The Most Holy Things in the Bible
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Ok before i write this topic i want to remind that no one is perfect acept God Himself is perfect. If you got any question you can write a comments below to have a better conversation, for now let's come to the text. There is something import about the phrase “the most holy things” that makes my heart slow down for a little. It feels a heavy weighty. Heavy in a good way. Like stepping into a very quiet room where the people have prayed for all years of years. And very honestly the truth of whenever I used to read about the holiness in the Scripture, especially in the book of Old Testament, I really feel like this strange mix of curiosity and the trembling of which feels like I’m standing on the threshold of something which is too bright for my eyes.
Inthe book of Hebrew, the phrase “most holy” which refers to is qōdesh qodāshîm (קֹדֶשׁ קָדָשִׁים). It’s literally meaning “holy of holies,” expressing the intensity by repeating the word. Same way Hebrew says “song of songs,” which meaning the ultimate song. Or “king of kings,” meaning the greatest king. So “holy of holies” is holiness turned to maximum volume.
In the Greek, the Septuagint word uses of τὰ ἅγια τῶν ἁγίων (ta hagia tōn hagiōn). Again, “holy things of the holy things.” A doubling of sacredness.
But whereas holiness in the Scripture is not just about the objects or the places. It’s also about the people, rhythms, sacrifices, encounters, and even moments that feel like they crack the universe open. And I’ve always felt like the Bible is gently, but persistently and trying to get us to understand that holiness isn’t about being stiff or perfect. It’s about nearness to God, and that nearness changes everything.
The First Time We Meet “Most Holy”
The phrase qōdesh qodāshîm shows up everywhere in the Torah—especially in Exodus and Leviticus. It refers to the deepest, most sacred realities of Israel’s worship. But the very first time Scripture uses the phrase is for something surprising:
The altar.
In Exodus 29:37, God says the altar will be “most holy.”
That hits different. Because an altar is messy. It’s stained with blood. It smells like fire and sacrifice. It’s not clean in a sanitized, polished way. It's holy because God meets people there.
The Hebrew word qōdesh carries the sense of set apart, belonging to God, different from common things. But Greek hagia also carries the sense of something devoted, like it’s given over completely.
And I think about how many of us feel unworthy or too messy to be close to God. But the first “most holy” thing is literally an object dripping with imperfection… and that’s where God shows up. That feels strangely comforting.
The Holy of Holies – The Place Nobody Just Walked Into
Of course, when people hear “the most holy place,” their mind goes straight to the Holy of Holies—the innermost room of the tabernacle and later the temple.
A tiny, dark space.
Hidden behind a heavy veil.
Entered only once a year.
Scripture calls it qōdesh qodāshîm.
Greek calls it hagia hagion.
Both mean “the ultimate holy place.”
What made it holy wasn’t the walls or the curtains. It was God’s presence—described with the Hebrew word shekinah, the dwelling glory. Not a word that appears directly in Scripture, but the idea is everywhere. The shimmering presence. The overwhelming closeness.
In Hebrews, the writer explains how the high priest entered this place only once a year with blood—because holiness and sin could not casually coexist. Not out of cruelty, but out of the intense, burning purity of God’s presence. Think of holiness like the sun. We love its warmth, but we can’t touch it. Not because it hates us, but because it’s too intense for us in our brokenness.
I sometimes imagine what it felt like for the high priest.
His hands shaking.
The smell of incense thick.
The blood warm in a bowl.
The silence like something alive.
Holiness wasn’t abstract. It filled the room like a weight. Like something breathing.
The Ark of the Covenant – Holiness You Could Feel in Your Bones
The Ark is consistently called a “most holy” object. And for good reason. It symbolized God’s covenant presence with His people.
Inside it were:
– The tablets of the commandments
– Aaron’s budding rod
– A jar of manna
All reminders of God’s ways, God’s leadership, God’s provision.
In Hebrew the Ark is ’aron ha-berit—the chest of the covenant.
In Greek, it’s hē kibōtos tēs diathēkēs.
