WHAT IS GOD LIKE?

He Is Not a Theory, He is a Person

Imagine walking into an old cathedral, long forgotten, its stone walls weathered and broken, the silence thick with dust and memory. You initially believe that you are alone, but the light subtly changes, and you come to the realisation that the silence is not empty at all. There is something there. Or rather, someone. There was an unmistakable presence that couldn't be named or understood right away. It doesn’t announce itself with noise. It simply is and somehow, you know you're not alone.

That’s what it's like to encounter the living God. Not a word in a book or a ritual repeated without thought, but reality. Real presence. Real power.

This is not the God of sentimental phrases or greeting cards. This is the God who speaks and stars are born, who breathes into dust and it becomes a man, who commands oceans to split and causes prophets to tremble. He does not fit into our definitions of safe or soft. His presence is not tame. It never has been.

“The Lord is in His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before Him.” Habakkuk 2:20

The weight of that silence isn’t fear in the usual sense. It’s awe. Reverence. The kind of silence that comes when your soul finally sees something greater than itself.

John Flavel once said that thinking about the nature of God is the true food of the soul. He meant that until we begin to grasp who God actually is, we haven’t really begun to live. Not in the fullest sense.

But to see Him rightly, we have to look without flinching. Because God isn’t just gentle and merciful, He also is holy and just. He is neither distant nor casual. His goodness is not merely good in the conventional sense; rather, it is ablaze.

He is the Judge of all the earth, and He is the Father who runs to welcome His children home. He is both. Always.

He Is Holy and Set Apart in Majesty

To say that God is holy is not to say that He is simply good or better than us. It means He is completely other, utterly pure, infinitely beyond what we can measure or contain. His holiness is not just one attribute among many. It defines everything else about Him. His love is holy love. His justice is holy justice. His power is holy power.

This is why, when people in Scripture come face to face with even a glimpse of God’s presence, they don’t react with casual awe. They fall to the ground. They tremble. They confess their unworthiness, not because God is cruel, but because He is overwhelmingly pure.

When the prophet Isaiah saw the Lord seated high and exalted, with the train of His robe filling the temple and the seraphim crying out “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts,” his response was immediate. He didn’t offer praise. He didn’t speak in boldness. He said, “Woe is me, for I am ruined.” (Isaiah 6:5)

Something inside him broke open in that moment. He saw the majesty of God. And in that same light, the full weight of his own sin. He came apart, exposed by the brilliance of a presence that reveals everything hidden. That is what holiness does.

Having encountered this kind of collision with the Holy, I can say without hesitation: the purity of God’s presence is like fire. No one escapes it. Nothing remains untouched. The depth of that moment is difficult to put into words. The closest I can come is this: imagine every word you’ve ever spoken, every action you’ve ever taken, every thought you’ve ever entertained laid bare. Not in secret, but in full view. Every careless remark, every hidden motive, every moment you hoped would stay buried. Even the things you would never want your parents, your children, or your dearest friends to know, there they are. No justifications remain. No defence holds. You simply stand there, completely known. Still, once you accept Him, you are completely and undeservedly loved.

Paul Washer once said that the most terrifying truth in all of Scripture is that God is good, and we are not. If God were indifferent, there would be nothing to fear. But He isn’t. He is righteous, and He sees clearly. He hates evil, not with cold detachment, but with holy anger that refuses to let sin remain unjudged.

And yet, His holiness is not something we need to hide from. It’s something we’re meant to run toward, because this holy God is also full of mercy. He doesn't wield His holiness to crush us. He uses it to purify, to heal, to make whole. The fire that judges also refines.We don’t need a tame God. We need a holy one. One who is strong enough to confront what is broken in us and gracious enough to redeem it.

When we speak of God’s holiness, we are not talking about a moral scorecard. We’re talking about His very being—glorious, radiant, consuming in power, and yet still reaching for us.

This is not a God to be trifled with, nor a God to be avoided. This is the God whose presence shakes the earth, and whose hand wipes every tear.

