Self-Consciousness vs. God-Consciousness: Why Thinking Only About You is So Lonely

**This Blog was written Monday, March, 31st 2025. 

From Self-Consciousness to God-Consciousness: How Returning to His Presence Heals the Lonely Soul

Yesterday, I attended a sermon at The Refuge in Philomath, Oregon, where Pastor Gerry Alston delivered a powerful message titled Living on Fire for God. What began as a call to examine the dangers of lukewarm faith soon deepened into something much more vulnerable and real. Pastor Gerry shared his own personal journey of wrestling with spiritual complacency—reminding us all that even those leading others must daily confront the embers of their own devotion. As I listened, something stirred within me. I found myself scribbling notes quickly, not just in response to his words, but to the clarity God was giving me in real time.

You can listen to his sermon Here.

When Compromise Is No Longer Tempting

Lukewarmness isn’t something I feel I’ve experienced in its full form—at least not yet. My faith is still relatively young, and what I’ve been delivered from remains too close behind me to flirt with compromise and Jesus feels way too close to want to stray. The fire of God is not optional—it’s a return to the way I was intended. Without it, I would be swallowed whole by the very things I’ve been rescued from. Maybe that’s why my relationship with Jesus never felt religious—it’s been deeply spiritual, fiercely personal, and entirely necessary. Sometimes deliverance is so refreshing that sin no longer feels like temptation; it feels like death wrapped in counterfeit comfort.

The Garden Revelation: From God-Focused to Self-Focused

As Gerry was giving his sermon, he began to talk about Adam. As much as I tried to keep listening to what he was saying, I was whisked away in a moment of vision. I saw Adam in the garden, hiding and trembling. I could sense his thoughts—nervous, ashamed, burdened by how he might now be perceived. And suddenly, I understood something new. As soon as Adam partook of the forbidden fruit—the act that opened the door to sin and separation—his awareness shifted. He became self-conscious. He stopped focusing on God and started focusing on himself.

“I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.” (Genesis 3:10)

Before sin, Adam had no shame. No fear. No thought of how he looked—only who he was in relation to God. But sin fractured that connection, and suddenly his image took center stage. He was no longer God-conscious. He was self-conscious. And this is exactly what plagues our culture today.

Becoming self-conscious made Adam feel small, insecure, and fragile—all consequences of stepping out from under the covering of God. But that covering is still available, and choosing to walk in it transforms our vulnerability into intimacy. When we walk in God’s covering, feeling small becomes a blessing. We no longer seek to be mighty in our own strength; we rest in His. Our limitations bring us closer to our Father, not further. We stop hiding and start drawing near.

The Idol of Self-Consciousness

In modern society, self-consciousness is often mistaken for self-awareness. It’s celebrated as self-expression, self-help, and self-empowerment. But too often, it crosses the line into self-worship. We now live in a culture that exalts the self while neglecting the One who made us.

When we focus on curating an image that we believe is worthy of praise, we step into the dangerous territory of crafting a false identity for self-gratification rather than glorifying God. He has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise (1 Corinthians 1:27), and when we strive to appear wise, beautiful, and excellent by the world’s standards, we resist the very humility that draws His favor.

Instead of becoming more like the One who is worthy of praise, we attempt to be worthy of praise ourselves. The fruit of this path is often frustration and resentment. When others don’t recognize our efforts or misunderstand us, we take offense. But true faith in God is trusting that we will be misunderstood—and some of that is by divine design.

There are some revelations, like those given to John, that when spoken aloud to the world sound like nonsense. That’s because they weren’t meant for everyone. If we’re secure in the confirmation we receive from our Father, we don’t need consensus from the crowd. He is doing something unique in each of His faithful children. We don’t need to fully understand each other to walk in unity.

This is why aspiring to not be the “Crazy Christian” is faulty. If being passionately in love with God—and moved by His Spirit—inspires others to label us as “crazy,” then we must ask ourselves: why would we want to seem sane to those who are far from Him?

We were never called to blend in. We were called to be set apart.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
— Romans 12:2

Conformity to the world may earn us temporary approval, but it will cost us eternal alignment. If the fruit of our faith doesn’t provoke curiosity—or even discomfort—in those who don’t know God, it may be a sign we’ve watered it down. The early church was not known for fitting in—they were known for turning the world upside down.

