We hear the word holiness and something in us stiffens.

It sounds lofty. Untouchable.

Like something meant for saints in stained glass, not people with tired hearts and complicated lives.

Our church is beginning a series on holiness, and I found myself quietly asking—not out loud, but deep inside—

What does holiness actually look like from where we stand?

Not from a pulpit.

Not from a list.

But from the middle of being human.

Is holiness grace and forgiveness, given even when it costs us something?

Is it helping those in need, not for recognition, but because their pain feels too heavy to ignore?

Is it serving our parents, our families, our people—showing up in small, unseen ways that never make it into testimonies?

Most of us would nod yes to those. They feel safe. Familiar.

But then come the harder questions.

What about speaking up for ourselves?

What about boundaries—the kind that disappoint others but protect what God is still healing in us?

What about calling out disrespect, indifference, or harm instead of swallowing it “to keep the peace”?

Do those belong in holiness too?

For a long time, many of us were taught that holiness meant endurance.

Quiet suffering.

Being agreeable.

Letting things slide in the name of love.

But Jesus was holy—and He didn’t live like that.

He was compassionate, yes.

But He also withdrew when He needed rest.

He said no.

He confronted hypocrisy.

He didn’t explain Himself to people committed to misunderstanding Him.

Holiness, it turns out, isn’t about shrinking.

From a human perspective, holiness often looks like alignment—

when your actions match what love truly requires, not what guilt demands.

Sometimes holiness is forgiveness.

And sometimes it’s honesty.

Sometimes it’s generosity.

And sometimes it’s restraint.

Sometimes it’s staying.

And sometimes it’s walking away without bitterness.

Holiness looks like refusing to return harm for harm—

and refusing to keep absorbing harm in silence.

It looks like kindness with wisdom.

Grace with discernment.

Love with a spine.

There is something deeply holy about choosing not to become hardened,

even after being disappointed.

And there is something equally holy about refusing to be diminished.

Holiness lives in everyday choices most people never see—

in how we speak to ourselves,

in what we allow,

in how we repair instead of pretend,

in how we remain tender without being naive.

Maybe holiness isn’t about being set apart from our humanity.

Maybe it’s about being fully present within it—

letting God shape how we love, how we endure, how we speak, and how we protect the life He entrusted to us.

From where we stand, holiness doesn’t look perfect.

It looks honest.

It looks faithful.

It looks like love that tells the truth and still chooses mercy.

And maybe that’s what makes it sacred.

Holiness grows where love and truth are allowed to stand together.

Until next time,