Embracing the Mystery

As I embrace the Mystery of Christ—His Gospel, His resurrection—my mind cannot fully comprehend the magnitude of the eternal weight, glory, and repercussions of what has been provided in Him. The human intellect simply cannot contain the breadth of the divine. At times, I imagine myself stretching out my arms to embrace my Lord, His Kingdom, His concepts and precepts, His very nature. The song “I Can Only Imagine” gives voice to some of the questions that stir within me. Yet for me, not understanding is not a failure—it is a form of worship. The limitations of this earthly, fallen state only serve to deepen my hunger for the divine, driving me to explore Scripture, His nature, and the unseen realms of His Spirit.

From an early age, I have been drawn toward what might be called mysticism—a faith that is spirit-filled, experiential, and unafraid of mystery. I do not need all the answers; I find joy in the journey itself. My relationship with God is one that invites more questions than conclusions, and I am content with that. The unknown is not a barrier but a frontier. As a child, I loved Star Trek because its explorers were on a mission to “seek out new life and boldly go where no one has gone before.” While Gene Roddenberry’s vision was rooted in science fiction and largely devoid of God or morality, my fascination took a different shape. As a believer, I sought new life in Christ—a Spirit-led life not bound by the gravity of an earthbound, sub-light-speed existence. I believed then, and I still believe now, that in God there is always more. Even here in 2025, that conviction has only deepened.

I recall a powerful moment years ago at a small gathering at Winepress Christian Fellowship. I was sitting at my piano when an older sister, Sister Gibson, stood and began to prophesy. Her voice, seasoned with years of walking with God, rang out: “Thus saith the Lord… I’M MORE.” Those two words—I’m more—hit me with such force that I fell from my piano bench. To this day, the memory of that encounter shakes me. The presence of God in that moment was overwhelming, and the message unmistakable: no matter what we know or think we understand about Him, He is more.

I am convinced that no matter how much revelation we receive, how deeply we study His Word, or how faithfully we recount His acts throughout history, He remains beyond the boundaries of our comprehension. Whatever we have experienced or believed, He is still more. That truth demands our embrace. Do I fully understand it? No. But I am thoroughly convinced that God is infinitely greater than our imagination, our theology, or our experience can ever contain.

Many great teachers and writers have touched on this theme, and I offer my own reflections as a humble addition to that ongoing conversation. From this vantage point, I wish to explore one of the most persistent challenges to our spiritual identity: the orphan spirit.

The orphan spirit is not merely a psychological condition; it is a spiritual dysfunction that manifests in both natural and supernatural dimensions. While the absence of a parent—whether father or mother—can have profound emotional effects, the deeper issue is often a spiritual detachment from our heavenly Father. For this essay, I will focus primarily on the fatherless condition as it relates to men, while acknowledging that the principles apply more broadly.

When a young man grows up feeling detached or disconnected from his father, he often wrestles with invisible obstacles that shape his adolescence, young adulthood, and beyond. Without a father’s example, he may lack a role model to guide his growth, leaving him to search for meaning, approval, or identity elsewhere. These struggles may manifest differently over time, but they remain powerful shaping forces.

In reflecting on my own life, I see how God has used such obstacles as instruments of grace. I cannot overemphasize that God is good. For those who belong to Him, no trial is wasted. The rough hours of life are often the greatest classrooms of the soul. While some view tests and trials as negative experiences, I see them as divine opportunities—tests that measure capacity and resilience, trials that cultivate endurance and character. God’s design is not to push us to the point of failure but to lead us deeper into trust—trust in His Son, and trust in our identity as His sons and daughters.

The light of Christ within us is often hidden until life’s pressures crack our earthen vessels, allowing His glory to shine through our humanity. Jesus bore the bruising, stripes, and piercings for our sake; as we identify with Him, our momentary afflictions become instruments that awaken us to the glory that awaits. Everything—suffering, death, even the ache of separation—points toward resurrection. It points toward glorification and transformation, not only in eternity but here and now.

Ultimately, the Mystery of Christ is not something to be solved but to be embraced. It invites us to live as explorers in the vast expanse of God’s Kingdom, knowing that however far we journey, He is still more.