The Holy Ache

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” —Frederick Buechner

Many years ago, I spent a semester at the University of Oxford in England, studying mythology.  It was as awesome as it sounds, by the way.  

One morning, I got up before sunrise. I visited Christ Church Meadow, one of the most picturesque spots in a city often described as the "dreaming spires" city. This description definitely captures the essence of the Oxford skyline but doesn't do it justice, especially at dawn.

As I watched the sun rise over the meadow, I was absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty of what unfolded.  I remember thinking to myself, "This is what Heaven looks like to me."  Something stirred inside me —a longing that made my heart feel like it was breaking.    

It wasn't the first time that I felt what could only be described as a holy ache, but it was the most acute I'd ever felt it before.     

I've felt that ache since then, and I've come to understand it more fully, but not completely.  It is one of the great mysteries of life--one that seems to come from another world, another reality.  

I believe this longing never quite leaves us.  It's a deep ache just beneath the surface, waiting for moments when we are willing enough or open enough to feel it. We feel it when beauty moves us to tears, when grief catches us off guard, when we sense that even our greatest joys are only glimpses of something more. 

The psalmist gives words to this ache: “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.” (Psalm 42:1)

This longing is not a flaw to be fixed; it is a holy echo of Eden, a homesickness for God and for the world as it should be. We live between promise and fulfillment, redemption begun but not yet complete. 

The Apostle Paul describes it as creation itself “groaning in labor pains” while we wait for renewal (Romans 8:22). Our ache is the pulse of that same hope—it tells us we are made for more than this moment.

Sometimes we try to silence the ache with distractions, achievements, or comfort. But the holy ache is not meant to be numbed; it’s meant to be noticed. It draws us closer to God, who planted that yearning within us. 

The ache points us toward purpose—it’s the tug that leads us to places of service, creativity, compassion, and calling. Buechner wrote that where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep hunger, we find vocation. That intersection is sacred ground—the place where longing is transformed into love in action.

The holy ache reminds us that we are made for more than this moment.

Jesus honored this holy ache when He said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” The hunger itself is blessed. The ache itself is a testament to life. It means our hearts are still awake, still reaching for what is true, beautiful, and good.

One day, that ache will be answered. Revelation paints the picture: “God will wipe every tear from their eyes… and death shall be no more.” Until then, we live faithfully in the in-between—hungering, hoping, and helping to bring the kingdom a little closer.

Prayer

God of holy longing,
thank You for the ache that keeps my heart awake to Your presence.
When my soul hungers for what is not yet, teach me to trust that You are near.
Turn my longing into love, my ache into action,
and let my life become a sign of the world You are making new.
Amen.

Reflection Questions

1. What are you most deeply longing for in this season of your life?

2. How might your ache be pointing you toward your purpose or calling?

3. What helps you hold both longing and hope in faithful tension?