "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory!" I remembered how Isaiah responded: "Woe is me, for I am undone! Because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts."

You see, Isaiah didn't encounter God's holiness and walk away thinking about how spiritually advanced he was. He encountered holiness and became acutely aware of his own unholiness. He saw the Lord high and lifted up, and he fell low. He heard the angels proclaim God's glory, and he confessed his own guilt. But the story doesn't end there—it never does with God. An angel took a live coal from the altar, touched Isaiah's lips, and declared, "Your iniquity is taken away, and your sin purged" (Isaiah 6:7). Conviction led to cleansing—repentance led to restoration. And then came the commissioning: "Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?" And Isaiah, now cleansed and emboldened, responded, "Here am I! Send me" (Isaiah 6:8).

This is the journey God invites us into—not just once, but continuously. We are called to come before His holiness, to allow His presence to expose what needs to be exposed, to let His purity reveal our impurity so that His grace can do its transforming work. We live in a culture that avoids discomfort at all costs, that medicates every moment of self-awareness, by flooding us with distractions and mindless entertainment. But the Kingdom operates differently. The way to be filled is to be emptied. The way to be made whole is to first acknowledge how broken we are.

I don't know where you are today as you read this. Perhaps you're in a season where God feels distant, where worship feels routine, where prayer feels like talking to the ceiling. Or perhaps you're in a season of such intensity that you're not sure how much more you can handle. Wherever you are, I want to encourage you with this: the same God who met me in that white room is pursuing you. He's not waiting for you to get your life together first. He's not requiring you to clean yourself up before you approach. He's inviting you to come as you are—with all your mess, all your questions, all your hidden sins and secret shames—and encounter His holiness.

And here's what I discovered: His holiness doesn't destroy us; it refines us. His purity doesn't condemn us; it cleanses us. His transcendence doesn't distance Him from us; it draws us into deeper intimacy with Him. The same presence that makes us cry "Woe is me!" is the presence that whispers, "I love you. You are Mine. I'm not finished with you yet."

So here's my invitation to you today: Don't settle for secondhand spirituality. Don't be content with knowing about God without actually knowing God. Press in. Go deeper. When worship begins to feel routine, push past the familiar into the holy. When prayer feels dry, persist until you break through. When Scripture feels like words on a page, ask the Holy Spirit to illuminate it with fresh fire. The same God who appeared to Moses in the burning bush, who met Isaiah in the temple, who revealed Himself to John on Patmos, who encountered me in a white room last Wednesday—He is ready to reveal Himself to you. And when He does, you'll never be the same.

This isn't about working up an emotional experience or trying to manufacture spiritual encounters. This is about positioning ourselves before a God who is already moving, already calling, already waiting to meet with hungry hearts. He's not hiding from you. He's not playing games. He's not distant or disinterested. He's holy, yes—but He's also love. And He's inviting you into the tension of both realities: to be undone by His holiness and to be remade by His love.

With the Spirit and the Word,

– The Living Gospel Letters Team