The Ark wasn’t magical, but it was dangerous when treated casually. Not because God was trigger-happy, but because people were treating what was holy like it was common. Like handling lightning with bare hands.
The Hebrew idea behind holiness has the flavor of “other, weighty, significant.” In daily life people treated common objects lightly. But holy things required seriousness, intention, reverence. Sometimes I wonder if modern life has made us forget that some things shouldn’t be rushed through or scrolled past or treated like background noise. Some moments still deserve the trembling.
The Offerings Called “Most Holy”
Many of the sacrifices in Leviticus are labeled “most holy.” The phrase appears again and again.
The sin offering – חַטָּאת (ḥaṭṭā’t)
This offering dealt with the weight of guilt. In Greek it becomes ἁμαρτία or sometimes περὶ ἁμαρτίας offerings.
The guilt offering – אָשָׁם (’āshām)
Meaning guilt, debt, something broken that needs repair. Greek uses πλημμέλεια in some contexts.
The grain offering – מִנְחָה (minḥā)
Often an offering of gratitude, devotion, surrender. Greek calls it θυσία σιτέων or δῶρον depending on context.
All of these were considered “most holy” because they symbolized a bridge between human frailty and divine mercy. They smelled like flour, oil, fire. The priest carried them in hands that probably still smelled of smoke and sweat. They were ordinary offerings made holy by purpose—like many things in our own lives that look small but matter deeply.
Sometimes I think about how burnt sacrifices sounded sizzling on the altar. Or how the smell of roasted meat filled the camp. Holiness in the Bible wasn’t sterile or quiet. It was sensory. It surrounded people. It involved touch and smell, tears and trembling.
And maybe holiness in our lives isn’t as quiet and tidy as we imagine either.
The Priests Themselves – Holy People with Flaws
Scripture calls the priests “holy” and sometimes labels their garments and duties as “most holy.” But the priests were not perfect people. They quarreled, doubted, sometimes disobeyed. Yet God still set them apart. Holiness in this sense is a calling, not an achievement.
The Hebrew kāhan (priest) is related to the idea of mediation—someone who stands between. In Greek, hiereus has a similar meaning.
Their holiness was given, not earned.
That makes me breathe easier somehow.
The Sabbath – A Holy Time, Not a Holy Object
One of the most holy things in Scripture is not a thing at all. It’s a day.
The Sabbath is called qōdesh. Set apart. A time to stop, breathe, remember. Greek uses σάββατον, but often ties it to ἁγιάζω, meaning “to sanctify.”
Time itself can be holy.
A moment can be holy.
Silence can be holy.
When I slow down on a quiet day, when the air feels calm and the noise inside me settles a bit, I almost taste what the Israelites must’ve felt. Holiness has a flavor sometimes—kind of like stillness mixed with gratitude.
Holiness Expands in the New Testament
By the time we reach the New Testament, the idea of holiness shifts dramatically. The early believers understood holiness not only as sacred objects or sacred spaces, but as the presence of God filling ordinary people.
The Greek word ἅγιος (holy) becomes deeply relational.
In Hebrews, the veil is torn and the Holy of Holies is opened in a spiritual sense. People are invited near. Not because they became perfect, but because Jesus opened the way.
The “most holy things” become:
– A new kind of access
– A new way of living
– A new kind of temple (people, not buildings)
– A new kind of sacrifice (lives surrendered, not animals burned)
Greek terms shift from describing spaces (hagia) to describing people (hagioi—saints, holy ones).
Holiness becomes a gift of relationship instead of a danger zone.
I love this shift. It feels like God taking the trembling of the Old Testament and the grace of the New and weaving them together.
The Human Heart – A Holy Space?
One of the most beautiful turns in Scripture is when holiness stops being restricted to rooms, altars, garments, and sacrifices, and starts dwelling in people. The Greek idea of the Holy Spirit as pneuma hagion turns the human heart into something sacred.
I think about that a lot.
Especially on days I don’t feel holy.
Days when my thoughts feel messy, or I’m tired, or I make the same mistake again.
Holiness is no longer something we reach.
It’s something that reaches for us.
