Today’s fruit is goodness. Which sounds vague at first.

We call all sorts of things “good.” Good people. Good schools. Good burgers. Good enough. But when Paul speaks of goodness as fruit of the Spirit, he means something deeper than pleasantness or decent quality.

Today we’ll explore what goodness means, why our culture struggles to recognize it, and why goodness still matters in a world addicted to projection, outrage, and power.

It’s All Greek To Me

The Greek word translated “goodness” in Paul’s list in Epistle to the Galatians 5:22–23 is agathosune (ah-gah-thoh-SOO-nay). It appears only a handful of times in the New Testament, mostly in Paul’s letters. The word carries ideas like morality, uprightness of heart, and active benevolence/generosity. Not just believing the right things. Not just avoiding bad things. But actively becoming the sort of person who does good in the world. Think the ideal image of a Boy Scout or Girl Scout. Morally upstanding. Helpful. Honest. Doing a good turn daily. There’s not a lot of shadow-side there.

I’m reading a biography of Harry Emerson Fosdick. There’s a line where the biographer writes, “It’s refreshing to write about a great man who was also a good man.” He compares Fosdick with President Woodrow Wilson, who was brilliant and influential, yet also deeply flawed, especially regarding race and women’s suffrage. But Fosdick was remembered as loyal, attentive, compassionate, intellectually honest, and deeply pastoral.

Fosdick once wrote about what he called “the integrated person,” someone whose life is no longer broken into disconnected pieces. Because many of us live fragmented lives: oneself at church, another at work, another online, and another lying awake at night with our fears.

The integrated person is someone whose heart, mind, soul, and actions begin moving in the same direction. Not perfect. Not flawless. But whole. Like stained glass gathered into one window, the fragments are held together by a deeper center. And for Christians, that center is Christ. The integrated person does not leave their soul in the sanctuary on Sunday and their ethics at the office on Monday.

Fosdick distrusted shallow religion. He distrusted rigid doctrine without compassion, morality without mercy, emotional revivalism without transformed character. He wanted faith to form people who were inwardly grounded, intellectually honest, emotionally alive, socially compassionate, and spiritually unified. People firm in kindness and fierce in compassion.

Contrast this with rigid moralists who hide all sorts of things behind demands to “be good.” Often the people most obsessed with condemning others are wrestling with the very same shadows themselves. That’s projection. When we attribute our own fears, desires, or unacceptable traits onto someone else.

Projection is everywhere.

I remember being asked why I affirm LGBTQ+ people. The accusation centered around “the gay lifestyle.” But when pressed to define what that meant, the answers became strangely vague, and fears around sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I’m against that when straight people do it. Being awful is awful regardless of orientation. Cruelty is cruelty. Exploitation is exploitation. Goodness is something deeper: morality, uprightness of heart, and active benevolence.

Projection is not the behavior of an integrated person. Yet projection often feels like the operating system of our culture.

Getting Political

The Greeks talked constantly about the good life. Not just private morality, but public virtue. How should a person live? How should a society function? What responsibilities do we have toward one another?

Somewhere along the way, we lost the idea that personal virtue and the common good belong together.

Broadly speaking, conservatives emphasize personal responsibility, liberty, and self-determination. Liberals emphasize public systems, shared responsibility, and human flourishing. And honestly? We need both. Birds fly with two wings. But instead of integration, we project onto each other. We fight caricatures instead of pursuing the common good together.

We are trapped in a culture war where outrage is rewarded more than wisdom, and power is pursued more often than goodness.

There’s a scene in a movie where a young political protégé asks his mentor, “What is it that we believe?” The older politician tilts his head as the question doesn’t make sense to him. The protégé repeats it and the older politician belly laughs while walking out of the room without answering. The answered unspoken is: we believe in power for power’s sake. We’re in charge because we’re in charge.

What do we stand for? That question matters. Because power without moral vision becomes hollow, and eventually destructive. And people feel this. Across the political spectrum, there is exhaustion. Cynicism. Distrust. The future no longer feels bright to many people.

But scripture knows something about societies in crisis.

In Book of Exodus, Moses leads Israel out of Egypt. But freedom is hard. The people keep longing for “the fleshpots of Egypt.” At least slavery came with routine. Predictability. Three meals a day. Freedom requires transformation.

