Joy: Beyond Pleasure, Toward What Lasts Forever

Greetings in the name of the Father, the son, and the Holy Spirit.

What is joy?

Is it happiness? A rush of excitement? The kind of pleasure that makes us laugh or dance or post a perfect picture online?

At first glance, joy can look like pleasure. But the deeper we go, the more we realize: they are not the same.

Pleasure is real—and necessary. We’re wired to feel it. A favorite meal. A beautiful song. A moment of laughter. These things remind us we’re alive. But pleasure is also temporary. It fades. It asks for more. And more. And eventually—too much.

Many people today live on a treadmill of pleasure-seeking. If we can just get the next high, the next thrill, the next like, the next purchase—then we’ll finally feel full.

But here’s the problem: pleasure can’t fill what only joy can satisfy.

The deeper hunger in our souls—the thirst that keeps us up at night, or makes us stare blankly at our screens—is not a craving for entertainment. It’s a longing for meaning.

Pleasure is like sea water: the more you drink, the thirstier you become.

True joy, though, quenches something eternal.

So what is this true joy?

Let’s explore three things:

 

We live in a world that constantly tells us: “You deserve to feel good.”

Ads promise it. Social media flaunts it. Technology delivers it. Everything around us whispers—chase pleasure, and you’ll be happy.

But here’s the truth: pleasure and joy are not the same.

Pleasure says, “Make yourself feel good.”

Joy asks, “What gives life meaning?”

Pleasure is like sugar. It gives a quick rush, but what comes after? A crash.

Joy, in contrast, is like nourishment. It might not always be flashy, but it sustains and strengthens you.

We confuse the two all the time.

Think about it: so many of society’s deepest wounds come from people chasing pleasure without restraint.  Addictions. Exploitation. Deception. Even war.  Underneath it all is this idea: “I want what I want—no matter who it hurts.”

It’s not just a modern problem.

History is filled with tragic examples.

The Roman Emperor Nero, in a self-absorbed pursuit of power and pleasure, set fire to parts of Rome and blamed innocent people. Herod, in a moment of intoxicated pleasure, promised a dancer half his kingdom—just because her performance pleased him. That rash vow led to the beheading of John the Baptist.

These leaders had everything—power, wealth, control—but they were empty.

And if we’re honest, we’re not that different. Most of us aren’t ruling nations, but many of us let pleasure rule our lives.

We become dictators of our own desires.

We make decisions not based on what’s right, but what feels good.

We say yes to the impulse—even if it costs our integrity, our peace, or our relationships.

Why?

Because we’re hungry.

Hungry for something more.

Thirsty for something deeper.

But pleasure isn’t built to satisfy. It’s built to excite. And what excited us last week feels bland today. So we need more—more clicks, more likes, more entertainment, more stuff.

This cycle is a trap. It promises fullness, but delivers emptiness.

Jesus knew this hunger. He saw it in a woman who had been through five failed relationships, living with a man who wasn’t her husband. She came to a well—not just for water, but because her life was dry.

He said to her:

That woman had chased pleasure—seeking love, acceptance, identity—but none of it lasted.

Then she met Jesus. And for the first time, she wasn’t chasing anymore.

She found what she didn’t know she was looking for: joy.

A joy not based on performance. Not on appearance. Not on approval.

A joy that came from being fully known, and still fully loved.

The world says, “More pleasure will fill you.”

Jesus says, “Come to Me, and I’ll give you living water.”

That’s the difference.

Pleasure drains us.

Joy fills us.

And the path to that joy? It begins when we stop chasing and start receiving.

 

If pleasure fades and joy remains, then the real question is: What does true joy actually look like?

It looks like Jesus.

That answer may surprise us. After all, we often associate joy with laughter, dancing, celebration—moments when life feels light and free. And yes, joy includes those things. But when we look at Jesus, we see joy in its purest, most powerful form—and it doesn’t come wrapped in comfort.

It comes through the cross.

Pause and think about that.

Jesus endured betrayal by a friend, injustice in the courts, humiliation before the crowds, excruciating physical pain, and abandonment on the cross. He didn’t endure it because He enjoyed it. He endured it because of joy—joy that was set before Him.

What kind of joy is strong enough to carry a man through a cross?

You.

His joy was in seeing you restored to God.

His joy was in wiping away your shame.

His joy was in rescuing you from death, so you could live.

That was the joy that drove Him. A joy not focused on Himself, but on you.

This is what separates joy from pleasure.

Pleasure is about consuming—getting, taking, filling ourselves.

Joy is about giving—pouring out, blessing, lifting others up.

Pleasure isolates. Joy connects.

Jesus lived this joy, even in His final hours. He gathered His disciples for one last meal—knowing they would abandon Him—and still He gave them this promise:

He wasn’t just giving instructions. He was giving joy—His joy. A joy deep enough to carry them through failure, sorrow, and suffering.

