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Psalm 145:3 “Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise; his greatness no one can fathom.”

Think

Some things just can’t be downsized.

You can shrink a photo to fit your phone screen. You can fold a map to fit in your pocket. You can compress files to make them easier to send. But you cannot shrink God. He does not compress, fold, or scale down. And yet, we try.

Not with bad intentions. Usually, it’s out of fear, comfort, or control. We like categories. We like predictability. We want a God who fits in our theology, our timelines, our expectations. So we flatten his complexity. We tame his power. We round off the edges of his holiness.

It’s like trying to stuff the ocean into a bottle. We may not chisel idols out of stone, but we chisel away anything about God that feels inconvenient or too hard to understand. We cut him down to size—not because we don’t believe in him, but because we want him to feel more manageable.

The Second Commandment warns us about this. Not just making idols, but making images—trying to capture the invisible God in something visible, controllable, or familiar. And every time we do, something vital gets lost.

A God who always agrees with you isn’t God. He’s just a spiritual echo of your own voice. A God who never convicts you, never challenges your assumptions, never makes you uncomfortable, is not the God of Scripture.

The God of the Bible is full of paradox. He’s the Lion and the Lamb. Holy and merciful. Just and gracious. He dwells in unapproachable light and draws near to the brokenhearted. He thunders from heaven and whispers in the silence. He breaks chains and carries scars. He can’t be captured in a mood, a method, or a single verse.

And that’s what makes him worthy of worship.

We don’t stand in awe of things we fully understand. We don’t surrender our lives to things we can control. We’re drawn to wonder. To mystery. To greatness that humbles and heals us at the same time.

Psalm 145 says, “Great is the Lord… his greatness no one can fathom.” That means we’ll never reach the bottom. Never hit the edge. Never outgrow our need to keep discovering more of who he is.

And that’s not a failure of faith. That’s the foundation of it.

Imagine walking into an art museum and only looking at one painting. You decide it’s enough. You take a picture and leave. But the building is full of rooms—masterpieces you never even glanced at. That’s what happens when we settle for a reduced view of God. We take one truth, one moment, one experience, and build our entire theology around it. Meanwhile, God is inviting us to explore the gallery.

Or think of a marriage where one person keeps referencing the first year as the gold standard. They don’t learn the other’s fears, dreams, or growth. They don’t ask new questions. They just cling to what was comfortable. Over time, the relationship stagnates—not because love faded, but because curiosity died.

God is infinite. That means you can walk with him your entire life and still be surprised. Still be stretched. Still have your breath taken away by some new facet of his goodness or holiness or wisdom.

But only if you let him be who he is.

He refuses to be edited. He will not be boxed, balanced, or boiled down. He won’t become palatable just to make you comfortable. He doesn’t shrink—not because he’s distant, but because he’s real. And this is good news.

Because only a big God can heal deep wounds. Only a sovereign God can steady a shaky future. Only a holy God can make sinful hearts clean. And only an unshrinkable God is worthy of your full devotion.

So ask yourself today: have I shrunk God in my mind? Have I built my faith on a few favorite traits and ignored the rest? Have I expected God to act on my schedule, speak in my style, or move according to my preferences? Have I traded the glory of the unsearchable God for something more digestible?

If so, don’t feel ashamed. Just let today be a turning point. A deep breath. A wider view. A step toward the mystery again.

God isn’t mad that you tried to make sense of him. But he is inviting you to stop trying to reduce him. He’s not asking for perfect understanding. He’s asking for awe. For wonder. For a heart that keeps saying, “Show me more.”

Apply

Take a few minutes today to write down a few words or phrases you’ve associated with God—maybe ones you grew up with, or ones that feel most familiar. Then ask yourself: is this the whole picture?

Spend time in a passage you don’t normally read—maybe a story or a Psalm that stretches your view. Let God confront and expand your understanding. He doesn’t want to be explained. He wants to be known.

Pray

God, I confess that I’ve tried to shrink you—to make you easier to understand, more predictable, more comfortable. But you are greater than I can fathom. Thank you for being holy, mysterious, and full of mercy. Expand my view of you. Stretch my heart to love all of who you are, not just the parts I understand. I want to worship you in spirit, in truth, and in awe. In Jesus’ name. Amen.