Clean or unclean, that is the question.
I have literally spent years trying to get some kind of bearing when it comes to what is happening when someone becomes unclean. Scripture records a great deal about what causes uncleanness, but the personal implications are far less discussed. In other words, how does being unclean affect our actual life? Well, I got a little taste and want to share my experience with you.
As mentioned above, there are several things recorded in regard to what makes us unclean. Our personal state changes in these varying situations:
What is the common thread here? It seems to be a brush with death of some variety, but there is something far greater that I had not considered.
Originally, my thought process went something like this: When someone is unclean they are placed outside of the dwelling place of God and need to get cleaned up so they can once again come into the Holy Place. It’s a temporary condition that just needs a little time (and soap) then all is right in the world. Not wrong but grossly incomplete.
A short while ago, a more intimate picture opened up as to what’s going on here. It turns out it isn’t just death that can make us unclean, life can do so as well. This sounds ridiculous but once you understand the ultimate point of uncleanness it starts to make perfect sense.
Now, both death and life carry a residue of the flesh: one through decay, the other through desire. And both must be released before stepping into the Holy Place.
This placement outside the dwelling is not punitive but revelatory. It is not meant to shame, but to realign desire before obedience becomes possible. It exposes attachments that would otherwise go unnoticed and forces the heart to confront what it is unwilling to release.
The waiting itself is doing the work. Time outside the dwelling allows desire to surface in ways that repentance alone cannot. Washing may address what is external, but waiting exposes what is internal. In that space, the heart begins to see not only what it has done, but what it depends on. Uncleanness lingers long enough to reveal whether restoration is being sought for the sake of obedience or for the sake of presence.
I got to learn this firsthand.
In my personal experience, it wasn’t an accident or confrontation that shook me. I did have a brush with a “death-like” type encounter and what it did to me was amazing. Sure, I became supremely aware of my physical surroundings but I also entered a state of hyper-awareness spiritually. This is what I was not expecting. It was as if every spiritual signal flowing through the air had a sharp crystal-clear clarity that could almost be seen visually and heard audibly. It even felt like I could reach out and touch it. I’m not sure I’ve ever had this kind of experience before.
But it was the deeper thing that hit the hardest.
Beyond the awareness of what was happening on the outside, I could also see what was going on within. The difference between where I was and where I wanted to be was very clear. There was an instant desire to be right alongside my God, and yet I felt separated -- and not in the way you may be thinking.
I felt I was right outside the gate and I could almost feel the Adversary coming for me. I immediately thought to myself: how could this be? At the time, we were coming off of the most serious day of the year (Day of Atonement) and repentance was fresh in my mind. In addition, we were also coming off of serving people within our community with a fun-filled festive event (Sukkot). I haven’t had too much time to be super-offended or overly judgmental, and I feel like we were in a good spot as a community.
What could have invited this incredibly odd situation to arise?
Now, I could have chalked up the feeling of being in that place of separation due to my “brush with death” but it wasn’t an actual death event. Something else seems to have pushed me into that lonesome place.
It turns out, the separation was due to my desire to live, not merely to exist, but to cling to life as something that must be preserved rather than entrusted.
Just as childbirth and intimacy carry the residue of life emerging from flesh, my own longing to hold on to life, though good, kept me tethered to what cannot pass through the veil. (I get this may make no sense but bear with me.)
It was in that tension that I began to see how both longing for life and fearing death flow from the same source: attachment to the flesh.
The question in my spirit was this: Which one do I desire the most, my life or His presence? The answer is much more complex than I could have imagined.
Tension marked my state of being, with no clarity about which desire I truly wanted more. Holding both within reach, I remained in that waiting space, unsettled by the weight of the decision before me. As the inner conflict intensified, so did the awareness of being pursued. The pressure closed in.
“I want to live, I don’t want to die, I want to be in Abba’s presence, I don’t want to be in the presence of the Adversary.”
