Joy as an Ethical Measure

“I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.”

— John 15:11

There is a quiet belief that has shaped my life more than I sometimes realize: joy matters.

Not just my joy—but the joy I help create in others.

That idea can feel almost subversive in a faith tradition that has often taught us to be suspicious of pleasure and wary of desire. We were taught, sometimes explicitly and sometimes by implication, that holiness was measured by restraint, by endurance, by how much of ourselves we could deny. Joy, if it appeared at all, was treated as a reward—something deferred, conditional, or fleeting.

Yet Jesus says something very different.

He speaks of joy not as a side effect, but as an intention: “that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” This is not the language of scarcity or fear. It is the language of fullness—of lives lived in connection, honesty, and mutual regard.

When I examine my choices—whether they are tender, complicated, earthy, or entirely ordinary—I find myself returning to three simple questions:

• Did this bring life?
  
• Did it honor the other?
  
• Would I receive what I’m offering?
  

These questions aren’t loopholes or excuses. They are ethical touchstones. They force me to consider not just what I want, but how my actions land in the lives of others.

They echo Jesus’ own teaching: “In everything, do to others as you would have them do to you” (Matthew 7:12). This is not about moral bookkeeping; it is about reciprocity. It assumes dignity. It assumes consent. It assumes that love is something exchanged, not extracted.

Paul writes, “For you were called to freedom… only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become servants to one another” (Galatians 5:13). Freedom here is not erased by desire—it is guided by love. Service is not self-erasure; it is attentiveness to the humanity in front of us.

Even in places where language is earthy and desire is intense, the Spirit does not suddenly leave the room. The question is not, Was this pure enough? but Was this honest? Was it mutual? Was it life-giving?

Scripture reminds us that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace…” (Galatians 5:22). Joy is not an afterthought—it is evidence. When joy appears alongside love and peace, something sacred is taking place.

At my core, I don’t believe ethics are about shrinking ourselves to avoid harm. I believe they are about showing up fully—awake to our own humanity and to the humanity of others. Joy that honors the other is not selfish. It is relational. It reflects the God who looked at creation and called it very good (Genesis 1:31).

Perhaps the holiest question we can ask is not Am I allowed? but Did this make room for life?

If it did—if it honored, enlivened, and respected—then joy was not a detour from faith.

It was the path itself.