I’m always conflicted on those rare occasions when someone attributes godliness to me.

There’s not a disciple of Jesus Christ anywhere who would not want to be thought of as godly. But I strongly suspect that anyone to whom the label can be legitimately applied would never in a million years think they qualified.

There is that dichotomy which we see with a lot of spiritual disciplines. With humility, if we think we have it, we don’t. With maturity, if we think of ourselves as mature in the faith, we probably aren’t. And with godliness, one of the features of this most wonderful of all traits is a strong awareness of our frailness, our fallibility, our wicked heart.

That little contradiction gives rise to the silly bit that goes: “If I think I’m humble, I’m not. If I’m truly humble, I don’t think I am. And since I don’t think of myself as humble, I must be.”

Godliness is Christlikeness. The presence of the Lord Himself is so strong within us, we reflect Him to all we meet. The character of the Lord Jesus is exhibited through us in all we do. The love of Jesus–the love of God, same difference–shines forth to all we meet.

And yet, we are no less human than we’ve ever been. We do not “channel” Jesus, as a friend asked me the other day. No, nothing goofy or spooky. It’s simply that the closer to the Lord Jesus we get, the more these two realities grow up side by side: the presence and power of Christ in us, and our humanity, meaning we become more fully the individual God made us to be.

When John the Baptist said of Jesus, “He must increase, I must decrease,” he did not imply that there would come a day when his personality and his individuality would be absorbed into the Almighty Messiah and he would cease to exist, as some have thought. Instead, he would always be John, but would get more and more out of the way while Jesus Christ would be everything to him.

Godliness does not have to be as elusive a subject as we sometimes make it. Think of it as “More of Christ in Me” and at the same time, “I become more the person He created me to be.”

Godliness will look differently in each of us.

God’s blueprint for you is different from His plan for me. So, as we each advance toward spiritual maturity, we find ourselves looking more and more like Jesus while being more and more uniquely ourselves.

We see that paradox all the time in families. My friend Bryan Harris, a wonderful minister alongside whom I served in two churches, and his wife Rebecca have four children. The daughters–Aleesa, Amy, and Anna–all are different, are beautiful, and yet, still look like their daddy. Adam looks a lot more like Bryan, but is still himself. None of the four children are clones of their father (we would teasingly say, “Thank the Lord!”) and yet they all bear his likeness while retaining their own uniqueness.

I look like Jesus (to the extent I do, it’s all good); and I look like myself (which, I confess, is both good and bad).

Here is what Godliness looks like in me, so far as I can nail it down.

On the Deity side, I find the Lord Jesus in my thoughts throughout the day and in the night. I find myself praying short prayer-bursts to Him regularly, as though He were a companion in the next chair. My thoughts are to serve Him, my desire is to please Him, my spirit wants to praise Him. I read the Word and find that it ministers to me more and more. I get with other believers and love them heartily.

On the human side, I enjoy being the Joe McKeever He made me to be. And yet, I find myself increasingly disgusted with my weaknesses and sinful nature.

I struggle with the same temptations as everyone else, even though I’ve been a disciple of the Man of Galilee since 1951. You might think by now I’d have it down to an art. Not even close.

And–this is just my opinion–very few believers ever master it all. One of the finest believers I’ve ever known said, when I told her what an outstanding example she was to all the rest of us, “Oh, Joe, if you only know.”

A generation later, I do know.

I suspect the greatest boost toward conquering the temptations of this life is persecution, the trials by fire of which Peter speaks in his First Epistle. But, all the same to you, I’ll look for another way. No one chooses persecution.

The Apostle Paul voiced our sentiments precisely when he exclaimed, “O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24)

What exactly was Paul struggling with? What temptations drove him to beat his head against the wall and cry out this exasperated wail? No one knows. And aren’t we glad?

Whatever his temptations, I can assure you that had Paul told us, many believers–mostly the immature, but also the self-righteous pious–would dismiss him as unworthy to teach us anything about God.

Anyone doubting that should imagine for a moment, what if Paul had said, “I struggle with lust.” Or pornography. Or the temptation to indulge a love for alcohol. Or some drugs which might have been available then. Or, love for my neighbor’s wife.

Some things are better not spoken.

“It is disgraceful even to speak of the things which are done by them in secret,” Paul said of some wicked people (Ephesians 5:12). He clearly had no use for the kind of transparent preaching where the minister lays bare his own inner struggles in some misguided attempt to connect with his audience. Keep it to yourself, give it to the Lord, but do not inflict it upon the congregation. Take the counsel of the psalmist (Psalm 73, particularly vv. 15-17) who was glad he had not spoken of his inner struggles, lest he lead people astray.

The problem is, you get past your struggles and are fine, but the doubts you have planted in the minds of hearers linger far longer.

Here is the principle. Burn it in your heart, believer. The closer to Jesus you get and the more of Jesus in you, the more like yourself you will become and the more of your own unrighteousness you will have to deal with. Granted, that is a self-knowledge not everyone desires, but would rather go forward in their own fantasies of perfection.

The struggles of each will be different.

Take the so-called “seven deadly sins,” a list not found in scripture as such but manufactured by Medieval priests trying to live the monastic life who identified these as their chief threats: pride, lust, avarice (greed), anger, envy, sloth, and gluttony.

Each of us will struggle with some but not others. Two or three on that list loom large in my prayer life, whereas others show up rarely if at all.

The fact that one has no problem with gluttony does not mean he should disparage a brother struggling with anger or envy.

Everyone struggles. “There is none righteous, no, not one” (Romans 3:10). Accept that as a fact of life for believers in Jesus in this world–and that it applies to believers as well as unbelievers–and you will solve a multitude of issues before they arise.

You will be less likely to judge and condemn.

You will be quicker to sympathize and show compassion to the fallen.

You will be more generous to the needy.

You will be more prayerful toward strangers.

You will be less confident in your own righteouness.

You will more easily “esteem others more highly than yourself (Philippians 2:3).”

You will more easily stoop to serve someone thought less worthy than yourself.

You will desire more and more of Jesus Christ and the righteousness found only in Him.

You will find yourself hungering for the Word of the Lord and loving the “mealtimes” during which you seem to sit at the feet of the Lord while He teaches you.

You will be embarrassed when someone lauds you as godly.

That happened to me the other day and I was almost angry. I recall thinking, “Brother, if I’m godly, then the rest of the Church is in bad shape.” But the more I reflected on this, the Lord began to show me that this attitude–which is fairly on target, actually–is one of the traits of godliness.

Which would seem to imply I think I’m godly. Which would prove that I’m not.

Oh brother! Here we go again!