The angels cover their faces in His presence. We are invited to draw near.

He Is Love And That Changes Everything

Strip away every idea you've ever heard about God. Set aside every borrowed definition. At the very centre of His being, you will find this: God is love. Love that lives and acts. Love that gives without limit. Love that exists without beginning or end because love is who He is.

This love isn’t soft or vague. It doesn’t ignore what is broken or pretend all is well. It is fierce and holy. A love that wounds to heal, that disciplines to restore, that sacrifices to redeem.

When the Bible says “God is love” (1 John 4:8), it isn’t offering a slogan. It’s declaring the most astonishing truth in the universe, that the One who holds all power, who needs nothing, chooses to set His affection on weak and wandering people like us.

And this love took form and stepped into time, wrapped itself in flesh, walked dusty roads, and looked into the eyes of the guilty with mercy that lifted shame, saying, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” It placed hands on leprous skin, shared bread with the hungry, wept beside a grieving tomb, and carried a cross up a hill where grace would be poured out in full.

Matt Chandler once said that God’s love is not the kind that simply smiles from a distance, it’s the kind that moves toward the broken, the filthy, and the undeserving with a heart full of compassion and a plan for rescue.

That rescue came at a cost. The cross is more than a symbol of suffering. It is the place where the love of God was poured out completely. Jesus did not die because we were lovable. He died to make us new.

No one loves like this.

“But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8

This love can't be earned, nor repayed. All we can do is receive it, and let it change us.

Because when you realize that God sees everything about you and still calls you His own, it breaks something open in you. All your pretending falls away. You don’t have to chase approval anymore. You don’t have to chase being enough. You are loved regardless of what you do, but because of who He is.

Paul Washer has said that God’s love is the most humbling truth in Scripture, because it reminds us that our salvation was never about our worthiness, but His mercy.

This love will not leave you where it found you. It will transform you and pull sin out by the roots and replace it with joy. It will soften what has gone hard. It will anchor what has been lost and never let you go.

To be loved by God is to be seen to the bottom and held to the end. It is to be pursued without fear and welcomed without hesitation. It is the most steadying truth your heart will ever know.

This is not the love of fairy tales or self-help books. It is the love that hung the stars and then chose the cross. And once you’ve tasted it, you will never go looking for home in anything else again.

He Is Sovereign and King Over Every Moment

Nothing surprises Him. Nothing overcomes Him. Nothing exhausts Him. He does not pace the heavens in worry. He upholds every atom and directs every age.

There’s something deeply comforting about knowing you are not in control. Because life isn't random, but because there is Someone wiser, stronger, and infinitely more loving who is. God’s sovereignty isn’t a vague theological idea tucked into the corners of Scripture; it’s the steady heartbeat of everything we believe. He doesn’t merely watch from a distance. He reigns.

The Bible is clear: “Our God is in the heavens; He does all that He pleases” (Psalm 115:3). That means there is no part of your life, no moment in history, no heartbeat in the universe that lies outside His authority. He governs stars and nations, but He also governs your story, your steps, your suffering, your waiting, your joy.

God doesn’t adjust His plans based on our choices as if He were scrambling to keep up. He sees the beginning and the end all at once. He writes every chapter with purpose. That includes the parts you don’t understand yet. He allows what He allows for reasons that aren’t always immediately clear, but they are never careless.

This kind of sovereignty doesn’t make us passive; it makes us peaceful. Because when you truly believe that God is in control, you don’t have to be. You can stop trying to hold everything together, stop living in fear of the unknown, and rest in the truth that nothing catches Him by surprise—not your mistakes, not your disappointments, and not even your pain.

Charles Spurgeon once said there is no truth more comforting to the child of God than the sovereignty of God, and he was right. Without it, we are left to fate or luck or our own fragile abilities. But with it, we are anchored to a plan far greater than anything we could build on our own. A sovereign God doesn’t just rule from a throne—He bends low to guide the hearts of those who trust Him.

