What images pop into your mind when you hear the word holy?

Monks filing silently into a chapel?

 Saints frozen in stained glass?

Perhaps someone like Mother Teresa or the Dalai Lama?

For some, holy whips up the picture of a scowling pharisee. We all know the type — the legalist who weaponizes a checklist of things you can’t do. My grandmother kept such a list: no movies, no dancing, no cards or dominoes, not even a sip of wine. But dipping snuff? Perfectly fine — as long as it remained her little secret.

The truth is, over the years, holiness has picked up a lot of cumbersome baggage. But the word doesn’t mean what many people believe it means.

A Word, Please: Hagios

The New Testament word for holy is the Greek hagios. At its core, it means set apart, distinct, or different. It was used for sacred places, sacred times, and even ordinary people who were marked as belonging to God.

Peter puts it this way: 

“…you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light” (I Peter 2:9). 

Holiness, then, isn’t about walking around like you’ve been baptized in dill pickle juice. And it certainly isn’t about mastering a list of do’s and don’ts, since we’re bound to fall short at some point. Holiness is being claimed by God and gradually shaped into His likeness, so we can reflect His light to others.

And there’s more good news: holiness isn’t something we manufacture. It’s God at work, Christ living in us. As Paul put it in Galatians 2:20:

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

This indwelling “Christ-life” naturally bears holiness and righteousness, because it flows from who God is — not from our own striving.

Branded

At a recent revival, I performed a skit about holiness. I portrayed a rancher leaning over a campfire, heating a branding iron. “Out here in West Texas, there’s somethin’ every rancher understands,” I drawled. “If you’re gonna keep track of your herd, you need a brand. Every cow’s got to bear a mark — tells you who it belongs to.”

I shared a story of a cowboy named Pablo. He was a hard worker, but had a wild streak. He laughed off talk of Jesus — until an accident landed him in a hospital bed. There he saw how fleeting life could be — and surrendered to Christ. Pablo said he immediately felt branded by the Lord. From that day on, you could see the change. He still had rough edges, but the mark of Jesus on his life was as clear as a mountain stream.

A Forever Mark

The skit ended with the rancher holding up the branding iron. “When a brand goes down, you can’t just rub it off. It’s permanent,” he explained. “Holiness is like that, too. When Jesus marks you as His own, it’s forever.”

The rancher stood up and reminded the congregation that they weren’t meant to roam wild and alone. “You’re made to belong to Jesus. And when you join His herd, He’ll mark you with somethin’ better than iron and fire — He’ll brand you with His love and purpose. Not just for Sundays — forever.”

Slowly walking down the center aisle, the rancher tipped his hat and said, “Y’all think on that now. ‘Night, folks.”