“I shall pass through this world but once, if therefore, there be any good I can do to a fellow human being let me do it now for I shall not pass by this way again.” That’s the quote I read on a plaque presented by J. Henry Moore. It’s mounted on a crumbling pillar near an overgrown entrance to the park that he donated more than 100 years ago. It has since become a fading memory but was once a notable moment in the life of J. Henry Moore.
The weather-beaten monument got me thinking about invested time. Life is molded by a lot of meaningful memories, but it’s built upon few meaningful moments. Like the moment when I knew I would marry my wife. Her sheer radiance vaporized my shallow conceptions of happiness. All I wanted for the rest of my life was to simmer in her warmth and wonder. She was like the light of dawn, and the longer I was in it the brighter it became. And every moment we are married, I rejoice to see her shine in fullness of Christ.
But being in the sun means you risk getting burned. Throughout the years we’ve endured a lot of pain and sorrow. Our solemn vows constantly demand God’s mercy and our maintenance. The point is that I didn’t marry my wife expecting blissful beaches—I married her for the simple joy of living in her sunshine.
After rereading the words on the plaque, I surmised that Mr. Moore understood that the path to happiness is found in the moments we do good for our neighbor’s sake. And that path can be trodden under trees of beauty in pristine parks, but for how long? How long before the luster of life dims from decay? What happens when our moments of delight turn into memories of despair?
We often overlook the fact that happiness is of circumstance. Happiness has wings and may fly away and never come back. But joy is different. Joy is of confidence. Joy is like a rock on which you can build your entire life. And although happiness is desirable, joy is deep-seated contentment given by grace and anchored through faith.
How can we know if we have true joy? It’s safe to say that if we have true joy, then it’s going to rest with our deepest satisfaction. John Piper has a poetic declaration, “God is most glorified in you when you are most satisfied in him.” The question to be answered is this: what gives you the greatest satisfaction? If you can answer honestly, then you will certainly know whether your life is built on the shifting sands of earthly happiness or on the resilient rock of heavenly joy.
In fact, there are many things in life that appear to give us joy. But when we conduct honest assessments of our invested time, we may discover that those objects of joy don’t last. They’re just shoddy schemes made of chintzy, circumstantial happiness. Is it a job? Lots of cash? Entertainment? Status? Retirement? Television? Whatever you think it is that gives you true joy, it must have a gratifying result that surpasses the universe; because intermittent, worldly leisure cannot last in the everlasting, heavenly life. Our internal problem cannot be solved by an external solution.
That is why in the greatest sermon ever preached (Matthew 5-7), Jesus begins with the beatitudes—heavenly happiness that’s granted for being somebody, not for doing something. Investing our time for the sake of good is only worthwhile if there’s no room for us to boast. If everything you do is done to honor yourself in the end, then in the end you’ll only honor yourself. But if everything you do is done to honor Christ, then in the end he will honor you. So, let us remember that the way to heavenly happiness is not only narrow, but the door is short, and we’ll have to fall to our knees if we want to enter.
“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but he that does the will of my Father who is in heaven will enter” (Matthew 7:21, NASB).
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