Where Honesty Meets Holiness
On Second Thought
“The Lord is near to all who call upon Him, to all who call upon Him in truth.” — Psalm 145:18
There is a quiet invitation woven throughout Scripture that many believers overlook—not because it is hidden, but because it feels almost too simple. God calls us not only to obey Him or worship Him, but to draw near to Him with honesty. The psalmist uses the Hebrew word “אֱמֶת” (’emet), meaning truth, faithfulness, and sincerity. To call upon God “in truth” is not to present a polished version of ourselves, but to come as we are—unfiltered, known, and fully seen. This is where intimacy with God begins, not in performance, but in authenticity.
When I read John 17:1–8, I am struck by how Jesus Himself models this closeness with the Father. This is not a distant or formal exchange; it is deeply relational. Jesus speaks openly, confidently, and intimately. The Greek word “παρρησία” (parrēsia), often used in the New Testament, describes this kind of boldness—freedom of speech that comes from trust. Jesus prays as One who knows He is heard, known, and loved. And here is the remarkable truth: through Him, we are invited into that same relationship. We are not outsiders trying to gain access; we are children already welcomed into the Father’s presence.
This reality reshapes how we approach God. Many carry the subtle belief that they must “clean up” before they come close, that certain emotions—anger, confusion, disappointment—are somehow inappropriate in prayer. Yet Scripture tells a different story. The Psalms are filled with raw expressions of human emotion, from David’s cries of anguish to his declarations of joy. God is not threatened by our honesty. In fact, honesty is the pathway to healing. As one commentator has observed, “God meets us not at the point of our pretense, but at the point of our truth.” That insight is liberating. It means that the very things we are tempted to hide are the very places God desires to enter.
And yet, there are seasons when God feels distant. We pray, but the heavens seem silent. We seek, but clarity does not come. These moments test our understanding of God’s nearness. Psalm 145:18 assures us that God is near, but our experience does not always align with that promise. This tension is not new. Even Jesus, in His humanity, experienced it when He cried out, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46). The Greek phrase “ἐγκατέλιπες” (egkatelipes) conveys a sense of abandonment, yet even in that moment, Jesus addressed God as “My God.” Relationship remained intact even when understanding did not.
This teaches us something essential: intimacy with God is not dependent on our feelings, but on His faithfulness. Hebrews 13:5 reminds us, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” The strength of that promise lies in the Greek construction, which uses multiple negatives to emphasize certainty—it is as if God is saying, “I will never, ever leave you.” When we hold onto that truth, we are able to worship even when we do not fully understand. Worship becomes an act of trust, not just an expression of emotion.
But intimacy also requires exclusivity. The study reminds us to refuse competing lovers—money, fame, power. These are not merely external temptations; they are internal rivals for our affection. Jesus addressed this directly when He said, “No one can serve two masters” (Matthew 6:24). The issue is not just what we pursue, but what we love. The Father desires not partial allegiance, but wholehearted devotion. When our hearts are divided, our intimacy is diminished. But when we return to Him with undivided affection, we discover that His arms have been open all along.
So the question becomes deeply personal: Is the Father my most adored Friend? That question cuts through religious routine and exposes the condition of the heart. It is possible to know about God without truly knowing Him. It is possible to serve Him without delighting in Him. Yet the invitation remains—draw near, speak honestly, and allow Him to gather you into His presence. The image is not one of distance, but of embrace. God is not waiting to evaluate you; He is waiting to receive you.
On Second Thought
There is a paradox in this journey that often goes unnoticed. We assume that drawing close to God requires strength, discipline, and spiritual maturity—and in one sense, it does. But in another, deeper sense, intimacy with God begins with weakness. The very thing we try to overcome—our brokenness, our confusion, our emotional struggle—is often the doorway through which we encounter Him most clearly. We think we must become strong enough to approach God, but Scripture reveals that we must become honest enough. Strength may sustain the relationship, but honesty initiates it.
This creates a tension in how we live out our faith. On one hand, we are called to grow, to mature, to walk in obedience. On the other hand, we are invited to remain childlike in our dependence. The paradox is this: the closer we grow to God, the more aware we become of our need for Him. And rather than pushing us away, that awareness draws us deeper into His presence. What feels like weakness becomes the foundation of intimacy.
So perhaps the question is not, “Am I strong enough to walk closely with God?” but “Am I willing to be fully known by Him?” Because the truth is, He already knows. The issue is whether we will live in that reality. When we do, we discover that His nearness is not something we earn—it is something we embrace.
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Intentional Faith
Bryan King
