Holy Joy
How many bugs does it take to ruin a salad?
Not many. A single leg is enough to make you push the plate away. It doesn’t matter how fresh the greens are—if it’s not clean, it’s not right. That instinct for purity? It runs deep in us.
So why is it that when we talk about holiness, so many of us flinch, yawn, or brace for impact?
Somehow, in the modern imagination, holiness has been painted gray. Joyless. Grim. Almost repulsive. As if following Jesus means surrendering everything bright and beautiful for something tight-lipped and rule-bound.
Friedrich Nietzsche, a fierce critic of Christianity, took this perception even further. He accused the faith of being hostile to joy itself—promoting cruelty, self-hatred, and a general rejection of freedom, senses, and happiness. “Hatred of joy in general,” he called it.
But is that what holiness really is?
If heaven is the most joyful place in existence—and also the holiest—then surely the problem isn’t with holiness. It’s with how we understand it.
Paul Doesn’t Separate Joy and Holiness
When the Apostle Paul writes to the church in Philippi, he doesn’t pit holiness against joy. In fact, he shows they’re inseparable. In Philippians 2:12-18, Paul paints a picture of a holy people who shine in the dark and share joy even in their suffering. No contradiction. No tension. Just grace in motion.
Let’s break down his framework in chapter 2:
Beholding Jesus (2:1-11) — Marveling at who Christ is and what He’s done.
Becoming Like Jesus (2:12-13) — Letting that vision reshape our lives.
Bearing Witness of Jesus (2:14-18) — Living so that the world can see Him in us.
Right at the heart of this passage, Paul gives a remarkable command:
“Work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.” (Philippians 2:12-13)
This isn’t about earning anything. It’s about expressing something. We’re not climbing up to God—we’re living out what He’s already doing in us.
Called Holy
Before we do anything, we need to know who we are.
Paul begins this letter by calling believers “saints”—literally, “holy ones.” That’s not wishful thinking or a motivational slogan. That’s identity. Even the wild, messed-up Corinthians were called saints.
We are “set apart” because God set us apart. Holiness begins with what God declares over us. He elects, justifies, regenerates, and unites us to Christ. That’s declared sanctification—God naming us holy before we act holy.
And here’s the powerful part: He calls us what we are, then makes us what He’s called us.
Think of a marriage. A couple is legally married the moment they say “I do,” but becoming a husband or wife in the fullest sense takes years. That journey—full of joys and trials—is not a contradiction of their status. It’s the expression of it.
Same with holiness. We are holy. And we are becoming holy. The indicative (what is) gives birth to the imperative (what we do).
“As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience…” (Colossians 3:12)
We’re not working for holiness. We’re working from it.
Made Holy
So what does it mean to “work out your salvation”?
It doesn’t mean earning it. It means unfolding it. The Greek word for “work out” implies effort like an artist chiseling a sculpture from marble—not to add something, but to reveal what’s already there.
This is God’s work from start to finish. Philippians 1:6 already told us: “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion.” Ephesians 2:10 echoes the same idea: “We are his workmanship… created for good works.”
God isn’t asking us to fake holiness. He’s reshaping our desires. That’s why holiness isn’t about willpower—it’s about surrender. It’s not grim—it’s glorious.
C.S. Lewis put it like this:
“You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”
That reconstruction can be painful, yes. But it’s beautiful. It’s filled with joy, because joy is what we were made for.
Holiness Feels Like This
Here’s how we know holiness is taking root:
Once, giving felt like obligation. Now, it feels like joy.
Once, Jesus’ name made us squirm. Now, we speak it with eagerness.
Once, Scripture felt dry. Now, it tastes like living bread.
Once, we held grudges. Now, we pray for our enemies.
Once, we chased applause. Now, we long to serve.
Once, we won arguments and lost people. Now, we’re more interested in love than being right.
Once, we knew that “more” was the answer. Now, we experience the joy of contentment.
Once, we viewed sex as a means to personal satisfaction and partners as utilities to be used. Now, we know that the marriage bed is holy and that such marriages bear witness to the faithful love of the Savior for his holy bride.
That’s holiness. That’s joy. That’s Jesus alive in us, turning on the lights in a dark world.
Real Joy, Real Change
John Calvin once said that when we truly understand grace, our love for others becomes genuine. If we’re obeying just to earn something from God, our focus stays on ourselves. But if we know we’re already accepted, already justified, we can stop performing—and start loving.
That’s what Paul is saying. God’s grace doesn’t lower the bar of holiness. It raises the ceiling of joy. And when you’re caught up in that joy, you don’t want the old life. You want more of Him.
Holiness isn’t about becoming less human. It’s about becoming fully human—who we were meant to be. People filled with light. People filled with joy that finds its origin in Christ himself.
Augustine and Gravity
This represents a massive shift in desire. Augustine famously wrote, “pondus meum amor meus” - “my weight is my love.” By “weight,” he meant something like gravity - very close in fact to the definition of weight any physics student knows. His love acted like a gravitational force pulling him inextricably towards its object. If the object of that love were illicit or unworthy, it would end in disaster.
The problem with our “loves” is that we set them on the wrong objects, tuning legitimate but lesser loves into supreme loves, and always in the service of self. This is the idea of sin being “love turned in on itself.” But God, who is love, sets his beauty before our gaze and redirects our loves to their proper ends. In doing this, he reorders love around the supreme and true love - himself, for only in him can we find rest, peace, and joy. When God is our supreme love, all other loves begin to line up in proper order and proportion. Love of work, country, self, family, church, and so on, take their rightful place in our lives, and this manifests itself in authentic holiness, the humility of love that leads to everlasting joy. Apart from this supreme love, sin abounds. As Lewis observed, when we make sex a god, it becomes a demon. The same can be said of money, career, prominence, and power.
The Joy of Becoming
God is not calling you to a dull life. He’s calling you to more life.
So yes—work out your salvation. Let God chisel, shape, and build. Not as a burden, but as a joy. Because the One who began this good work in you will finish it.
Holiness is not the enemy of joy—it’s the birthplace of it.
And one day, when the night is over and the stars fade, you will shine like the sun in the kingdom of your Father. Because that’s who you are. That’s who He’s making you to be.
Holy. Joyful. Whole.