We’ve talked a lot about evil.
About injustice, betrayal, cruelty, and the ache they leave behind.
But today’s question is different.
What do we do with the moments that make us cry—not because they’re wrong, but because they’re good?
The stranger who risks their life for someone else.
The mother who forgives the man who killed her child.
The person who tells the truth when it costs everything.
The friend who stays when everyone else runs.
These aren’t strategies.
They’re sacred.
And they feel… true.
More real than logic. More permanent than pain.
So where do they come from?
Because if we’re just matter in motion—if morality is just biology, or culture, or instinct—why does goodness feel like glory?
Some Things Are So Good, They Hurt
Have you ever seen something so beautiful it made you ache?
- A story of quiet, costly love
- A moment of undeserved grace
- A selfless act in a selfish world
You didn’t just admire it. You felt like you were in the presence of something holy.
That ache has a name.
It’s called moral beauty.
And it isn’t practical.
It’s not about survival or social function.
It doesn’t help you.
It haunts you.
Because it’s a reminder of the kind of world we were made for.
And the kind of people we still long to be.
Relativism Can’t Explain Reverence
Try explaining moral beauty through evolution:
“We admire self-sacrifice because it increases group cohesion and reproductive fitness.”
Okay. But then why are we moved by:
- Soldiers throwing themselves on grenades?
- Prisoners forgiving their torturers?
- Saints choosing anonymity over glory?
None of that helps the tribe.
And yet something in us wants to fall to our knees when we see it.
Not just say “That was useful.”
Say “That was good.”
You don’t weep at math.
You weep at mercy.
And that kind of reverence doesn’t come from survival instincts.
It comes from a sense that we’ve glimpsed the divine.
The Glory We’re Drawn To Isn’t From Here
C.S. Lewis once said:
“We do not want merely to see beauty… we want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see.”
Moral beauty hits us like homesickness.
- For a goodness we’ve never fully seen
- For a justice that doesn’t decay
- For a love that can’t be shaken
It’s not just a feeling. It’s a signal.
Because it doesn’t just say “this is beautiful.”
It says, “You were made for this.”
And that voice—quiet, ancient, unmistakable—doesn’t sound like it came from atoms or accident.
It sounds like it came from a Person.
The Beauty of God Is the Beginning of Meaning
So what kind of worldview makes sense of this?
Naturalism can explain:
- Efficiency
- Preference
- Evolutionary wiring
- Emotional resonance
But it cannot explain awe.
And moral relativism? It can’t even decide if goodness is real—let alone beautiful.
But Christianity?
Christianity says:
“The glory you feel in moral beauty isn’t a trick.
It’s a mirror.
You’re seeing the reflection of the God who made you.”
Not a cosmic law. Not a cold force.
A Person.
Goodness Himself.
And you ache because you’re seeing, for a moment, what you were made to reflect.
Maybe You Were Made for More Than You Thought
That ache for beauty?
That feeling when you witness goodness so deep it steals your breath?
It’s not sentimental.
It’s not psychological residue.
It’s the echo of a Voice calling you home.
Because goodness isn’t just something we chase.
It’s something that chose to find us.
The cross is where justice met mercy.
The resurrection is where love outlived death.
And the gospel is where goodness took on flesh.
Maybe the moral beauty that moves you isn’t just a glimpse of God.
Maybe it’s God glimpsing you.