Permit me, as in times past, to write in the manner of a disciple seeking understanding. As St. Augustine once confessed, “I believe in order to understand, and I understand the better to believe.” These reflections are first preached to my own soul, with the hope that they may illuminate the path for others on the journey toward God.
Let us begin by drawing a necessary distinction between two frequently conflated terms: purpose and calling. When Christ, nearing His Passion, prays in John 17:4, “I have glorified you on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do,” He articulates both His universal purpose and His particular mission. His purpose—to glorify the Father—is shared by all who bear His image. His mission or calling—the concrete expression of that glorification—is unique to the Son, just as ours is unique to each of us.
In Christ’s words, we hear an echo of Ephesians 2:10: “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” The Apostle Paul, who speaks frequently of charisms and vocations, reminds us that though the members of the Body differ in function, their telos—their final end—is one: to glorify God.
But in our contemporary context, “purpose” is often romanticized as a kind of elusive personal destiny. One need only peruse the shelves of any bookstore to find myriad titles promising to unveil “your life’s purpose.” I am not immune to this cultural current. Years ago, I encountered Rick Warren’s The Purpose Driven Life, and while it stirred something within me, I found myself curiously unchanged upon its completion. Why?
With the benefit of hindsight, I see that my motivation was flawed. I was seeking a purpose for myself rather than seeking the One for whom I was made. I was, in short, like the Greeks in John 12:21 who came to Philip and said, “Sir, we would see Jesus.” Only I hadn’t yet realized who it was I needed to see. It was only later—when Divine Providence placed me within the pages of Sacred Scripture—that I encountered the living God and came to a saving knowledge of Him.
Here lies a profound truth: it is possible to pursue a calling, or even a “purpose,” and yet entirely miss the Person who gives it. We can be so focused on the gifts of God that we overlook the Giver Himself.
This brings us to the question of happiness. How does joy integrate with our purpose and calling?
C.S. Lewis, ever the incisive theologian, observed: “God cannot give us happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.” To put it in more theological terms, beatitudo—true blessedness—is not something God has to give us, but what God is in Himself. To participate in God, to delight in Him, is not ancillary to our vocation—it is its very heart.
Consider the older son in the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15). He does everything right, yet his heart is cold. He labors in the Father’s fields but does not share in the Father’s joy. His calling is superficially fulfilled, but his purpose—to glorify the Father by sharing in His love—is left unrealized. One must ask: is duty apart from delight truly glorifying to God?
In the life of Jesus, we see no such division. “The Son can do nothing of His own accord, but only what He sees the Father doing” (John 5:19). This is not the obedience of a servant alone, but of a Son who delights in His Father. Their mutual joy is not a passive feeling, but an active participation in divine life—a foretaste of the Trinitarian communion offered to us.
Let me now address the theological word that has, in modern parlance, become almost an insult: holiness. Often misunderstood, it conjures caricatures—“holy rollers” or self-righteous piety. But to be holy (hagios) is to be set apart, consecrated for divine purpose. Holiness is not a withdrawal from the world but a radical availability to God, a life configured to the divine will, reflecting the beauty of God’s own character.
Thus, when Psalm 37:4 says, “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart,” it is not suggesting that God becomes the means to our selfish ends. Rather, it suggests a mystical transformation: as we delight in God, our desires are reordered and purified, until what we most want is what God most wants for us. And so, our calling is born not out of striving, but out of worship. Not out of ambition, but out of adoration.
This notion finds its theological echo in John Piper’s formulation of Christian Hedonism: “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.” Though emerging from a Reformed context, Piper’s phrase resonates with the Catholic tradition of deification—the belief that we are called not merely to obey God, but to become partakers in the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4).
However, delighting in God is not effortless. We face three principal enemies in this endeavor: the devil, the flesh, and the world.
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Satan, the ancient enemy, delights in distorting joy, offering pleasure divorced from goodness.
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The flesh, our disordered nature, resists the Spirit, craving comfort over holiness.
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The world, enamored with envy and comparison, bids us find value in applause and achievement.
St. Paul, in Ephesians 6, exhorts us to “put on the full armor of God” precisely because joy is not a static state but a contested ground. Holiness is warfare; delight in God is a victory won daily by grace.
Psalm 37 warns against envy, which corrodes the soul and distorts vocation. I, too, have wrestled with this—watching others flourish while I falter. But love, says Paul in 1 Corinthians 13, “does not envy.” To love as Christ loves is to will the good of the other, even when their good seems to outshine our own.
In conclusion, let me return to Psalm 37. Verses 5 and 6 proclaim:
“Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act. He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, your justice like the noonday.”
Here we see the promise of divine vindication. But notice the sequence: first delight, then desire, then trust, and only then does God act. Our role is not to manufacture purpose, but to marvel at the One who gives it.
Let us, then, cultivate hearts that delight in God, not merely as an emotional exercise but as a theological act. In so doing, we will discover our calling, fulfill our purpose, and participate in the radiant joy of the Trinity.
Deus vult ut simus felices in Ipso.
God wills that we be happy in Him.
Let us begin there.