His rule is not cold. It is full of compassion. He doesn’t rule like a dictator but like a Father who knows exactly what His children need. He numbers the stars and also the hairs on your head. He ordains the rise and fall of kings and yet still meets you in the quiet, ordinary moments of your life. He is never distracted. He is never late.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” —Proverbs 16:9

There will be times when you don’t feel that truth—when life feels chaotic, unfair, or even meaningless. But feelings are not the measure of reality. God’s Word is. And His Word promises that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28). That doesn’t mean everything is good. It means nothing is wasted.

Paul Washer once said that God is not reacting—He is reigning. He is not adapting to evil—He is using it. Even the darkest moment in history, the crucifixion of Jesus, was not an accident. It was the center of His redemptive plan. If God could use that day of unimaginable suffering for our eternal good, then He can use every sorrow you face, every delay, every detour.

His sovereignty means you are never abandoned. It means the unanswered prayers, the closed doors, and the long waits are not signs of neglect but ingredients in a much bigger story—a story that one day, if not now, will make sense in the light of His glory.

God is not scrambling. He is not improvising. He is not wringing His hands while history unfolds. He sits on the throne, completely aware, deeply involved, and fully in control of every second that touches your life.

He is not only the King of creation. He is the King of your quiet fears, your longings, your days that feel ordinary and your nights that stretch long. And He is good.

You can trust the hands that hold the world, because they are the same hands that were pierced to save you.

He Is Patient and Full of Compassion

If God were only powerful, that might be impressive, but it wouldn’t be enough. We don’t just need a strong God. We need one who sees us, who understands us, and who doesn't walk away when we fail. And that’s exactly who He is. The Bible doesn’t just describe God as mighty or majestic, though He is both. It reveals a God who is “compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love” (Psalm 103:8).

That phrase "slow to anger" appears over and over throughout Scripture, almost as if God wants to make sure we don’t miss it. He isn’t quick to judge. He isn’t irritated by our weakness. He doesn’t lose patience the way we do. Instead, He waits. He leans in. He listens. He gives space for repentance, for growth, for return.

Think of how He dealt with Peter, the disciple who denied Him three times on the night Jesus was arrested. Jesus didn’t come back from the grave to shame him. He came to restore him. He made breakfast by the sea and gently asked, “Do you love Me?” not once, but three times—once for every denial. That is what divine patience looks like.

Or take Jonah, the prophet who ran in the opposite direction when God gave him a mission. God didn’t abandon him. He pursued him, redirected him, used even the belly of a fish to bring him back. That wasn’t God losing patience. That was God being fiercely committed to His purpose—and to His servant.

Even the entire history of Israel reads like a story of God’s patience. Again and again, they turned away. Again and again, He sent prophets. He gave warnings. He offered mercy. His covenant wasn’t a contract they earned. It was a promise He kept.

And He is the same today. His compassion is not just a soft feeling—it’s active. It moves toward us. It reaches into our mess without flinching. It doesn’t overlook sin, but it doesn’t walk away from sinners either.

Paul describes God’s patience in his own life with almost breathless gratitude. “But for that very reason I was shown mercy,” he writes in 1 Timothy 1:16, “so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display His immense patience.” In other words, Paul saw his own story as living proof of how deeply patient God truly is.

And if you’ve ever come to Him after failing again, if you’ve ever asked for forgiveness with tears in your eyes and shame in your heart, and still found grace waiting for you—you’ve tasted that patience too.

But this isn’t a permission slip to stay where we are. God's compassion is never passive. His patience isn’t permission to remain in rebellion. It’s space to return. It’s kindness meant to lead us to repentance (Romans 2:4). He is patient because He loves, not because He is indifferent.

John Flavel wrote that God bears with sinners “because He waits to be gracious.” That’s a staggering thought. The holy God of heaven waits—He waits for our hearts to soften, for our hands to open, for our eyes to lift. He waits not because He lacks power, but because He abounds in mercy.