Moses goes up the mountain to encounter God. The covenant is etched into stone. Yet the deeper hope was never merely rules carved onto tablets. The temptation is to think the stones are the whole story. But laws written on stone are not enough if they are never written on the heart. People can follow rules and still remain cruel. People can obey doctrine and still lack compassion. The law must become character.

And then Paul picks up this same struggle in Epistle to the Romans. The Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians in Rome are struggling to live together. The old ways and new ways are colliding. And Paul does something brilliant. He spends Romans 1 baiting the audience. He expertly lays a rhetorical trap.  He catalogs Gentile excess and dysfunction until the religious listeners are nodding along.

“Yes. Exactly. Those people are the problem.”

Then chapter 2 snaps the trap shut: “You therefore have no excuse, whoever you are, when you judge others; for in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, are doing the very same things.”

In other words: “You’re not integrated either. You have shadows too. We all need grace.” Paul knows projection. He was counting on it for his chapter 1-2 trap. He knows that every accusation is a confession.

Often Romans 1 gets weaponized by legalists while completely missing Paul’s larger argument. Paul’s argument is not ultimately about condemnation. It’s about grace. Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. That love is what the law was always pointing toward. And Jesus embodies it perfectly.

Jew and Gentile alike need grace. Democrat and Republican alike need grace.
Gay and straight alike need grace. Every one of us has trouble being good.

And so, Jesus comes to us in Gospel of John and says: “I am the good shepherd.”

The word used there is kalos. Not merely functional goodness, but noble goodness. Beautiful goodness. And notice what makes Jesus good. Not dominance. Not image management. Not an unchanging list carved onto stone tablets. Not extraction.

The Good Shepherd gives himself away for the sake of the flock. Unlike so many leaders in our world who take from the flock, Jesus lays down his life for it. That is goodness.

A leader for the common good. A life integrated enough that it no longer survives by projection, fear, or exploitation. And I think deep down, we still hunger for that kind of leadership. We want people who serve rather than manipulate. People who seek the flourishing of others rather than simply their own advancement.

Now, I’m not an optimist. But I do have Christian hope. I believe this way of life is still possible. I believe integrated people still matter. I believe character still matters.

For Goodness’ Sake

The fruit of goodness is a kind of character that does not project its fears onto another person or group. It is a life rooted deeply enough in grace that it can give itself away like the Good Shepherd gives himself for the flock.

To lead beside still waters. To restore souls. To prepare a table even in the presence of enemies. To let the cup overflow. What would the world look like with more people like that in it? Honestly? It would look a lot like my father-in-law, Bob Winther. Bob is a good man. Humble. Quietly faithful. Consistent. Dependable.

When I complain about some cruelty in the world, he often looks genuinely stunned, as though he can barely comprehend behaving that way. Not naïve exactly. Just deeply decent.

He embodies agathosune: morality, uprightness of heart, and active benevolence.

And maybe that’s what strikes us so powerfully when we encounter truly good people. They feel whole. Integrated. Not performative. Not fragmented. Not constantly projecting fear onto others. Just quietly, steadily good.

Church, goodness still matters. Not curated goodness. Not branding. Not shallow moral performance. Real goodness. Integrated goodness. The kind where the heart, the mouth, and the hands finally start moving in the same direction. Because the spirit of our age rewards outrage. But Christ forms character. Our world rewards extraction. Jesus practices sacrifice. Our culture survives on projection. Jesus tells the truth about us and still loves us anyway.

And maybe that is why goodness feels so rare. Because goodness is costly. It requires integrity when hypocrisy is easier. Compassion when cynicism feels safer. Courage when cruelty gets applause.

Church, this world does not need more self-righteous people. It does not need louder tribes. It needs integrated people. I look out and I see so many integrated people here. When I’m tempted, I think of you and it curbs my worst impulses. I see you whose souls have been shaped by grace. People whose morality is rooted not in fear, but in love. People who leave this sanctuary carrying goodness into homes, schools, meetings, elections, and neighborhoods. People practicing morality, uprightness of heart, and active benevolence in all situations and especially in conflict.

Because the fruit of goodness is not about appearing righteous. It is about becoming whole. And in a fragmented world, whole people shine like candles in the dark. May we become such good people.

All this to say… you better be good for goodness’ sake. Because integrated people are coming to town! We’ll work on that song.

And may grace and peace be yours. Amen.