When the invisible becomes visible

 My mind has often run away with the notion of trying to put a face to my God and Father in a visible way. There’s something deeply human about wanting to see what we worship — to make the unseen relatable, to put a visual to a thought. It helps us unpack a reality too vast to grasp.

If God is omnipresent — everywhere at the same time — which He is, that concept makes sense to my mind. After all, air is everywhere around our planet. Wherever we go, there is space — a vast, invisible chasm that surrounds us. Yet that space, though real, holds no apparent power to the naked eye.

The Bible confirms this truth: God is everywhere, and nothing escapes Him.

“Do not I fill heaven and earth? saith the Lord.” — Jeremiah 23:24

But here’s where the mystery deepens — though God fills all things, He also chooses, at certain moments, to reveal Himself in a form.
In the Garden of Eden, He walked with Adam in the cool of the day.
He spoke to Moses through a burning bush that was not consumed.
He descended upon Mount Sinai in fire and thick smoke.
And ultimately, He came as a man — the Lord Jesus Christ, born of a virgin, full of grace and truth.

These moments remind us that while God’s presence fills the heavens, His heart draws near enough to be seen, heard, and touched.

 

When God Walked with Adam

“And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day…” — Genesis 3:8

This is one of the most mysterious and intimate moments in Scripture. The phrase “the voice of the Lord God walking” suggests not only sound but movement — the Word of God Himself manifesting among His creation.

The Hebrew word for voice, qol, can mean “sound,” “noise,” or “thunder.” This wasn’t merely Adam hearing a voice from afar — it was a tangible presence, a manifestation of God moving in the garden. In that, we glimpse the pre-incarnate Christ, the “Word” who was with God and was God (John 1:1).

Before sin, this was not unusual — God’s presence among His creation was normal. The phrase “in the cool of the day” (ruach hayom) means “the wind or breath of the day,” suggesting a calm breeze at sunset. It implies communion — a daily meeting between Creator and creation. Adam and Eve knew His steps; they recognised His approach.

But after sin, everything changed.

“And Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God…” — Genesis 3:8

The same presence that once brought peace now produced fear. Fellowship turned into avoidance. Yet, God still came walking — still seeking.

“And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou?” — Genesis 3:9

This wasn’t a geographical question but a relational one — “Where are you in fellowship with Me?” That question has echoed through time, reaching every generation until Christ answered it at the cross.

From Eden onward, God’s desire has always been to walk with man.

Enoch walked with God — and was taken (Genesis 5:24).
Noah walked with God — and found grace (Genesis 6:9).
Abraham was commanded, “Walk before Me and be perfect.” (Genesis 17:1)
His presence led Israel in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night (Exodus 13:21).
Jesus — Emmanuel — walked among men. (Matthew 1:23)
And in the end, “the tabernacle of God will be with men.” (Revelation 21:3)

Sin broke the walk, but grace restored it.

“I will dwell in them, and walk in them.” — 2 Corinthians 6:16
“If we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship one with another.” — 1 John 1:7

The same God who walked among trees now walks within hearts — the invisible once again becoming visible through transformed lives.

 

Why God Reveals Himself in Form

If God is Spirit and fills all creation, why would He choose to take on form? The answer lies in His desire to be known. From the very beginning, God has not hidden Himself from His creation — He has revealed Himself in ways that human senses can perceive.

When Moses cried, “Show me Your glory,” the Lord answered,

“You cannot see My face, for no man shall see Me and live.” — Exodus 33:20

Yet, God allowed Moses a glimpse — “You shall see My back.” (Exodus 33:23)
It wasn’t His full essence, but a merciful revelation that man could endure.

Later, God Himself said of Moses,

“With him I speak face to face, clearly and not in riddles; he sees the form of the Lord.” — Numbers 12:8

This “form” was not a physical limitation but visible mercy — God’s invisible nature made visible, not by ceasing to be Spirit, but by stooping to reveal Himself.

All these manifestations — the bush, the pillar of fire, the cloud, the glory — pointed to one ultimate revelation:

“Who, being in the form of God… took upon Him the form of a servant.” — Philippians 2: 6 - 7
“He is the image of the invisible God.” — Colossians 1:15
“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” — John 1:14

In Christ, the invisible became visible. God, who fills heaven and earth, stepped into time and space to walk once again among His creation.

 

When the Image Was Distorted

When God said,

“Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.” — Genesis 1:26

He revealed that humanity was designed to reflect both His invisible nature and His visible expression.

Man was created with reason, will, emotion, and dominion — reflections of divine attributes. But the very form of man was patterned after Christ, “the image of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15). Adam’s shape was prophetic — a shadow of the One who would later take on flesh.