This made for a weighty decision. On one hand, there is family and community -- a wife, several children, many more grandchildren -- and the pull to remain, to live this life among them, and to take in the fullness of what family was meant to be. There felt like so much more time was needed -- time to watch lives develop, to remain present, and to truly belong within them.
On the other hand, there is the presence of YHVH.
How do you make this decision? Seriously, how? Worse still, I had done nothing wrong and was still relegated to beyond the gate. Is this fair? Is this just?
Well, yeah.
Go back and read what makes you unclean. Can you see it? Within those instances lies a battle in your flesh. Some of those things in the list are chock full of what you want (children, sexual relations, life-producing bodily processes), but also included are those things you most certainly do not want (death, disease, disease-related conditions).
And they both yield the exact same outcome. Why? Because BOTH of these desires separate you from the presence of Abba. Wanting the good and contemplating the bad, you sit outside...alone.
As we sit outside, we face two options:
It’s easy to assume that all we want is to go back in. And under normal life conditions, you do have that luxury. When you repent, forgiveness is on offer immediately. But when you are unclean, there is a time element attached. You can’t come in. Here you are peering over the fence at what your spirit craves more than anything else and you are not allowed to move towards it.
This should rattle you to your core.
For some reason, we always think we can live outside and inside at the same time. This simply is not true. The only way to have life is to give it up. We should be trusting that His presence more than makes up for the loss of things we have elevated right alongside Him.
This is because obedience that flows from unresolved attachment will always strain under pressure. God does not rush restoration, not out of distance, but out of mercy, allowing desire to be reordered before obedience is required. Waiting guards against a shallow return, one where actions appear aligned while the heart remains tethered to the flesh. Only when desire has been clarified can obedience be sustained without fracture.
Scripture is consistent on this point. Those who dwell closest to God are repeatedly brought to the same narrowing place, where competing attachments are exposed and only one can remain.
Fortunately, we have examples to help us make the right decision.
Abraham had to let go of Isaac, the very promise God Himself had given. The test was never about death but about devotion. Would Abraham love the promise more than the Presence? Only when the knife was raised did YHVH reveal that the real offering He desired was trust.
Ezekiel had to let go of the delight of his eyes and the most precious thing in his world: his wife. YHVH told him not to mourn, not to weep, not to cover his face. Why? Because even grief, even love, even what is good can become a weight that drags us back toward the flesh.
Moses had to let go of position. Raised in Pharaoh’s court, he was destined for greatness but greatness in the wrong kingdom. At the burning bush, he removed his sandals -- the symbols of his authority, his direction, his control -- because where YHVH dwells, you don’t lead; you listen.
Isaiah had to let go of his identity. Standing before the throne, he cried, “Woe to me! I am a man of unclean lips.” The moment he saw the holiness of God, he saw the impurity in himself. One coal from the altar changed everything. Holiness burned away what words could never fix.
Paul had to let go of reputation and achievement. He said, “Whatever was gain to me I count as loss.” All of it -- his education, his zeal, his self-righteousness -- became refuse compared to the surpassing worth of knowing the Messiah. He didn’t just let go of sin, he let go of success.
Peter had to let go of shame. When he said, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man,” he was unclean in the truest sense, aware of his unworthiness. Yet after Yeshua’s resurrection, he was restored not by striving but by love. Three denials met by three invitations: “Feed My sheep”.
Every one of these men faced the same question I did outside the gate: Which do I desire more, my flesh or His presence?
Uncleanness, it turns out, isn’t just about touching what dies. It’s about everything tied to flesh, even the things that seem most alive. It’s about clinging to anything that cannot live in His presence -- even the beautiful, even the blessed.
To dwell with Him, everything else must die. Everything.
Maybe that’s the point. Holiness isn’t just a list of clean behaviors. Instead, it's the willingness to let go of everything that cannot come through the veil. And uncleanness isn’t necessarily rooted in sin. It’s simply the reminder that even our most beautiful experiences are still clothed in mortality.
Only then, when nothing remains but Him, do we finally find what life really is.