“To glorify God by proclaiming the historic Christian faith, nurturing reverent worship, equipping disciples through sound teaching, and serving our neighbors with humility and compassion—all for the renewal of the Church and the salvation of the world.”
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"In the Presence of the Numinous: Rediscovering Awe in an Age of Familiarity"
In an age when the sacred has been reduced to the sentimental and the holy recast as harmless, the Christian imagination is sorely in need of restoration. One of the most powerful and yet neglected concepts that could aid this renewal is the idea of the numinous—a term rich with meaning, deeply biblical in essence, and urgently relevant to modern worship and theology.
Coined and popularized by German theologian Rudolf Otto in his 1917 classic Das Heilige (The Idea of the Holy), the term “numinous” refers to the experience of the divine that transcends rational comprehension. Otto described it as mysterium tremendum et fascinans—the mystery that both terrifies and attracts. It is not merely an idea, but an encounter—a deeply emotional and spiritual reaction to something wholly “other.”
The numinous is what Moses encountered at the burning bush, when he was told to remove his sandals because he stood on holy ground. It is what Isaiah experienced in the temple when he cried, “Woe is me, for I am undone!” (Isaiah 6:5, NKJV). It is what struck the Apostle John to the ground like a dead man on the Isle of Patmos when he beheld the risen Christ in glory (Revelation 1:17).
These moments are not simply examples of religious reverence. They are encounters with holiness—with the absolute reality of the divine. They are not comforting. They are not tame. They are not calculated. They are devastating, transcendent, and transformative. They are, in short, numinous.
Yet in much of modern Western Christianity, the numinous is conspicuously absent. Church services are increasingly designed for comfort, relatability, and casual engagement. The architecture of sacred space has been flattened into multi-purpose rooms. Hymns have given way to anthems of emotional resonance but theological thinness. God, in too many pulpits, has been reduced from sovereign majesty to spiritual therapist.
The result is a crisis of the sacred. People are not leaving the Church simply because they disagree with doctrines or moral teachings; many are leaving because they have never truly encountered the living God. They have seen friendliness, community, and inspirational speaking—but not holiness. And without holiness, there can be no awe.
C.S. Lewis, in The Problem of Pain, describes the numinous as something distinct from fear:
“You may feel afraid when a man raises his hand to strike you, but you feel awe when you stand before something utterly other—something that seems not merely greater in power, but in kind.”
This sense of awe is built into the biblical understanding of God. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,” says Proverbs 9:10. This is not cringing dread, but reverent trembling—the awareness that one stands before uncreated purity, infinite power, and perfect justice. It is an experience that humbles and uplifts, that causes one to worship not out of routine, but necessity.
In Christian history, the experience of the numinous has been a hallmark of revival. It is found in the trembling crowds during the preaching of Jonathan Edwards. It appears in the silence that followed Charles Spurgeon’s proclamation of grace. It echoes in the cathedrals of Christendom, where light and shadow were once used to evoke reverence. And it still arises wherever the Word is preached with power, and the sacraments are received with holy expectation.
We are not meant to be merely comfortable in God’s presence. We are meant to be changed by it. When the Church recovers the sense of the numinous, it recovers its voice. It ceases to be merely a social club or moral instructor and becomes once again what it was always meant to be: the meeting place between heaven and earth.
The way forward is not more marketing, more technology, or more accommodation to secular culture. It is more God. Not more of the idea of God, but of the actual, living presence of the Holy One. It is a return to the burning bush, the thunder on Sinai, the altar in Isaiah’s vision, the torn veil of the temple. It is a rediscovery of awe.
For those who seek the sacred, who hunger for transcendence, and who know there must be more than noise and novelty—the answer lies in the rediscovery of the numinous. It is not a doctrine to be dissected. It is an experience to be received. And in receiving it, we fall on our faces—and find, perhaps for the first time, that we have truly worshiped.
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The Priest in the War for Order: Threshold-Keeper, Warrior, and Steward
In every age, the battle between Holy Order and Primeval Chaos continues. It is not confined to myth or metaphor—it is the real conflict that underlies every breakdown of family, every collapse of virtue, every disordered liturgy, and every soul lost to despair. Against this tide of confusion and destruction stands the Church, not as a passive observer, but as the Ecclesia Militans—the Church Militant—armed with Word and Sacrament. And on the front lines of this battle, clothed not in armor of steel but in the sacred vestments of office, stands the priest.