Being made in His image is more than just appearance — it’s identity. We were made to reveal God’s righteousness, wisdom, and love on earth.
Though sin distorted that image, Christ came to restore it.

“We all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image.” — 2 Corinthians 3:18

Sin fractured what once reflected glory.
Adam and Eve, once clothed in light, now hid in shame.

“And Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God…” — Genesis 3:8

Yet even in judgment, God promised restoration — “the seed of the woman” (Genesis 3:15).
The divine image would return — not in Eden’s innocence, but in Calvary’s redemption.

 

False Worship: Man’s Attempt to Replace the Invisible God

When humanity lost direct fellowship with God, it didn’t lose its instinct to worship — it only misdirected it. Instead of walking with the living God, man began to craft gods in his own image.

“They exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for an image made like corruptible man, and birds and four-footed animals and creeping things.” — Romans 1:23

This is the tragedy of idolatry: trying to make the invisible God visible through lifeless things.

“You shall not make for yourself a carved image… You shall not bow down to them nor serve them.” — Exodus 20:4–5

Idols are the shadows of man’s attempt to control the divine — false reflections that promise presence but offer emptiness. They cannot see, speak, or save.

“They have mouths, but they speak not; eyes have they, but they see not.” — Psalm 115:5

True worship is not found in carved stone or ritual, but in Spirit and truth.

“God is Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.” — John 4:24

Only in Christ do we find the true image of the invisible God — living, breathing, redeeming.
All idols distort the image; Christ restores it.

 

The Brilliance of Christ — God Made Visible

In Christ, the invisible became visible.
He is not a reflection of God — He is God revealed.

“He is the image of the invisible God.” — Colossians 1:15
“For in Him dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily.” — Colossians 2:9
“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” — John 1:14

In Him we see the heart of the Father, the authority of the Creator, and the humility of the Redeemer.
Every act of compassion, every word of truth, every miracle performed was the visible outworking of divine nature.

Christ restored what Adam lost.
The first Adam hid from God; the second Adam revealed Him.
The first brought death; the second brought life.
The first was driven from the garden; the second opened the way back into fellowship.

“For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts,
to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” — 2 Corinthians 4:6

The brilliance of Christ is not only in who He is but in what He accomplished.
He fulfilled the law, defeated sin, conquered death, and restored divine fellowship to humanity.
The One who once walked with man now walks within man through His Spirit.

“I will dwell in them, and walk in them.” — 2 Corinthians 6:16

Salvation Can Only Be Found in Christ

From Eden to Calvary, the message has never changed — God seeks to restore what was lost.
But restoration could not come through law, religion, or human effort.
It could only come through Christ, the visible image of the invisible God.

“Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” — Acts 4:12

There is no other way because only Christ bore the fullness of the divine image and the full weight of sin.
Through Him, the Creator became Redeemer.
Through Him, man walks again with God — not in Eden’s innocence but in Calvary’s redemption.

Salvation can and will only ever be found in Christ.
He is the way back to the walk that was lost in Eden.
He is the face of the invisible God — the Word made flesh, the glory revealed.
And when His Spirit lives within us, the invisible becomes visible once again.

 

All hail King Jesus for now and forevermore, Amen and Amen!

 

Signing off,

Tyrone

Called or Chosen?

 Many Are Called, But Few Are Chosen

“Many are called, but few are chosen.” — Matthew 22:14

Everyone can hear a trumpet blast in the still of the night. To most, it’s just a sound — something strange, out of place. But to those who understand the reason behind the blast, it carries purpose, direction, and urgency. They respond differently because they know.

That’s the difference between hearing and perceiving — between being called and being chosen. The chosen aren’t better; they’re simply more attuned. Their spiritual ears are open, and they discern what others might ignore. Positionally, they have the advantage.

It’s like a code word granting access to a guarded place — many may stand at the door, but only those privies to the word can enter. Revelation is what separates the hearer from the responder.

Salvation works in the same way.
The call of God goes out, but only those who respond in faith experience the transforming power of that call. I still remember the day I responded. The pull was so strong that I raised my hand almost automatically, as if something deep within me had already said “yes” before my mind caught up. It wasn’t emotion; it was response — the inward acknowledgment that the voice calling me was real, personal, and divine.

That’s what the Holy Spirit does:

• “No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him.” — John 6:44
• “And when He comes, He will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment.” — John 16:8
• “The Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God.” — 1 Corinthians 2:10
• “The Spirit will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.” — John 14:26
• “For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God.” — Romans 8:14

Teachers and preachers play their role, but even they must be led by the Spirit of Truth (John 16:13), because only God’s Word through His Spirit can open our hearts to divine understanding.

