I absolutely loved this post, right up until this sentence, so I'm hoping that I've just misunderstood what you were saying.
To me there's only one way to be holy, and that's by having a contrite heart. You don't get holy by reciting some creed, or going to some church, or invoking some name... as much as many Christians seem to think that that's true.
I don't think those things will make me holy either.
What I wrote there is a rather explicitly Lutheran sentiment, and so no doubt requires a lot of unpacking.
The key biblical text that this sentiment is rooted in is, arguably, the 7th chapter of St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans. It can be a difficult part of the epistle to parse, simply because Paul weaves back and forth about how the Law is good, and yet the Law, paradoxically makes me a worse sinner. In the overall context of the Epistle it makes a lot more sense.
So here's an analogy. Imagine you're an alien from outer space visiting earth and somehow you got yourself a car and learned how to use it. You are driving down the road and you see a red light, you go right through it. You broke the law, yet you were ignorant of it. Compare that to knowing the law and driving through a red light anyway. Now, in our legal framework, the outcome is likely to be the same: You get pulled over and get a ticket for running a red light. But knowledge of the law vs ignorance of the law does have a significant distinction in one's moral relationship to the law.
So St. Paul explains in this part of the epistle that knowledge of the Law didn't make one less a sinner, it actually made him more sinful--had he not known the commandment, then he'd be ignorant; but knowing the commandment means he is
aware of his guilt. Knowing the Law does not make one less of a sinner, but actually makes one realize they
are a sinner.
In Lutheran theology we call this "The Second Use of the Law", the Law functions as a kind of mirror, when we look out ourselves reflected back in the Law, we don't see that we're good, righteous, and holy--just the opposite. The Law says to love my neighbor, but I'm
not loving my neighbor. The Law says "Do not kill", and Jesus goes on to say that even bearing anger against another person is a kind of murder done in one's own heart; how can I serve my neighbor in love if, instead, I hold resentment against them? Even if I go through the motions it may indeed just cause me to resent them more. So while I may not literally murder them, I withdraw from them, become callous, and they may suffer in some way, or experience pain, or die--all while I remain resentful or apathetic. And my inaction is as much compounding my guilt as any injurious action I may take.
So what happens, then, when I come to know the Law and desire to obey it? What then? Here is where things get even trickier. Because here, again, the Law is a mirror. The closer I look at my own reflection in a mirror, the more likely I am to see the details, when it comes to my physical appearance it is probably just a skin blemish here or there, or a new wrinkle from aging there. Now, others probably don't notice or care, but as I scrutinize myself in the mirror, I become more aware of these blemishes. When the Law acts like a mirror, it's not mere trivial physical imperfections that I notice; but rather the blemishes on my soul. What does it mean to "Love the Lord your God with all your mind, with all your heart, and with all your strength"? What does it mean to "Love your neighbor as yourself"? On the surface it all seems quite simple, but the more we dig, the deeper we realize this goes. What does it mean to "Love God"? Does it mean having warm fuzzy feelings about God? Is that really why there'd be a commandment to love God with our whole mind, heart, and strength? This is clearly not about feeling warm fuzzies, it's bigger and deeper than that. And what does "With all your mind, and with all your heart, and with all your strength" mean? How does one love God with their mind, let alone their whole mind? What about with one's heart, let alone their whole heart? What does loving God with my strength even mean? It gets bigger, it gets deeper. And why does Jesus connect the commandment to love God with loving my neighbor? When Jesus quotes these two parts of the Torah, He does so in answer to the question, "What is the greatest commandment?" these two are united together, as though they become a singular commandment, the Greatest Commandment.
And so here is the paradox: The more I try to gaze into the Law, the more I see the truth about myself. I'm a sinner. And I'm not just kind of a sinner, I'm a great big ugly sinner. My heart is not shaped and orientated toward God and by God, but rather my heart is shaped and orientated by my own passions, my desires, desires which are all misshapen and twisted in all sorts of ways, ways which cause all manner of conflict, strife, and suffering in my relationships with others, with my community, with society, even with the rest of God's creation; and is twisted and misshapen away from God. It's not merely that I don't love God, the reality is that, the closer I look into the mirror, what I really start to see is that, right in the center of myself, there's something that actually hates God, something that is so utterly opposed to God that it's almost inhuman.
That, of course, is what is historically called Original Sin. It's also the kind of thing C.S. Lewis is trying to get at in his works like The Great Divorce when he speaks of there being something in us that will become hell unless its nipped in the bud.
And this is offensive, to ourselves especially, because of course we want to be moral creatures. Rather, we want to
think we are moral creatures. Almost nobody goes through life thinking, "I'm an evil person that likes evil and oh boy do I like evil." There are, of course, people who suffer depression, anxiety, and mental illness where due to trauma or other factor they have an unhealthy negative view of themselves. But self-esteem isn't really the matter I'm getting at. It's rather the fact that while we almost all know, and recognize, bad things happen, and people do bad things, we generally imagine it's other people who do bad things. Just look at the political rhetoric. It's the immigrants, it's the Democrats, it's the homosexuals, and the trans people, it's the Muslims, it's the Jews, it's the atheists, it's the secular humanists; or from the other side: it's the racists, it's the Christian Nationalists, it's the homophobes, transphobes, it's the rich billionaires, it's the corporate oligarchs, etc. It's always them. It's never us. And most certainly it is never
me.
I don't mention political discourse here to play a "both sides" game; but neither do I want to pretend as though human nature is partisan. It's not. Human nature is, well, universal. It's all of us. all the time.
We can do this in just about any context. It's always those people who are doing evil, it's never us. Because, as though by nature, we are, of course, good; it's only those other people who are bad. The most evil and vile people of history never thought of themselves as evil and vile--they were the good guys, their ideas were noble, their actions righteous. Every single villain of history believed in the righteousness of himself and his cause.
When Rome put Jesus Christ to death, they did so because it was the righteous and noble thing to do. When Caiaphas and some members of the Sanhedrin met in secret to hand Jesus over to Pilate, they were convinced of the righteousness of their actions.
It's not shocking, or particularly shocking that an empire built on the blood of innocents would put an innocent to death. Neither is Caiaphs, Pilate, or Herod particularly or especially evil--they were human beings doing what human beings do. And it looks pretty ugly,
because it was.
When we try to use the Law to make ourselves feel good about ourselves, it's like putting on makeup to cover up the blemish--it's appearance, but no substance. It's washing the outside of the cup, rather than the inside.
When I say when I try to be holy I only make myself more of a sinner. That's what I mean. It means the brighter and more spotless I make the outside of the sepulcher look, the more stark the contrast it is with the inside--full of rotting, decaying bones.
Grace is the only thing that can clean up these old bones.
-CryptoLutheran
It's about my heart calling out to God's heart, and God's heart answering. To me it doesn't matter whether that plea comes from a church, or a synagogue, or a mosque, or a strip club. Holy, is simply about my life being open to God's will. As such I put very little value in a name.
So I'm hoping that what your final sentence is referring to is people like those in Matthew 7:22-23,
22 Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?’ 23 Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’
If such is the case then I agree, and I'm also afraid, that many of the staunchest Christians fall into this group, who think fervor is an apt substitute for contrition.