The Anglican priest, formed in apostolic succession and rooted in Holy Scripture, is no mere ceremonial figure or religious functionary. He is a threshold-keeper, a holy warrior, and a steward of divine order. His role is not simply to teach or to comfort, but to guard, to offer, and to confront—for he stands at the very boundary where the light of the Kingdom of God meets the encroaching darkness of the world.
The Priest as Holy Warrior
The Apostle Paul exhorts Timothy to “endure hardship as a good soldier of Jesus Christ” (2 Timothy 2:3), and tells the Church to “put on the whole armor of God” (Ephesians 6:11). These are not poetic flourishes—they reflect the real spiritual warfare that undergirds Christian ministry.
The priest is ordained to be Christ’s ambassador and representative, and as such, he enters the field of battle every day. He contends not with “flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age” (Ephesians 6:12). His weapon is the Sword of the Spirit—God’s holy Word rightly divided and boldly proclaimed. His shield is the faith once delivered. His standard is the Cross.
To call the priest a holy warrior is not to militarize the Church, but to remind her that we are at war. Souls are at stake. Disorder is the enemy. The devil, the world, and the flesh do not rest—and so neither can the priest who has taken up the yoke of Christ.
But this warfare is not noisy or boastful. It is most often conducted in prayer, in liturgy, in counsel, in fasting, and in the quiet discipline of a holy life. The enemy is not defeated by shouting but by truth, grace, and sacramental power. As Chrysostom once said, “The priesthood is exercised on earth, but ranks among heavenly orders.”
The Priest as Threshold-Keeper
The Old Covenant priesthood had as its core function the guarding of holy space. The Levites were stationed around the tabernacle to protect it from encroachment. The high priest entered the Holy of Holies only once a year, to stand before the Ark of the Covenant as the representative of all Israel.
In the New Covenant, the priest continues this work—not in the temple made with hands, but at the altar, which is the place where heaven and earth touch. The priest stands at the threshold between the sacred and the profane, the holy and the common, the eternal and the temporal. He does not merely lead prayers—he bears the prayers of the people before God and speaks God’s Word back to the people.
This is why Anglican liturgy is so deeply serious, and why the 1928 Book of Common Prayer is such a theological bulwark. Every phrase, every rubric, every vestment exists to uphold a sacred order—a protection against the intrusion of chaos into God’s house.
In this role, the priest is not an entertainer, innovator, or self-expressive artist. He is a guardian of mystery, a man who has been given authority precisely so that he may hand on what he has received (1 Corinthians 11:23). He keeps the threshold—not to build walls around the Church, but to ensure that those who enter do so rightly, reverently, and with true faith.
The Priest as Steward of Divine Order
The world may mock the priest as a relic of a bygone age, but the Church knows better. He is the steward of a sacred pattern—a bearer of what Hooker called “the sweet and blessed order” that God has ordained for His people. In a world where chaos is marketed as freedom, the priest proclaims that true liberty is found only in God’s order.
Like Adam in the Garden, the priest names and tends. Like Solomon, he builds according to divine plan. He does not invent doctrine or worship according to his whim; he hands on what has been received, “rightly dividing the word of truth” (2 Timothy 2:15), and forming the flock by Word and Sacrament. He teaches, but more than that—he shapes the people of God according to the pattern of Christ.
This task demands holiness, wisdom, and a humble boldness. The priest cannot be a coward, nor can he be merely nice. He must confront error, defend truth, and lead with clarity in a world that confuses confusion with compassion.
The Priest as Exorcist and Liturgical Combatant
It is worth noting that in traditional Anglican practice, the rite of baptism includes a renunciation of Satan and a prayer of exorcism. The priest declares the victory of Christ over the dominion of darkness and marks the baptized as Christ’s own forever. This is no quaint formality—it is a declaration of war.
