Before and After

 

Before and After the Resurrection — Preparing for the Presence of God

In the Old Testament, the High Priest bore a weight that no man could carry without divine mercy. He was the only one permitted to enter the Holy of Holies, where the Presence of God rested above the mercy seat. But before he entered, he had to go through intense preparation — ceremonial washing, sacrifice, and purification — to stand even for a moment before God’s glory.

On the hem of his robe were golden bells and pomegranates, a divine provision for his protection. As he moved within the Holy of Holies, the sound of those bells would tell those outside that he was still alive in God’s presence. If the bells fell silent, it would mean he had perished — that sin had met holiness without covering. This vivid imagery reminds us how sacred and dangerous God’s presence was before Christ’s sacrifice made the way open.

 

The Necessity of Blood — Life for Life

Before the High Priest could even step into the Holy of Holies, blood had to be shed.

“For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it to you upon the altar to make atonement for your souls.”
— Leviticus 17:11

Blood represented life, and where there was sin, life had to be given to atone for it. The sacrifice of an innocent animal became a symbol — a substitution — showing that sin always brings death, but that mercy could be extended through the death of another.

Each drop of blood shed on Israel’s altars whispered of something greater to come.
Those animal sacrifices could only cover sin for a time; they could never change the heart or free humanity from sin’s power. They were temporary signs pointing toward the perfect sacrifice — the blood of Christ.

When Jesus shed His blood, He satisfied the full demand of God’s justice once for all.
His blood did not erase sin’s existence in the world, but it broke sin’s authority over the believer.
Sin may still happen in both the unbeliever’s and the believer’s life, but the difference now lies in our standing before God.

For the unbeliever, sin still condemns.
For the believer, sin grieves — but it no longer separates. The debt has been paid; the judgment has been carried.
Christ’s blood didn’t remove the presence of sin from human experience, but it removed sin’s power to condemn those who are in Him.

“There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus.”
— Romans 8:1

The believer may still stumble, but he stumbles on redeemed ground. The same blood that once satisfied justice now speaks mercy — declaring that forgiveness is available every time we return to the cross.

Where once the High Priest entered trembling with the blood of another, we now enter rejoicing, covered by the blood of Christ Himself.
And where once the sound of the bells marked the hope that the priest still lived, now the empty tomb proclaims that our High Priest lives forever — interceding for us even when we fall.

 

After the Resurrection — A New Access

When Jesus Christ died, the veil in the temple was torn from top to bottom. That act was more than symbolic; it was a declaration: access had been granted.
No longer would only one man, once a year, enter God’s presence. Through Christ’s blood, all who believe are invited to come boldly.

The preparation changed — no longer through the sacrifice of animals or ceremonial washing, but through faith in the finished work of the cross.
Where once death awaited any who entered unprepared, now life awaits all who come through Christ.

The High Priest’s fear has become the believer’s confidence.
The sound of the bells has become the sound of worship — not to confirm survival, but to celebrate eternal life.

 

The Confusion Between Access and Holiness

Yet even with this access, confusion can take hold in a believer’s heart. Personally, I know that my own acts of sacrifice — my victories over sin, my self-discipline, my efforts to live righteously — do not give me access to God.
They are necessary expressions of holiness, but they are not the foundation of my holiness.

When I conquer a sin in my life, it does not open heaven’s door for me; the door was already open because of Christ.
His sacrifice made me holy — mine never could.

Still, this can cause deep inner conflict. Because our minds are trained to believe that effort equals approval, we struggle to accept that we are accepted before we “get it right.”
But the truth is — holiness begins with position, not performance.

To understand this, think of the royal family.
When King Charles was born, he did not have to earn the title “Prince” or “heir to the throne.” He was born into that position. His behaviour as a child didn’t make him royal — his birthright did. The same was true of Queen Elizabeth: from the moment of her birth, she carried royal identity long before she ruled a single day.

That is exactly how holiness works in the life of a believer.
When we are born again, we are born into God’s royal household.
We become children — not by earning it, but by new birth through Christ.

