There’s a deep desire in every human to seek pleasure.
From the moment we are born, we crave what feels good and avoid what causes pain. That longing isn’t evil, but somewhere along the way, pleasure stopped being a gift and became a god.

It’s not carved into stone like an idol in Athens, yet it’s everywhere — in our advertisements, our entertainment, and even in our daily conversations. The good life, we’re told, is the pleasurable one: the life with more comfort, more experiences, and more indulgence.

But if pleasure is truly satisfying, why does a generation drowning in options still feel so empty?

The Lie Beneath the Smile

Hedonism whispers a gentle but deadly lie: that happiness is found in sensation — that the more you feel, the more you live. Yet everyone who has chased pleasure long enough learns the same truth: pleasure fades, and with it, the soul grows numb.

Solomon knew this well. In Ecclesiastes, the wealthiest and wisest man of his time confessed,

“I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure … yet everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”

Pleasure is a beautiful gift but a terrible master.
It was meant to point us to gratitude — not to become our god.
It was meant to remind us of the Giver — not replace Him.

The Hunger That Pleasure Cannot Feed

The human heart is not built to be full of pleasure but to be full of purpose. When we try to fill a spiritual hunger with physical indulgence, we only deepen the emptiness. The more we consume, the more we crave, because the hunger was never for things but for God Himself.

Jesus said,

“Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water I give will never thirst.”

Pleasure offers a sip; Christ offers a spring.

We were not created for constant stimulation, but for communion — to find our joy not in endless experiences, but in a living relationship with the One who made us.

When Comfort Masquerades as Conviction

This addiction to comfort doesn’t only shape our private lives; it quietly shapes our faith.
Many who claim to follow Christ now follow convenience. The Church, once known for courage and sacrifice, often seeks safety and approval instead.

We have built a Christianity that demands nothing, changes nothing, and costs nothing — yet promises everything. It’s called easy believism: the idea that faith is a casual “yes” to Jesus that requires no repentance, no obedience, and no transformation.

It’s a gospel stripped of its power because it’s been stripped of its cost.
The cross has been replaced by comfort. Salvation has been reduced to a slogan.

But what kind of belief saves a person if it never leads them to the foot of the cross?
What kind of faith redeems a man if it never breaks his pride or transforms his heart?

When Comfort Becomes a Creed

Easy believism is not just shallow theology; it is subtle idolatry. It places comfort where Christ should be. Many no longer ask, “Lord, where are You leading me?” but rather, “Lord, bless where I’m going.” The goal is no longer holiness but ease. Not truth, but affirmation.

This longing for comfort explains much of the spiritual weakness we see in the Western Church. We want revival without repentance, salvation without surrender, and Heaven without the cross. But Christ offers none of these things. He offers Himself — and He says, “Take up your cross and follow Me.”

That same spirit of comfort often disguises itself as righteousness in the rise of Christian nationalism. Many believe they are defending the faith when, in truth, they are defending their way of life. It is not zeal for the Gospel that drives them, but the fear of losing the comfort and dominance they have long enjoyed.

They believe they are protecting “Christian civilization,” but what they are really protecting is a Christianity that never cost them anything. Their patriotism is baptized comfort; their nationalism, sanctified fear.

And fear, like pleasure, is self-centered. Both seek protection, not surrender. Both turn the gaze inward instead of upward.

Christ never promised His followers comfort; He promised a cross. Yet much of modern Christianity fights not for the Gospel but for the right to remain undisturbed. It mistakes safety for holiness and cultural dominance for discipleship.

A faith built on comfort will always betray the Christ who suffered.

The Hard Way of Grace

Grace is not cheap. It is free, but it is not easy. To receive it means to die — to your pride, your lust, your idols, and your comfort. It means saying no to yourself and yes to God, again and again, every day.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer called it “costly grace” — the kind of grace that compels obedience. Easy believism offers the opposite: a cheap grace that comforts sinners but never confronts sin.

Yet, true Christianity is not about making bad people feel better; it’s about making dead people alive.
And resurrection can only come after crucifixion.

Cross Is the Cure

Christianity stands in defiance of both hedonism and easy believism.
It teaches that the path to joy runs through self-denial, not self-indulgence. The way of Christ is not “do what feels good,” but “take up your cross and follow Me.”

And yet, paradoxically, this is where true joy begins.
Because joy is not the same as pleasure — it’s the peace that comes from being right with God, even in pain. It’s the quiet contentment of a life anchored in something eternal.

The saints and martyrs knew this: that it’s possible to sing in chains, to smile in persecution, and to rejoice in sacrifice.
Hedonism cannot understand that kind of joy, because it lives only for the moment — and dies with it.

The Call to a Deeper Joy

Pleasure fades, but holiness endures.
The world promises satisfaction through sensation; Christ promises it through surrender. And though the road of pleasure ends in exhaustion, the road of faith ends in resurrection.

Hedonism is the world’s gospel, and easy believism is its imitation within the Church. Both promise happiness without holiness, fulfillment without faithfulness. Both end the same way: in emptiness.

But the true Gospel invites us to die to ourselves so that something infinitely greater might live in us.
The cross is not an obstacle to joy — it is the door to it.

References

Ecclesiastes 2:10–11 — “I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure… yet everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”

John 4:13–14 — “Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water I give will never thirst.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship (1937). — “Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession.”

Matthew 16:24 — “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper (1498). Original artwork in the public domain. Edited image © Joel Sarfraz.