Even His judgment is patient. He gives time, gives warning, gives opportunity after opportunity to turn. And when people finally reject Him, they do so not because they weren’t given a chance, but because they refused a thousand of them.

This kind of compassion does something to you when you see it clearly. It removes fear—not the fear of reverence, but the fear that He might give up on you, that He might grow tired of your prayers or weary of your struggle. He won’t. His love is not thin. His grace is not fragile. His heart does not change.

There may be times when you feel like you've tested His patience too many times. But the truth is, if you still desire to come to Him, that desire itself is evidence that His Spirit is drawing you. His arms remain open.

“The Lord is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion.” —Psalm 116:5

You may be slow to trust. You may have wandered far. But He is patient. He doesn’t greet your return with disappointment. He rejoices. He runs.

That’s the kind of God we belong to. Not only a Ruler on a throne, but a Father with an open door. Not only the Judge of the world, but the Shepherd who seeks the one who’s lost.

He will not give up on you. He is patient because He loves you. And He is compassionate because that’s who He has always been.

He Is Knowable and Came Close

If you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus.

Jesus is not a lesser version of God. He is not a partial glimpse. He is “the image of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15), “the exact imprint of His nature” (Hebrews 1:3).

There’s a lie many people quietly carry, sometimes without even realizing it—the idea that God might be real, but He’s unreachable. That He exists somewhere far beyond the stars, holy and powerful, but ultimately removed. And maybe He created everything, maybe He even set some things in motion, but now He’s watching from a distance, not really involved, not really knowable.

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

The God who created the heavens isn’t hiding. He’s revealing. He didn’t make you to keep you guessing. He made you to know Him. Not just to know about Him, but to walk with Him, to talk to Him, to trust Him, to love Him as your Father and your King. And the only reason that’s possible is because He came close.

From the very beginning, God has been drawing near. He walked with Adam in the garden. He spoke with Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. He revealed His heart through the prophets, offering His thoughts, His laws, His promises. And then, when the time was right, He did the unthinkable—He stepped into our world.

“The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” —John 1:14

Jesus is not a myth. He is not a symbol. He is God in human form. Every word He spoke, every action He took, every tear He shed and every truth He declared—all of it reveals who God is. If you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus.

Look at how He loved people who were cast aside. Look at how He held children, healed the sick, and challenged the proud. Look at how He answered honest questions with patience and silence with compassion. He didn’t come with fanfare. He came in humility. He came not only to save us, but to show us what the Father is really like.

“Anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father.” —John 14:9

Matt Chandler once said that Jesus is not just the bridge back to God. He is the God we’re being brought back to. He didn’t come simply to offer a better version of religion. He came to tear the veil that separated us, so we could come into the presence of the living God without fear.

This nearness is not theoretical. For those who belong to Him, He gives His Spirit to dwell within them. Not beside them. Within them. That means the God of the universe is not just over you—He is with you. He is in you. He knows your thoughts before you speak them, your wounds before you feel them, your needs before you name them.

John Flavel wrote, “The knowledge of God is the foundation of all true religion, and it is this that makes heaven to be heaven.” If that’s true—and it is—then the deepest joy a soul can ever experience is not found in success, comfort, or control. It’s found in knowing God. And that’s what He offers us.

He doesn’t expect perfection. He invites pursuit.

He doesn’t hide behind complexity. He reveals Himself in Scripture, in creation, in conscience, and in Christ. He gives us His Word not just to inform us, but to speak to us. He gives us His Spirit not just to guide us, but to live with us. He gives us prayer not as a ritual, but as a doorway into real relationship.

You don’t need to be a scholar to know God. You need to be humble. You need to be willing. You need to come with open hands and an honest heart. He doesn’t require polished prayers. He wants you. Just you.

“You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.” —Jeremiah 29:13

Knowing God doesn’t mean you’ll understand everything about Him. He’s infinite. You’re not. But it does mean you’ll grow in love. It means the more you see Him, the more you’ll trust Him. The more you listen, the more you’ll recognize His voice. And the more time you spend with Him, the more you’ll realize—there’s nothing in this world that compares to being known and loved by Him.

