Greetings in the name of the Father, the son, and the Holy Spirit.
God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day. (Genesis 1:31)
It began in a garden—a world bursting with beauty, overflowing with life. Trees bearing fruit of every kind. Rivers flowing. Animals, birds, sunlight, and shade in perfect harmony. And in the center, a man and a woman, entrusted with the care of it all.
God looked at what He had made and said, “It is good.”
Not just “okay.” Not just “adequate.” Good.
There was abundance—not just in resources, but in relationship. Humanity walked with God in the cool of the day. There was no fear, no shame, no lack.
But then came a voice. A serpent’s whisper that pierced the peace with a single, loaded question: “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” (Genesis 3:1b)
It was not a direct attack—it was a seed of doubt. A subtle twist of truth. A way of saying, “Is it really good? What if He’s holding out on you?”
And from that moment on, the unraveling began. Not because there wasn’t enough—but because they were made to *question* the goodness they already had.
Isn’t that still our story?
We wake up with hunger—not just for food, but for more. More success. More security. More love. We compare. We compete. We fear there won’t be enough to go around.
And in that fear, goodness is no longer something we trust. It becomes something we try to earn or chase.
But what if goodness isn’t something we lack—but something we’ve forgotten how to recognize?
Goodness Begins Where Fear Ends
Fear tells us a lot of things.
It whispers, “You don’t have enough. You aren’t enough.”
It shouts, “If you give, you’ll lose. If you’re kind, people will walk all over you. If you forgive, they’ll just hurt you again. If you share, there won’t be enough left for you.”
Fear is always calculating, always protecting, always assuming scarcity.
Fear builds fences around our hearts.
It clutches tightly to what we have.
It hoards—our time, our energy, our money, even our love.
But true “goodness begins where fear ends”.
In the garden, Adam and Eve had everything. They lacked nothing. Yet the serpent’s voice sowed doubt—not about God’s power, but about His goodness. “Did God really say…?” (Genesis 3:1)
The lie wasn’t just about the fruit. It was about trust.
“What if God is holding out on you? What if there’s more?”
And that fear—the fear that maybe God isn’t good, maybe He won’t provide—led to rebellion.
They took. They hid. They blamed.
That same fear is still in us.
It’s why we work ourselves to exhaustion, chasing more money, more recognition, more control—yet never feeling secure.
It’s why we hesitate to help a neighbor.
Why we turn away from a stranger in need.
Why we hold back in relationships, fearing vulnerability.
It’s why some have full refrigerators and empty hearts, while others go hungry just steps away.
Fear says, “You’ll be okay when…” But the finish line keeps moving.
This isn’t just a personal issue—it’s societal.
Fear-based living has created systems where wealth accumulates while needs grow.
Where isolation replaces community.
Where competition overshadows compassion.
But what if we lived differently?
What if we believed—really believed—that God is good and that He provides?
That we’re not alone, not forgotten, not running out?
Jesus declared in John 10:10,
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”
That word—abundantly—is powerful.
It doesn’t mean barely enough. It doesn’t mean just getting by.
It means overflowing. More than sufficient.
It’s not a pie with limited slices. It’s a river that keeps flowing, refreshing every soul it touches.
Psalm 23:5 gives us a similar image:
“You prepare a table before me… You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”
Overflow.
That’s the language of goodness. And there’s no fear in that place.
1 John 4:18 reminds us,
“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear…”
And if love drives out fear, then goodness—true, God-like goodness—thrives in its absence.
When we live from abundance, we stop clutching.
We open our hands.
We give—without expecting in return.
We forgive—without needing repayment.
We serve—without fear of depletion.
Because our source is not ourselves. It is God.
And He is not scarce. He is good.
Goodness Is Found in the Giving, Not the Getting
There’s a scene we’ve all witnessed—maybe even lived.
A courtroom erupts in applause as a long-awaited verdict is announced. The winning side embraces. The cameras flash. The news headlines focus on “justice served.” But just off-screen, another family grieves. Their wounds remain. Their loss, unspoken. Their pain—unacknowledged.
This is the best our world often manages: pick a side, celebrate one, forget the other.
Because the goodness of this world is transactional. It operates on the principle of merit and reward. Be good, and you’ll receive good. Fail, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.
But God’s goodness breaks those boundaries.
Jesus once told a story that still confronts us with its raw tension—the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15.
A younger son demands his inheritance, essentially saying to his father, “You’re dead to me.” He squanders everything in wild living. When he hits rock bottom, he returns home, hoping to earn a spot as a hired servant.
But what does the father do?
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.” (Luke 15:20)
No lectures. No penalties. Just a party.
“Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” (v. 23–24)
The older brother, who stayed home and followed the rules, is outraged. “He doesn’t deserve this!”
And that’s the point.
The father’s goodness is not a reward for right behavior. It’s a revelation of his heart. A goodness that moves toward the broken, not away from them. A goodness that gives, even when the recipient can offer nothing in return.
That’s why Paul writes in Romans 2:4:
“Do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance?”*
God’s kindness—His goodness—is not a prize for the already-righteous. It’s the invitation that leads the broken home.
And this flips the script on how we’re wired to operate.