The Messiness of Holiness
Sometimes we think holiness means flawlessness. But in Scripture:
– The altar is holy even though it’s covered in blood.
– The priests are holy though they are flawed.
– The offerings are holy though they come from ordinary people.
– The Holy of Holies is holy, yet it’s a place entered with trembling because people are imperfect.
Holiness is God drawing close to human imperfection without destroying it. Holiness is God making space for relationship.
Holiness is not the absence of humanity—it's humanity offered to God.
The Hebrew and Greek Words That Hold It All Together
Here are a few key word comparisons that keep showing up, each packed with weight:
Holiness – קֹדֶשׁ (qōdesh)
Root idea: set apart, distinct, sacred
Most holy – קֹדֶשׁ קָדָשִׁים (qōdesh qodāshîm)
A doubling meaning absolute holiness, the ultimate sacred thing
Greek – ἅγιος (hagios), τὰ ἅγια τῶν ἁγίων (hagion hagion)
Holiness that carries the sense of belonging to God, consecrated
Sanctify – קָדַשׁ (qāḏash), ἁγιάζω (hagiazō)
To make holy, dedicate, set apart
Glory – כָּבוֹד (kavōd)
Meaning weight, heaviness, significance
In Greek: δόξα (doxa) meaning brightness, splendor
Holiness and glory often move together. One is the weight of God’s presence, the other the radiance of it.
What Are the “Most Holy Things” Today?
If the temple veil is torn…
If the Spirit dwells within people…
If holiness is relational now…
Then the “most holy things” today might look a little different.
Maybe the most holy thing is a broken heart offered honestly to God.
The Hebrew zebah shalam (peace offering) was “most holy.” Maybe our whispered confessions and quiet longings count too.
Maybe the most holy thing is forgiveness that feels impossible.
The guilt offering once repaired relationships. Maybe forgiveness is our modern form of that sacred repair.
Maybe the most holy thing is just showing up to God honestly.
No pretending. No performance. Just presence.
Maybe your tears are holy.
The psalms often mix holiness and weeping in the same breath.
Maybe the most holy things today are the ones nobody sees.
Like choosing kindness when your chest feels tight.
Like praying in the middle of fear.
Like carrying hope when the world feels heavy.
Holiness is not far away.
It breathes close.
My Own Small Reflections
Whenever I study holiness, I feel two things at the same time:
-
God is beyond anything I can imagine.
Untouchable light.
Infinite purity.
A fire that never dims.
-
God is closer than my breath.
Gentle.
Patient.
Willing to step into my very human mess.
And that tension—the too-bright holiness and the close-enough-to-touch love—captures everything beautiful about Scripture.
Sometimes holiness feels like standing barefoot on warm ground after rain. Soft. Quiet.
Sometimes it feels like standing too close to lightning. Trembling. Overwhelmed.
Sometimes it feels like a whisper.
Sometimes like a roar.
But it’s always love.
Holiness is love that cleanses, not crushes.
Holiness is love that burns away the things that hurt us.
Holiness is love that holds us even when we don’t feel worthy.
And maybe—just maybe—the most holy thing of all is the way God keeps reaching for people who keep stumbling.
A Final Word
I didn’t grow up thinking about holiness much. It sounded like a word carved into stone, too big for real life. But the more I read the Scriptures—the Hebrew rhythms, the Greek echoes, the dusty stories of priests and altars and temples—the more I realize holiness is not rigid. It’s relational.
It’s not only in the Holy of Holies.
It’s in the moments when we open our hearts.
It’s in the spaces we set apart to breathe, pray, listen.
It’s in the sacrifices we make to heal relationships.
It’s in the quiet courage to forgive.
It’s in the beauty we notice that reminds us of God.
It’s in the way God keeps loving flawed people.
Holiness is not a wall.
It’s an invitation.
And the “most holy things” in Scripture—from the Ark to the altar to the Sabbath to the sacrifices—were never meant to be museums of spiritual history. They were signs. Pointers. Shadows moving toward something greater.
The sacred is still here.
Still glowing.
Still reaching.
Still calling us closer.
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