After the resurrection, that joy became real in them.

They weren’t the same people.

The same men who fled in fear stood boldly before crowds.

The same ones who had run away were now running toward danger to share the Gospel.

They were changed—not by positive thinking, but by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Not by motivational words, but by an encounter with the risen Jesus.

And they didn’t chase pleasure anymore. They walked in joy, even when it led to prison, persecution, or death.

How?

Because they had found something worth more than comfort.

They had found someone worth living—and dying—for.

That’s the power of true joy.

Joy is not the absence of pain.

It is the presence of purpose that makes the pain bearable.

Jesus didn’t just give us an example of joy. He gave us Himself.

And when we live in Him, we begin to share in that same joy—joy that holds steady when everything else falls apart.

A joy that endures—even the cross.

 

So what does it mean to live in joy?

Let’s be honest—most days don’t feel joyful. We carry burdens, navigate stress, face disappointments, and walk through grief. That’s real. And joy doesn’t deny it.

Living in joy doesn’t mean pretending everything’s fine.

It doesn’t mean faking smiles or suppressing sorrow.

It doesn’t mean covering wounds with spiritual slogans.

Joy is quiet strength. It’s the steady anchor when life gets chaotic. It’s the whisper of God’s presence when we’re too tired to shout. Joy is not loud, but it’s strong. It’s not always seen, but it’s always near.

That verse was spoken to people who had just come back from exile. They were rebuilding their lives, facing enemies, feeling weak and overwhelmed. But joy—God’s joy—was their strength.

Joy is something we grow into, one step at a time.

How?

Through small, faithful choices.

* When you choose patience instead of snapping—you’re walking in joy.

* When you choose to forgive someone who hurt you—you’re planting joy.

* When you show up, give generously, listen deeply, serve quietly—you’re creating joy, and harvesting joy.

Not just for yourself, but for others.

Because joy multiplies when it’s shared.

Jesus lived that way.

He didn’t seek comfort. He sought connection. He wasn’t chasing approval. He was pouring out love. And that love was filled with joy—not because life was easy, but because it was purposeful.

We are invited to live the same way.

This joy doesn’t come from perfect circumstances, but from a growing relationship with Christ.

It doesn’t come from a problem-free life, but from a redeemed one.

It’s knowing:

* God is with me in this moment.

* He’s using even my pain for His glory.

* My life matters.

* My story is not finished.

And when we start to live that way—bit by bit, step by step—we discover that joy is not something we chase, but something we carry.

It starts small.

* A phone call to someone who’s hurting.

* A prayer for someone who wounded you.

* A meal shared with someone who can’t pay you back.

* A word of encouragement when you yourself feel weary.

Joy doesn’t always feel exciting. But it’s eternally rewarding.

So ask yourself honestly:

Are you living to get more pleasure—or to create more joy?

Joy for your family.

Joy for your coworkers.

Joy for your neighbors.

Joy for the ones who feel forgotten.

And here’s the miracle:

Because that’s the kind of joy Jesus gives— a joy that grows as it’s shared.

Joy and pleasure are not the same.

Pleasure is temporary. It fades quickly, demands more, and leaves us emptier if we try to build our lives around it. It isolates us, trapping us in cycles of consumption and craving.

But joy—true joy—is different. It’s rooted in something deeper.

Joy remains.

Joy gives instead of takes.

Joy connects us to others and to God.

Joy is not momentary—it’s eternal.

Jesus didn’t just teach about joy—He embodied it.

He walked the hardest path imaginable, endured betrayal, suffering, and death—not because He enjoyed it, but because of the joy set before Him (Hebrews 12:2).

His joy was in restoring us to God, giving us new life, and inviting us into His joy forever.

Jesus didn’t come to offer us a quick fix. He came to offer us a new way to live—a life not built around what feels good, but around what is good. A life marked by purpose, love, and yes—joy.

And this joy isn’t something we keep to ourselves. It’s meant to be shared. It grows when we serve, forgive, and walk in step with Christ.

So take a step today—not toward more pleasure, but toward greater joy.

Live in such a way that your joy points to something eternal.

Let His joy be in you, and let it make your joy complete.

Let’s pray together.

Jesus,

Thank You for showing us the joy that lasts.

Not a fleeting feeling, but a joy that endures even through pain.

You gave everything to bring us back to the Father.

You chose the cross—for the joy of seeing us made whole.

Help us walk in that joy.

Not chasing after pleasure, but living with purpose.

Not serving ourselves, but serving others.

Not holding back, but opening our hearts to love.

Give us strength when we’re weak.

Give us light when we’re lost.

Fill us with Your joy—not just to feel it, but to share it.

One step at a time, make us more like You.

In Your name we pray,

Amen.