Here is the critical point: the Christian life does call for repentance and works, but not to make us holy. We are called to turn from dead works — efforts that cannot save us — and live in the power of Christ’s finished work.

“Let us leave the elementary doctrine of Christ and go on to maturity, not laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God.” — Hebrews 6:1

Our obedience, fasting, giving, and acts of service are not the ground of our holiness. They are the fruit of what Christ has already accomplished. When we repent, it is a turning away from our own powerless attempts and a turning toward His sufficient work.

Holiness by position means we are already clothed in Christ’s righteousness.
Holiness by performance is trying to stitch together our own garments of worthiness.

The first produces rest and gratitude; the second breeds either pride or despair.
When we grasp that we are already accepted, our hearts shift: we stop obeying to be loved and begin obeying because we are loved.
Our service becomes joyful instead of fearful.
Holiness becomes a natural response to belonging, not a desperate attempt to belong.

“For it is God who works in you both to will and to do of His good pleasure.” — Philippians 2:13

 

When Guilt Speaks in the Life of the Believer

Even so, guilt still lives in a believer’s heart when he breaches a commandment of God — when he knows what he should do but does the opposite. This is not the guilt of the condemned, but the pain of the redeemed who has grieved the Spirit within him.

Paul described this inner war in Romans 7:

“For I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate, I do... For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.” — Romans 7:15,18

This struggle is not weakness — it is awareness. It is proof that the Spirit is alive within us, convicting, not condemning.

Guilt, when rightly understood, becomes a tool of grace. It drives us back to the cross, reminding us that even this failure was paid for.
Paul’s cry,

“O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?”
turns immediately into thanksgiving:
“I thank God — through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

The guilt we feel is not meant to push us away from God, but to pull us closer. It keeps us humble, dependent, and teachable before His Spirit.

Holiness, then, is not the absence of struggle, but the presence of surrender.

 

Understanding Sealed by the Spirit

We cannot create this understanding on our own.
The human mind can reason, but only the Holy Spirit can embed this truth into our hearts. He teaches us that grace is not permission to sin, but the power to overcome. He helps us see that righteousness is not earned through effort but received through faith.

When the Holy Spirit confirms this truth within us, guilt turns into repentance, and repentance becomes worship.
We no longer live in confusion but in communion.

 

The Result of True Understanding — Resting in Grace

When the Holy Spirit opens your eyes to the fullness of Christ’s finished work, something shifts within — you stop wrestling for acceptance and start resting in it. The striving that once defined your walk with God is replaced by quiet confidence.

You realise that grace isn’t a soft excuse; it is the strongest foundation you can stand on.

Resting in grace doesn’t mean passivity — it means living from a place of victory, not towards it. You no longer fight for freedom; you fight from freedom.

Your worship changes, too. You stop approaching God as one unworthy to enter and begin to worship as one already welcomed.
You begin to understand:

“Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” — Hebrews 4:16

Boldly does not mean arrogance — it implies confidence in what Christ has done. You come knowing that even when you fail, your standing before God has not shifted.

This is the rest the high priests of old could never fully know.
They entered trembling, hoping to live.
We enter rejoicing, knowing we’ve already been made alive.

 

Hidden in the Cleft of the Rock

When Moses longed to see God’s glory, God told him,

“You cannot see My face, for no one may see Me and live.”
Yet God, in His mercy, made provision for Moses:

“There is a place near Me where you may stand on a rock.
When My glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with My hand until I have passed by.” — Exodus 33:21–22

That cleft in the rock was a place of both covering and revelation. Moses could not stand in God’s glory unprotected, but hidden in the rock, he saw enough of God to be forever changed.

We, too, stand in that same spiritual cleft — Christ Himself, the Rock of Ages. Hidden in Him, we behold God’s glory without fear of destruction.
What was temporary for Moses is eternal for us.

Preparing for God’s presence is no longer ritual or fear — it is resting in our covering in Christ. Encountering God is living in continual communion with Him.

“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.”

Signing off

Tyrone