Why I Stopped Trying to Be Holy

I used to think holiness meant effort.
If I prayed long enough, avoided the right sins, showed up at every service, maybe then I’d be holy.

And I tried. Hard.
I made holiness into a job description.
But instead of finding peace, I found exhaustion.

The harder I tried to be holy, the more unholy I felt.

The Problem With “Trying”

When Paul wrote to the Galatians, he asked:

“Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?”
(Galatians 3:3)

That was me. I thought the Spirit saved me, but after that it was up to me to finish the job. To polish myself into holiness.

But holiness isn’t earned like a paycheck. It’s received like a gift.

Holiness Is Christ, Not a Checklist

Paul says it plainly:

“I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me…”
(Galatians 2:20)

The old me died.
The one who hustled for approval, who measured worth by effort—that person was crucified.
And the life I live now isn’t about my performance. It’s Christ living in me.

Holiness isn’t about trying harder.
It’s about trusting deeper.

The False Holiness That Burns Us Out

We often define holiness by externals:

• How often we pray.

• How clean our habits are.

• How good we look to others.

But that kind of holiness doesn’t free you. It chains you.
It’s Sinai all over again—rules that demand, but never deliver.

True holiness doesn’t come from human striving. It comes from the Spirit who makes us new.

The Freedom of Real Holiness

Paul again:

“Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.”
(Galatians 5:1)

Holiness isn’t a cage.
It’s liberty.

When Peter said, “Be ye holy; for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16), he wasn’t handing out a burden. He was pointing us to the source. Holiness isn’t something we manufacture—it’s Someone we reflect.

Why I Stopped Trying

I stopped trying to be holy because my trying was the problem.
Holiness isn’t my work for God.
It’s God’s work in me.

When I gave up the hustle and trusted the Spirit, I found what I was chasing the whole time: rest, freedom, and a holiness I could never have achieved on my own.

The Takeaway

The gospel doesn’t say, “Try harder.”
It says, “It is finished.”

That’s why I stopped trying to be holy.
And why, for the first time, I actually started to be.

From Veil to Mirror: What Moses Missed

Moses wore a veil. Not because the glory of God was too bright for Israel—but because it was already fading. What had once blazed on his face after meeting with Yahweh was slipping away, moment by moment. The veil kept the people from seeing that the radiance was temporary.

I understand that veil.

I wore mine in church for years. Not cloth, but performance. If I prayed long enough, fasted hard enough, preached fiery enough—maybe people wouldn’t notice that the fire was fading in me, too. I didn’t want them to see the cracks. I didn’t want them to see how tired I was.

But Paul tells us something different in 2 Corinthians 3: “We all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.”

Moses veiled his fading glory.
We behold Christ’s unfading glory.

The difference is everything.

The Christian life isn’t about hiding the cracks. It isn’t about veils, or masks, or curating enough religious glow to convince others we’re still burning bright. The gospel says we can step out unveiled—because what shines now isn’t our own radiance, but His.

We don’t manage glory. We receive it.
We don’t protect appearances. We reflect Christ.
We don’t cling to fading light. We gaze into a mirror—and the mirror looks back with Jesus.

I’m done with veils.
If my face shines, it’s not because I’ve earned it.
It’s because I’ve seen Him.

And unlike Moses, this glory doesn’t fade.