I don’t have much experience with sacred things. I don’t really understand what holy means either. These are churchy words, not used in my daily life.

In the church I grew up in, the room where the sermons were given (the sanctuary) seemed more holy than the rest of the building. And the stage with the pulpit and altar area seemed the most sacred part of the sanctuary.

But as a kid, I ran around playing tag with my friends after church, and these areas weren’t off-limits. They weren’t really sacred or holy in and of themselves.

God made them special. Sacred. Holy. When we gathered and worshiped Him in that room, He came and joined us there, making it sacred and holy. In fact, wherever people are gathered in His name to praise and worship Him, there He is providing His holiness.

When Jesus came, His cleansing sacrifice allowed God’s holiness to leave the Holy of Holies, the sacred part of the ancient temple, and flow out into all the people. He dwells inside His children now. He is always with us, providing His sacredness.

“Don’t you yourselves know that you are God’s temple and that the Spirit of God lives in you?” (1 Corinthians‬ ‭3‬:‭16,‬ ‭CSB‬‬)

I often don’t feel adequately holy to house God. But even though God has agreed to live inside me, with all my ugly flaws, He isn’t less sacred or holy. My filth does not affect His pure holiness. Instead, His holiness affects me. It cleanses me from within every day.

God’s love is a non-stick coating when it comes to sin. But that doesn’t mean I should keep flinging mud and grime into my soul. Each day, when I commune with His Spirit inside me, I am touched anew by His powerful bleaching holiness.

Dear God, you are pure, untaintable, holy, sacred. Thank you for your generous forgiveness that washes me so clean that you feel welcome in my life. I am thrilled to have you always with me. Teach me how to keep my soul hospitable to one such as you.