Every absolution, every blessing, every sacramental act is a strike against the encroaching chaos. At the altar, the priest does not merely “preside”—he contends. The Holy Eucharist is not a polite tea party—it is the mystical participation in the once-for-all Sacrifice of Christ. The priest, like Melchizedek, brings bread and wine, and in doing so brings the order of heaven into the disorder of earth.
The Warrior in Vestments
The priest today must be reminded of who he is—not a manager, not a life coach, not a consensus-builder—but a man set apart to stand between the living and the dead (Numbers 16:48). His hands are lifted in blessing, his lips speak eternal truth, and his life must model the order he proclaims.
He is the holy warrior in cassock and surplice. He is the threshold-keeper in stole and chasuble. He is the steward of divine order, armed with prayer book, Scripture, and sacrament.
Let the Church never forget: the priesthood is a battleground post, and every faithful priest stands not only for the people, but against the powers of darkness.
Let us pray, then, that God would raise up men of courage, holiness, and conviction—priests who will stand firm at the threshold, guard the altar, and never cease to proclaim: Let all things be done decently and in order (1 Corinthians 14:40).
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Power Through Prayer: The Forgotten Gifts of the Faithful Shepherd
In an age obsessed with efficiency, image, and spectacle, the quiet authority of a holy life is often overlooked. And yet, in the earliest centuries of the Church, it was not charisma, marketing, or management skill that marked the true pastor, but holiness, humility, and the presence of spiritual power. The early Fathers, the desert saints, and the great shepherds of the faith—Athanasius, Chrysostom, Augustine, and many others—understood that the authority of the clergy did not arise merely from their office, but from the measure of Christ that was alive in them. Today, we must recover what has been largely forgotten: that power in ministry comes not from human striving but through prayer, fasting, and deep faith.
The Office and the Power
The Christian clergy are set apart for sacred service. The Anglican Ordinal speaks of the priest as one who is to "preach the Word of God, and to minister the holy Sacraments." But the early Church, and Scripture itself, shows us that the pastoral role also includes spiritual warfare and healing. James writes:
"Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise him up" (James 5:14–15, NKJV).
And again, our Lord says:
"And these signs will follow those who believe: In My name they will cast out demons... they will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover" (Mark 16:17–18).
These passages are not poetic flourishes. They are promises given to the Church. The healing of bodies, the deliverance from demonic oppression, the binding and loosing of spiritual strongholds—these are part of the shepherd's duty. But they require something our generation rarely cultivates: deep and living faith.
Faith Is the Key
We must not fall into the trap of thinking that spiritual gifts are automatic or mechanical. The sons of Sceva tried to use the name of Jesus like a spell (Acts 19:13–16), and they were overpowered. Authority in the spiritual realm is not based on the words we say, but the depth of our union with Christ. The demons do not flee because we have diplomas or collars; they flee because we stand in the shadow of the Cross.
Faith, then, is not positive thinking or emotional certainty. Faith is radical trust in God's will and character. It is cultivated in the secret place of prayer. It is refined in fasting. It is forged in obedience.
Jesus said:
"However, this kind does not go out except by prayer and fasting" (Matthew 17:21).
If the Church today seems powerless in the face of evil, it may be because we have neglected the means by which power is entrusted. The recovery of the spiritual gifts will not come by revival rallies or programs alone, but by shepherds who once again kneel before God in trembling faith.
The Danger of Misuse
It must be said that some have abused the notion of spiritual gifts for personal glory, financial gain, or emotional manipulation. False prophets and self-proclaimed healers have brought shame upon the Church. This does not negate the gifts; it simply calls us to greater sobriety and discernment. The true power of God is not loud, showy, or self-serving. It is humble, holy, and always aligned with God's revealed Word.
A Call to the Clergy
To the priests, pastors, and bishops of Christ's Church: return to the altar, to the quiet cell of prayer, to the Scriptures and the sacraments. Ask God for the gift of faith that can heal the sick, cast out demons, and mend the broken. Not for your glory, but for His.
Let the Church once again be marked by awe, not entertainment; by healing, not hype; by deliverance, not distraction. The world is dying for lack of holy men and women. Let us not give them slick programs and empty words.
Let us give them Christ, made manifest in power through prayer.