Because many hear, but only a few respond with revelation.
And for those who do, the understanding of that call — and the reality of the believer’s life — is unpacked along the way. As we journey with God, what began as a simple response grows into deeper understanding, shaping us, refining us, and positioning us to walk in the fullness of what He is doing.

Yet sometimes we misunderstand a specific teaching, and that misunderstanding can skew our application of the call. We might start with zeal but apply truth through the lens of limited understanding. In those moments, Scripture reminds us that God’s Spirit will correct, teach, and guide us in all truth (John 16:13).

I know this personally. There was a time I lost my way, or rather, I never truly found my way in a specific area of my walk — understanding my position in Christ and my responsibility to overcome correctly. (See my post “Before and After.”) There were many reasons for this: sin was a driving factor, but also a lack of correct teaching. I had heard the call, but my understanding of what it meant to walk worthy of that call was incomplete.

Just like Christian in John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, I found myself in By-path Meadow and at times even locked inside Doubting Castle. But even there, the mercy of God found me. And like Jacob, I had to wrestle with God — not for riches or comfort (God forbid that be our first request), but for understanding.

And although we may understand the call, there remains the ever-present possibility of stumbling into sin. It’s an ongoing process, a daily battle between flesh and spirit.

“For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary to one another.” — Galatians 5:17

That’s why we are told to “work out our salvation with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12). Not to earn it, but to walk it out, day by day, with the Spirit’s help — learning, correcting, and growing.

Because true blessing is not found in what we possess, but in what we perceive. When God opens our understanding, our steps align again with His call. The path may be narrow, but for those who keep pressing on — guided by the Spirit and refined by grace — the call becomes clearer, and the destination more certain.

And perhaps the greatest truth of all is this:
Understanding often only comes after commitment.
We step out in faith first — sometimes stumbling, sometimes unsure — but it’s in that journey of obedience that revelation unfolds.

 

Signing out

Tyrone

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

Vessels of Honour

 

Vessels of Honour

Who among us hasn’t stumbled through life making mistakes? Some seem to navigate more gracefully than others—but I’m not one of them. My story bears the marks of divorce, failure, and wandering through seasons of compromise and confusion—all while claiming the banner of Christianity. It’s not a proud confession, but it’s the truth.

Yet through all the failure, there was never a denial of the truth. I changed, I fell, I wrestled—but God never changes. I’ve always believed that. Even when repentance didn’t immediately follow, I would still confess Jesus as Lord, because deep down, I knew He was my only truth. And when pressed, I confirmed that truth again and again—through confession.

So, what then for those like me? Those whose lives have been scarred by disappointment and wrong turns. I’ve long believed the answer lies in the only manual that never changes—the Word of God. The Bible remains our first and final authority, the only source that can turn brokenness into purpose.

The alternative is grim. We could choose despair—sit in the ashes of regret, declare ourselves victims, and live as though our failures define us. Woe is me; I’m done. But that’s not the end of the story. The only true end is to reject the Spirit completely—to commit the unpardonable sin, the depths of which I do not claim to understand. Yet I do know this: if there’s still even a flicker of hunger within you to call out to God, to ask for forgiveness and to honour His name—then hope remains.

This truth has stirred something in me. It’s caused me to ask: Where do I now fit into God’s plan?

We often forget that both light and darkness play their part in revealing God’s glory. In every household, there are different kinds of vessels—some for noble use, others for ordinary or even dirty work. Paul spoke of this when he said that if we cleanse ourselves from what is dishonourable, we can become vessels fit for honour. A bucket used for mopping might not be displayed in the living room, yet it has its purpose. Likewise, a costly piece of art is set high for all to see—but both have their place in the Master’s house.

“Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from what is dishonourable, he will be a vessel for honourable use, set apart as holy, useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work. So, flee youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart. Have nothing to do with foolish, ignorant controversies; you know that they breed quarrels (2 Timothy 2;21-23)

Even in Scripture, we see those who faltered. Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal—trading the eternal for the temporary. Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus with a kiss—his will was his own, but someone had to be appointed to fulfill prophecy and play that part in God’s plan. Peter, too, denied the Lord three times, yet his story didn’t end there. He wept bitterly, repented, and was restored—a vessel reshaped by grace.

We can’t change our pasts—regret reminds us of that—but we can choose what comes next. God calls us to let go of what lies behind and press forward toward the high calling in Christ Jesus.

Whatever consequences we face because of past choices are temporary. They will pass.
But eternity—that’s forever.

Signing out
Tyrone