The Glory of God Is Man Fully Alive

Learning to Know God in the Bright and Sunny

For years, one of my favorite quotes has been:

“The glory of God is man fully alive.”
— often attributed to Irenaeus

I loved the words and longed for them to be true in my life.

Because much of my faith journey has been about learning to know God in lack. In wilderness. In stretching. In uncertainty. In moving when I didn’t have the faith and hearing Him whisper:

“I know. But you will.”

I learned He was faithful in dark seasons.

I learned contentment.

I learned endurance.

I learned to survive.

And survival can feel holy when you have walked through difficult things.

But somewhere along the way, I think I unconsciously believed:

Deep faith means learning to live without.

Learning to be okay if nothing changes.

Learning to survive.

And perhaps because of that, abundance felt unfamiliar.

Even suspicious.

The God of the Wilderness… and the God of the Promised Land

Recently, I found myself reflecting on the journey of Israel:

Egypt → Wilderness → Promised Land

Egypt was slavery.

The wilderness was dependence.

The promised land was inheritance.

I realized:

I trust God in wilderness.

I know how to meet Him in the dark and lonely.

But what about:

The bright and sunny?

Can I trust Him there too?

Can I know Him in abundance?

Can I believe He remains just as near when there is fruit instead of manna?

Can I believe He is the same God at overflowing tables as He is in empty cupboards?

I realized something surprising:

I am not afraid anymore.

I am excited.

I trust Him to enlarge my capacity to carry abundance.

Not because abundance itself is the goal.

Because He is there too.

Planting in Faith

Yesterday we planted:

• Pumpkins
• Hibiscus

A few weeks ago:

• Berries
• Roses

As my hands touched the soil, something felt deeply significant.

Not because planting flowers is unusual.

Because it felt symbolic.

Almost like my spirit whispered:

The soil has been prepared all these years.

The years of waiting.

The years of healing.

The years of unlearning.

The years of surviving.

The years of wondering.

Maybe they were not empty.

Maybe roots were growing unseen.

Maybe preparation was happening beneath the surface.

And perhaps now the question is shifting from:

Will there be enough?

to:

What will we do with the harvest?

That is a different question.

One assumes provision.

Learning to Sit at the Table

One of the deepest realizations I’ve had recently is this:

I don’t merely belong serving at the table. I belong seated there as well.

That sentence surprised me.

Because much of my identity was wrapped up in creating beauty.

Hospitality.

Cooking.

Gathering.

Making something wonderful for others.

I knew how to prepare the feast.

I wasn’t always sure how to sit and receive.

Somewhere deep inside, I learned:

You must survive to be safe.

You must carry to belong.

You must prove to receive.

You must serve to sit at the table.

And while serving is beautiful, carrying everything forever becomes heavy.

I realized I have often wondered:

Who am I if I’m not the one doing all the work?

Can I simply receive and still have value?

What if I were being prepared not to do it all, but to orchestrate a team of beautiful people, all flourishing in their own unique roles?

Not one exhausted person carrying everything.

But gifts multiplied through community.

Now I see:

Perhaps God has been preparing me.

Not simply to have help.

But to become the kind of person who can receive without shame.

Who can lead without proving.

Who can steward abundance without being defined by it.

My Identity Is Not in Serving or Being Served

I was asked, “If God truly intends harvest, what parts of you need permission to stop identifying as someone merely surviving? This realization came quietly:

I don’t merely belong serving at the table but also seated there. I want both. I have always struggled to see myself seated at the table, but now I see it. My identity is not in either serving or being served.

I can wash feet.

I can receive care.

Neither defines me.

That feels like freedom.

Because if identity is secure, then abundance is no longer dangerous.

Rest is no longer threatening.

Receiving is no longer selfish.

Perhaps abundance isn’t betrayal of wilderness years.

Perhaps it is another place to know God.

The Fire on the Mountain and the Fire Within

Lately I’ve been thinking about two holy fires in Scripture.

The fire at Mt. Sinai.

And the fire at Pentecost.

Both came after deliverance.

Israel passed through the Red Sea before Sinai.

The disciples passed through the death and resurrection of Christ before Pentecost.

Both involved waiting.

Both involved expectation.

Both involved God descending.

But something changed.

At Sinai:

God descended onto a mountain.

At Pentecost:

God descended into people.

Pause there.

Because I think that changes everything.

The God who once dwelled above thunder, smoke, trembling, and boundaries…

The God who said:

Do not touch the mountain.

…later says through Christ:

Abide in Me.

At Sinai:

The people stood at a distance.

At Pentecost:

The Presence moved in.

The fire remained.

The mountain burned because God is holy.

The disciples burned because God desired union.

At Sinai:

Fire revealed separation.

At Pentecost:

Fire revealed intimacy.

At Sinai:

Holiness was external.

At Pentecost:

Holiness became internal.

At Sinai:

The Law was written on stone.

At Pentecost:

The Law of Love was written on hearts.

At Sinai:

Only one ascended the mountain.

At Pentecost:

The veil was torn and ordinary people became temples.

Learning God in Abundance

I used to think spiritual maturity was mostly learning to survive wilderness.

Learning contentment in lack.

Learning God in dark seasons.

And there is holiness there.

There is reverence there.

I never want to lose awe.

But what if maturity also means learning God in abundance?

Learning His nearness in delight.

Learning His Presence in harvest.

Learning to trust Him in the bright and sunny.

Perhaps Pentecost was not simply God giving power.

Perhaps Pentecost was God declaring:

The fire that once rested on a mountain now rests on sons and daughters.

Not so they strive harder.

Not so they perform better.

Not so they survive longer.

But so they come alive.

I am excited for the bright and sunny.

Abundance can be vulnerable. It asks new questions:

• Can I receive without guilt?
• Can I remain myself with more?
• Can beauty become normal?
• Can I stop earning and simply steward?

I have spent years learning God in the dark.

And now I feel Him asking:

Will you trust Me with joy too?

Will you trust Me with abundance?

Will you trust Me with inheritance?

Not because abundance is the goal.

Because:

He is there.

The promised land was never merely about land.

The deepest promise was always:

I will be with you.

In Egypt.

In wilderness.

At Sinai.

At Pentecost.

In planting.

In harvest.

In surviving.

In becoming fully alive.

Perhaps the glory of God is not merely man enduring.

The glory of God is not merely man surviving.

The glory of God is:

Man fully alive because holy fire has become indwelling Presence.

And suddenly I wonder if all these years God has not only been teaching me to endure wilderness…

Perhaps He has been enlarging my capacity to carry glory.

To receive.

To delight.

To create.

To build.

To steward.

To sit at the table.

To become who I was always meant to be.

Being Who I Was Always Meant to Be

Someone asked me:

If your identity is truly secure apart from serving or being served… what part of your future excites you most?

My answer came immediately:

Being who I was always meant to be.

Not becoming someone new.

Not becoming more worthy.

Not finally arriving.

But uncovering who was there all along beneath survival and striving.

And suddenly I remembered the quote I have loved for years:

The glory of God is man fully alive.

Maybe that is what He has been doing all along.

Not merely teaching me to endure.

Teaching me to come alive.

A Prayer for the Bright and Sunny

Father,

I have known You in wilderness.

I have known You in waiting.

I have known You in survival.

Teach me to know You in abundance too.

Teach me to receive.

Teach me to steward harvest.

Teach me to sit at the table without shame.

Teach me that coming alive is not selfish.

And if the glory of God is man fully alive—

Then let my life become worship.

Amen.

In everything you do -eat, play, and love- may it always be seasoned with Joy!

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