So let them call us “crazy.” Let them misunderstand. If the world calls sane what God calls lukewarm, then let us be wild with wonder, bold in belief, and unshakable in our pursuit of Him. Because heaven doesn’t call it crazy—heaven calls it faith.

The Fear of Man vs. The Fear of the Lord

“The fear of man brings a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord shall be safe.” (Proverbs 29:25)

The approval of others is a moving target—and a cruel master. When we fear what people think more than what God says, we will always end up in bondage. By contrast, “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10). A life built on reverence for God, rather than reputation before people, is a life that cannot be shaken.

Not Everything Sharpens—Some Things Just Cut

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” (Proverbs 27:17)

Sharpening only happens when two strong, willing materials collide. If one is too soft—more interested in comfort than truth—it will be divided, not sharpened. The Word of God is “sharper than any double-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12). Its purpose is to pierce what is false, expose what is hidden, and align us with truth. If that hurts, it’s not because God is cruel. It’s because healing begins at the point of truth—and sometimes, that means cutting away what’s been keeping us from Him.

This, however, is not an invitation to be cruel when sharing the truth. I’m reminded of the song They Will Know Us By Our Love. While I believe the term Christian became an identity marker after Christ’s resurrection—and may not hold relevance in heaven or during Jesus’ Millennial Reign—if being a Christian were defined solely by how loving we are, even when telling the truth, I would be honored to call myself one.

And yet, I personally claim the identity of Follower, Disciple of Christ, or Child of God. Why? Not to separate myself from the so-called “crazy Christians.” Call me that if you like—I’m neither ashamed nor offended and I am quite zealous for Jesus. But for many, Christianity has become just another religion, another set of rules, another layer of man-made tradition. That is not how I relate to Jesus.

My relationship with Jesus isn’t built on religious thinking. It’s built on transformation. As I walk with Him, my understanding of His will becomes clearer, and that clarity begins to change me. It peels back my human agenda—one that is weak, easily swayed, and never as potent as the Spirit-led life I’ve been invited into. Jesus doesn’t ask for performance. He asks for intimacy. And it’s through that closeness that my life is being continually refined.

When We Delay the Promise

The Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years—not because God wasn’t ready to fulfill His promise, but because they were too afraid to step into His presence. “You speak to us, and we will listen,” they said to Moses, “but do not let God speak to us directly, or we will die!” (Exodus 20:19, paraphrased)

God wanted to meet them face to face. They wanted a mediator. That fear delayed everything. The same can happen to us. When we choose comfort over closeness, we forfeit the timing of our own promise. God’s end of the covenant is ready—but He’s waiting for us to come near.

Returning Like the Prodigal Son

The parable of the Prodigal Son isn’t just about forgiveness—it’s about restoration of identity and authority. But the son didn’t receive that inheritance while living in a distant land. He had to return.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran to his son…” (Luke 15:20)

The father didn’t just clothe him. He reinstated him. The robe covered his shame. The sandals made him ready to walk again. And the ring? That ring was a symbol of covenant, authority, and belonging. It restored his position in the family—not as a servant, but as a son.

God is not just interested in forgiving you. He wants to re-establish you. But you cannot receive your robe, your ring, or your authority while hiding in shame.

The Burning Ones

If your desire is to dwell in God’s presence—where the seraphim cry “Holy, Holy, Holy” and the throne room burns with glory—then understand: the Burning Ones are not trying to be relevant. They’re not trying to be impressive. They are consumed.

The Hebrew word seraphim literally means “burning ones.” They dwell in the fire because that is their nature. It is not just where they visit—it is where they belong. They are not merely withstanding the flame; they are in harmony with it. Likewise, we were designed to dwell close to God. We were born to burn.

When the fire of God consumes us, it burns away everything that isn’t eternal. And in its place, we receive clarity, conviction, and communion. But the first thing to burn must be our desire to be "cool." That identity cannot survive the altar.

Come Out of Hiding—and Into the Fire

If you’ve been living self-conscious instead of God-conscious, this is your invitation to return. Put down the fig leaves. Step out from the shadows. God isn’t waiting for you to perform—He’s waiting for you to commune.

“Where are you?” He asked Adam. Not because He didn’t know—but because Adam didn’t.

If you want to find yourself again, you must find Him. And if you want to live with power, purpose, and peace, you must be willing to burn.

Stop hiding. Stop fearing. Stop cooling. Start burning.

Because the ones who burn don’t just feel seen. They see God.

Zealous For Jesus? We've Got you.