We often give based on what someone deserves. We evaluate, we measure, we wait. But Jesus didn’t.
Remember the widow with the two small coins? (Luke 21:1–4) She gave practically nothing in the world’s eyes. But Jesus said she gave more than all the rest, because:
“Out of her poverty she put in all she had to live on.” (Luke 21: 4)
Her generosity came not from abundance of wealth, but from abundance of heart.
And that’s where goodness lives—not in the size of the gift, but in the spirit of the giver.
If we wait to show goodness until someone earns it, we never will. If we only give when we’re sure we’ll still have enough, we never will.
True goodness gives because it is good, not because it benefits the giver.
It moves first. It stoops low. It meets people not at the finish line, but in the ditch.
It reflects the heart of our God—who gave us Jesus not when we deserved Him, but while we were still sinners (Romans 5:8).
That is the goodness we are called to live.
Goodness Is God With Us, For Us, Through Us
The deepest goodness the world has ever known didn’t come wrapped in power, privilege, or prestige. It came in vulnerability. In obscurity. In the unexpected.
Not on a throne—but in a manger.
Not surrounded by armies—but by animals and shepherds.
Not wielding a sword—but stretching out open hands.
Jesus didn’t just teach about goodness—He embodied it.
He touched the leper when others recoiled.
He wept with the grieving when others stayed distant.
He fed the hungry when others sent them away.
He forgave sinners when others prepared stones.
And then, He gave the ultimate gift: His life.
Not for those who earned it. Not for the impressive or the righteous. But for everyone.
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)
Jesus didn’t wait for repentance to show grace. He didn’t sort people into neat boxes of “worthy” and “unworthy.” His love wasn’t based on merit—it was based on mission.
Isaiah 53:5 gives us this staggering truth:
“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.”
This is goodness that transcends fairness.
Fairness gives what is deserved. But Jesus gave what was needed—healing, forgiveness, peace.
Even in betrayal, false accusations, and abandonment, Jesus stayed the course. Hanging on the cross, suffering unjustly, He prayed not for vengeance, but mercy:
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)
That is not a goodness this world can manufacture. It is not a product of discipline, personality, or upbringing. It is divine. It is God Himself.
Because true goodness is not merely a virtue—it is the very character of God.
Psalm 145:9 affirms this:
“The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made.”
And Psalm 23:6 gives us this promise:
“Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
God’s goodness isn’t a fading memory—it’s a daily companion. It doesn’t merely trail behind us like a shadow of the past. It pursues us, it surrounds us, it sustains us.
And then—it flows through us.
We are not just recipients of God’s goodness; we are channels of it.
Every time we forgive when we could retaliate…
Every time we give when we could hoard…
Every time we speak peace when we could sow division…
Every time we serve when no one’s watching…
—we display the goodness of God to a watching, weary world.
Titus 3:4–5 says:
“But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.”
That mercy now lives in us. That love now flows through us.
So when we live with goodness—not from fear, not for applause, but from the presence of Christ within us—we become walking reminders that God is here. That He is for us. And that His goodness is enough.
Summary: The Flow of Heaven
So what is goodness, really?
It’s not a fleeting feeling when something goes our way.
It’s not a badge we earn after doing enough.
It’s not a transaction where we give just to get something back.
Goodness is the overflow of a heart that knows it’s loved.
It is the natural outpouring of a life that has encountered the goodness of God and can no longer hold it in.
We are not asked to manufacture it.
We are not told to hoard it.
We are not even expected to fully understand it.
We are called to be it.
To be the ones who forgive when it’s hard.
To be the ones who speak life when others tear down.
To be the ones who walk into a broken world not with answers, but with grace.
Goodness is not about what we can produce on our own. It’s about what God produces through us when we trust Him.
Yes, the world around us feels broken. Scarcity, division, injustice—it’s all real. We feel the tension of living in a world that so often falls short of what we long for.
But that’s not the end of the story.
The final word is Jesus.
His life, His death, and His resurrection are the eternal declaration that goodness is not dead, not limited, not earned, and never lost.
It is alive.
It is active.
It is calling your name.
So wherever you are today, whatever pain or pressure you carry, remember:
God is good. His goodness is for you.
Receive it. Reflect it. Release it.
And let His goodness flow—through you—into the world.
Let’s pray together.
Gracious God,
We thank You for Your goodness—goodness that shaped the world at creation, and goodness that never gave up on us even when we turned away.
Thank You for Jesus, who showed us what it means to be truly good—not by conquering but by giving, not by demanding but by laying Himself down.
Forgive us for the times we have believed the lie of lack—for the times we have hoarded when we should have shared, stayed silent when we could have stood up, withheld when You called us to pour out.
Teach us again to see the world through Your eyes—not as a place of competition and scarcity, but as a field ready for the harvest of goodness.
Make our hearts tender.
Help us give freely—our time, our resources, our love—not out of guilt or pressure, but because we have tasted and seen that You are good.
May Your goodness chase us, change us, and channel through us.
Let Your kingdom come, not with grand displays, but with quiet acts of mercy and everyday love.
In the name of Jesus, who is goodness made flesh, we pray.
Amen.
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers. (Galatians 6:9–10)