So if you’ve ever felt far away, if you’ve ever wondered whether God was real or reachable, let this truth settle deep: He is not distant. He came near. And He’s not waiting for you to impress Him. He’s waiting for you to come home.

Why Is He So Hard to Grasp?

There’s a cry deep in the human soul that echoes through every generation: “That’s not fair.” We feel it when the wicked prosper, when the innocent suffer, when truth is buried and justice delayed. Our reaction isn’t just emotional—it’s theological. We were made in the image of a just God, and our longing for fairness comes from Him.

Justice isn’t an optional trait in God’s character. It defines the way He rules. The Lord doesn’t ignore evil or forget wounds inflicted in secret. He weighs every act, knows every motive, and promises that not one wrong will go unanswered.

“For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all who wait for Him.” —Isaiah 30:18

This isn’t meant to stir fear in those who love Him—it’s meant to stir hope. God doesn’t sleep through our suffering. He doesn’t overlook what people get away with. His justice may seem slow from our perspective, but it is always sure. King David saw this clearly and sang with joy, “He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples with equity” (Psalm 98:9). God’s justice brought David comfort, not dread.

Still, there’s a tension we feel: how can God be just and also forgiving? If He always punishes evil, how can mercy fit into the picture? That tension finds its answer at the cross. No sin was ignored there. No debt was canceled without cost. Jesus took the full weight of divine justice on Himself—freely, willingly, and in love.

“But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed.” —Isaiah 53:5

What happened at Calvary wasn’t a workaround. It was justice fulfilled. The holy wrath we deserved didn’t disappear; it was poured out on Christ. Forgiveness, then, isn’t God looking the other way. It’s God pointing to the cross and saying, “Paid in full.”

John, in one of his letters, said it this way: “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us” (1 John 1:9). Not just merciful. Just. That means when God forgives the one who clings to Christ, He is not being lenient—He is being consistent with His own righteousness.

At the same time, those who reject that offer of mercy will not escape judgment. God’s patience has limits, and His holiness will not be mocked. “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God,” warns the writer of Hebrews (Hebrews 10:31). His justice may be delayed, but it will never be denied.

For those who’ve been wounded deeply—those who’ve watched injustice crush the innocent or bury truth beneath power—this is not a reason for despair. It is a promise. Every wrong will be brought to light. Every crime committed in secret, every abuse hidden by silence, will be answered. God will not forget. He will not fail.

John Flavel once wrote that God may delay, but He will not overlook. Vengeance belongs to Him—not to us. “Do not take revenge,” Paul wrote, “but leave room for God’s wrath. It is mine to avenge; I will repay, says the Lord” (Romans 12:19).

So we wait. We don’t wait passively. We speak truth, we stand for justice, we forgive—but we don’t carry the weight of judgment ourselves. That’s in God’s hands, and His hands are always steady.

History is moving toward a throne. Not a symbolic one, but a real throne with a real Judge. And on that day, the books will be opened. For the believer, that day is covered in grace because Jesus stood in our place. For those outside of Christ, it will be the unveiling of every forgotten sin, every selfish act, every cruel word—and none of it will go unanswered.

This is why justice matters. It’s not just a social issue. It’s a window into the character of God.

We don’t need to wonder whether wrong will be punished. It will. And we don’t need to wonder whether we can be forgiven. We can. The cross guarantees both.

In the end, justice is not what we should fear. Indifference would be far worse. But our God is not indifferent. He is righteous, He is faithful, and He is good.

Final Thought

You were made to know this God and not just to know about Him, but to walk with Him.

He is not waiting for you to earn His attention and invites you to see who He already is.

Not the God of guesses. Not the God of imagination.
But the God who is.

“This is eternal life: that they know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.” —John 17:3

Come and see. Come and worship. Come and live.