In Denying Myself, Who Am I Becoming?
Wrestling with the meaning of self-denial, transformation, and identity in Christ
I started thinking about asceticism after reading an article that reflected on the lyrics of a worship song—lines like “less of me, more of you” and “empty me of myself so you can fill me.” They sound earnest, even beautiful. But they also raise deeper questions: What exactly are we asking God to empty? Are we meant to become vessels without shape? Is Christian faith about becoming less and less… until there’s nothing left?
The same tension surfaces in Scripture.
John the Baptist says:
“He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30)
Jesus calls his followers to deny themselves and take up their cross.
Paul says he has been crucified with Christ and no longer lives, but Christ lives in him.
These aren’t casual metaphors. They speak of surrender, of death.
But what kind of death?
Is this a call to become less human?
Less “me”?
☩ The Crucified Self: Death or Transformation?
In Galatians, Paul is not advocating for the annihilation of personhood. He is speaking of the crucifixion of the false self—that part of us that lives in self-sufficiency, pride, performance, and fear. The “I” that no longer lives is not the soul God created, but the self that resists grace.
Similarly, when Jesus says, “deny yourself,” He’s not inviting us to hate our existence. He’s calling us to let go of the egoic self—the one that clings to control, demands recognition, defends status, and avoids dependence.
To take up one’s cross is not to become less human.
It is to walk the path of love.
It is to follow Jesus into death—not to disappear, but to be raised.
The goal is not erasure.
The goal is transformation.
✢ False Self, True Self
Scripture gives us story after story of this paradox:
Moses loses his royal identity and becomes Israel’s liberator.
Peter is shattered by his failure, and then is entrusted with a steadying role—not because he is the rock, but because he stands on One.
Paul gives up the righteousness of the law, and finds his life hidden in Christ.
Mary consents to God’s will and becomes the bearer of the Messiah.
In each case, death leads to rebirth.
Surrender leads to becoming.
The false self is let go—not to vanish, but to make way for the true self to emerge.
Asceticism, rightly understood, is not a rejection of selfhood.
It is a stripping away of illusion.
☙ What Are We Giving Up?
Asceticism is not about punishment—it is about freedom.
It asks:
What must I loosen my grip on, in order to be more open to God?
Where have I tied my identity to things that cannot hold it?
For some, this may mean fasting from comfort or acclaim.
For others, it might mean releasing the need to be right, impressive, or in control.
It’s a way of saying: I am not my success. I am not my fear.
I am not what others think of me. I am not even my own.
I belong to Christ.
✧ A Glimpse in Mother Teresa
Mother Teresa is a helpful, if extreme, example.
She made private vows never to refuse God anything.
She surrendered comfort, recognition, and emotional consolation.
She lived for decades in what she called “the darkness”—a spiritual desolation where she felt no sense of God’s presence.
But she did not vanish.
She remained unmistakably herself—compassionate, shrewd, deeply present.
Her personality was not erased by her surrender. It was clarified.
She didn’t lose her life.
She gave it—and found it, in God.
❖ What Does Self-Denial Do to the Self?
Jesus says, “Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.”
But when you do—what happens to the self that obeys?
Does it fade away?
Does it harden into discipline?
Does it quietly come alive?
We often assume that to follow Jesus means to lose ourselves entirely. But Scripture points to something more paradoxical: that in denying ourselves, we may actually begin to find our truest identity—not apart from Christ, but in Him.
This journey doesn’t happen all at once.
It doesn’t lead straight from surrender to clarity, from crucifixion to full resurrection.
More often, it invites us into the in-between:
Not a temporary phase, but a posture—a way of walking by trust, not certainty.
A life shaped by letting go, while still becoming.
A space where we are neither who we once were, nor yet fully who we are becoming in Christ.
So the deeper question is not just: What must I deny?
But also: Who am I becoming—slowly, quietly, faithfully—in the in-between?
And if surrender is not the end of you—but the beginning of becoming—
then maybe the self Jesus invites us to crucify is not our personhood…
but the illusion that we ever belonged to ourselves to begin with.
Where in your life might God be forming you—not through clarity, but through surrender?