I cannot think that when God sent us into the world, he had

“I cannot think that when God sent us into the world, he had irreversibly decreed that we should be perpetually miserable in it. If our taking up the Cross imply our bidding adieu to all joy and satisfaction, how is it reconcilable with what Solomon expressly affirms of religion, that ‘her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace?’” — thus spoke John Wesley, the fiery preacher and founder of Methodism, a man who married zeal to reason and devotion to joy. His words rise not as rebellion against sacrifice, but as a defense of divine joy—a cry that holiness and happiness are not enemies, but eternal companions. In this saying, Wesley defies the cold austerity that too often passed for piety in his age. He reminds us that God did not create man for misery, but for a joy that is both holy and enduring.

In the days of John Wesley, many believed that to serve God was to abandon all earthly delight—that faith demanded not transformation, but the extinguishing of desire. Religion, to some, was a narrow path of pain, walked beneath the weight of guilt and fear. But Wesley saw a different light. To him, the Cross was not the grave of happiness, but its rebirth. True religion, he declared, is not sorrow but peace, not despair but pleasantness, as the wise King Solomon once wrote. The Cross does not bid farewell to joy; it purifies it. It teaches men to trade the false pleasures of the world for the radiant gladness of the soul.

Wesley’s words echo through the corridors of faith like the song of a prophet who refused to believe that God delights in suffering for its own sake. His was a vision of grace and cheerfulness, where virtue does not extinguish the human spirit, but perfects it. He believed that the divine will was not to curse mankind with perpetual struggle, but to lead them into a life of peace, harmony, and purpose. To take up the Cross, in his teaching, was not to renounce happiness—it was to find it in its truest and most eternal form.

History is filled with those who misunderstood this truth. The early ascetics who fled to the desert, the zealots who scourged their own flesh, the reformers who equated faith with grimness—all sought holiness through suffering alone. Yet there were others, like Saint Francis of Assisi, who saw joy shining through the same trials. Francis embraced poverty, yet his laughter filled the hills of Italy. He sang to the sun and spoke to the birds, rejoicing in creation even as he bore his own Cross. He proved that joy is not the enemy of sacrifice—it is its crown. The man who gives up all for love of God does not lose joy; he gains the only joy worth having.

Thus, when Wesley challenges the notion that religion demands misery, he is defending the goodness of God Himself. If the Creator made this world and called it “good,” how could He then will His children to walk through it in endless gloom? If the Spirit dwells within the heart, how could its presence bring anything but light? Wesley understood that sorrow visits every life, but misery is not divine design—it is human distortion. The soul that loves rightly will still suffer, but it will never despair. For even the Cross, when carried in love, becomes a tree of life.

And yet, Wesley’s insight carries a deeper rebuke—not against suffering itself, but against the religious pride that finds virtue in misery. There are those who wear their sorrow as a badge, mistaking bitterness for holiness. Wesley’s wisdom pierces that illusion: true faith does not feed upon despair but transforms it into peace. The Christian, he taught, should shine with quiet gladness, showing that the way of God is not drudgery but delight. To walk with Christ is not to mourn the loss of joy, but to discover its eternal source.

So, what is the lesson for us, the heirs of Wesley’s insight? It is this: do not fear joy in the service of God. Let holiness be radiant, not grim; let virtue sing as well as kneel. Seek not a life without suffering, but a spirit that can find peace within it. Look upon the world not as a trap for the soul, but as a garden where divine beauty still blooms. Carry your Cross, yes—but let it be with light in your eyes and gratitude in your heart. For the ways of true faith are pleasantness, and its paths are peace—not the shallow peace of ease, but the deep serenity of a heart reconciled to Heaven.

Thus, when you rise each day to meet the burdens of your life, remember Wesley’s words: God did not decree misery as our destiny. We were made for joy—the joy that endures through storm and sorrow, the joy that comes from love, truth, and divine harmony. To live in that joy is to honor the Creator; to share it is to fulfill His will. Walk, then, not as a mourner in the world, but as a child of light—and you shall find that even the Cross itself casts the shadow of peace.