The attainability of true happiness in Gospel-centered living

As you might have noticed over the past few months, in an attempt to better understand my own motivations for living the way I do, I have addressed several topics relating to the practice—or perhaps, malpractice—of religion. I’d like to try to address an issue that I feel greatly impeded my understanding of both the Gospel and what some would deem “true happiness.” And so before we get started, I’d like to attempt to define a few terms. “Gospel-centered living” is a term I’ve developed to try to explain my lifestyle. It’s a life where I’m trying to do what I feel is right, but where that right is defined or at least guided by what the religious school of thought to which I subscribe proclaims. In this discussion, “true happiness” refers to a happiness devoid of feelings of culpability and regret, uninhibited by what might be if we do or had done more.


Some of the faithful would suggest that by leading a Gospel-centered life we will be happy, as though there were some formula for creating happiness. For many, there is a series of hoops which, if jumped through in the proper order and with the right frequency, will ultimately lead to happiness.

I hear comments like the following so often I’m growing weary of them: “And I know that living this Gospel is the only way we can find happiness in this life.” If this statement is true, then why is it that the same faithful individuals claiming Gospel-centered living to be the key to happiness are so unhappy in living what they’re preaching? Depression runs rampant among the faithful, and yet the Gospel-centered life is supposed to bring happiness.

I think in some cases, people are sincerely trying to convince themselves that the way they’re living and thinking about themselves and the world will one day lead to happiness, at the expense of feeling there’s something wrong with them if they’re not happy living what they think is the Gospel’s proscribed way. Somehow, by repeating what they’ve heard other unhappy individuals say about what they believed would lead them to happiness, they’re one step closer to believing it for themselves.

Evidently, there’s a disconnect here. These faithful are mislead (which many atheists and agnostics will argue), they’re misinformed (as many faithful from the world’s religions aside from your own will tell you), or they’re misunderstanding the truth they profess to believe in. As a man who believes to have found truth, I am inclined to believe the third among my fellow faithful.

We will only ever be as happy as we allow ourselves to be. If we impose upon ourselves an unattainable goal, our never attaining it will ultimately lead to our unhappiness. Just as we avoid disappointment by managing our expectations, we must avoid unhappiness by managing our reality. It is here I feel so many faithful err. Somehow we think we’ll be happy by following some nonexistent or inefficacious formula to a t, while there’s really no formula to follow. When I share an experience that promoted my faith, my hope is that it will edify others. However, I cannot expect a personal experience to play out in the life of anyone who seeks to repeat it. Rather, I would hope that those listening would apply the principles surrounding the events that lead to my faith-promoting experience.

Just as an artist will not succeed by recreating someone else’s masterpiece, we must paint the canvas of our own lives with our own colors and in our own way. Only then will the experiences that promote our faith also lead to our happiness.

Qualifying the goodness of others

One of my least favorite expressions, which I hear at church all the time, goes something like this: "He/She's not a member [of our church], but...." The commentator then goes on to say what a wonderful or Christlike person the individual is or what a good example he/she is, and the comment is usually pronounced in a tone implying, "I was surprised to find a good example of any Gospel principle outside the membership of our church, and you should be as surprised too!" So why do we always have to qualify or justify people outside our church?

The word "but" is a loaded word, charged with more meaning than its measly three letters might suggest. Essentially, when we say "but," we are emphasizing an implied contradiction between what we said in the first clause and in the second clause of the sentence. For example, "He's not a doctor, but he knows a lot about micro pathogens." Or even sarcastically, "I'm no rocket scientist, but that looks like it should work." So when we say, "He/She's not a member [of our church], but..." we imply that our friends of other faiths should not be expected to be good people. Am I truly to believe that? I won't!

It only makes sense that each faith believes it is teaching the truth. (If it weren't, why not belong to the faith that was?) A belief system is based on the belief that it is correct. So we should expect our friends to believe they believe the truth, regardless of whether we believe what they believe. It shouldn't come as a surprise, then, that I feel I really have found a great source of truth in my church. In fact, I haven't found a better one anywhere.

Accepting this belief, however, I accept that others likely feel the same way about their faith. They believe they're doing what's right, and quite frankly, many of them are likely doing as good a job or better of living right as I am. To assume less would be presumptuous. So why should I be surprised when I hear an inspiring story about a friend or prominent figure of another faith?

In addition, asking whether someone "is a member [of the Church]" creates several unwanted consequences. Are we to have our friends of other faiths feel alienated every time we refer to them as "non-members?" Not members of what? Is the Church some kind of exclusive club, where you're either in or out, or should the Church be a place where all feel welcome? Besides, if a visiting member of another faith is questioned about his membership, will he even know to which membership we're referring? "Of the health club? The yacht club? Sure, sure, I'm a member."

Another undesirable consequence of such thoughtless language is the alienation and distance it creates. Many faiths--including the majority of Christian faiths, I would argue--are openly evangelical. Recruiting the new faithful is essential. If it is our goal to increase our church's membership, should we not be referring to visitors inclusively rather than exclusively?

Moreover, our church activities should be designed in such a way that those of all faiths feel comfortable attending and participating. Now don't get me wrong: I'm not arguing for Unitarianism, just an open exchange of ideas. Should church not be a forum where our questions are answered? If we want to be better at answering people's questions, some practice might not hurt. Why not host such practice in our church meetings?

When I look at the violence around the world, much of which many attribute to religious differences, I see this exclusionary attitude on both sides of the arguments. If we want to put an end to religious discrimination and violence, crusades and jihad, we might start by including and inviting others in our speech about them rather than self-segregating and alienating ourselves. These attitudes lead to isolationism, a key ingredient to ignorance.

How ironic that it is perhaps in our places of worship, where we preach tolerance and love, that the root of our divisiveness lies!