What Good Must I Do?

Have you ever found yourself working hard to earn God’s favour, measuring your spiritual life by how much you give, how often you attend church, or how faithfully you serve? Many of us do. Without realizing it, we slip into the belief that God’s acceptance must be earned rather than received. And so, quietly, the heart begins to ask the same question the rich young ruler once asked: “What good must I do?”

When someone dies who was known for kindness, generosity, or service, a familiar statement often follows: “Surely they are in heaven.” This assumption is deeply rooted in the human heart. If a person lives morally, helps others, and avoids great harm, we instinctively believe they deserve a good afterlife. In Sikhism, the saying “Service to man is service to God” expresses this conviction clearly. This idea comes from Sikhism and is not a Christian teaching. In Sikhism, it is taken literally — serving others is a necessary spiritual path and a direct way to connect with God. In Christianity, service is an act of love and obedience that flows from faith, but it does not establish communion with God. Simply put: Sikhism teaches that service is a path to God; Christianity teaches that service is the fruit of knowing God.

But beneath this comforting assumption lies a deeper question: Does goodness itself open the gates of heaven? If doing good is enough, then grace becomes unnecessary. If morality is the key, then the cross becomes only an example, not a rescue. Are we sure that our natural conclusion “good people go to heaven” is the same conclusion Scripture teaches?

The human heart naturally asks, “What good must I do?” But the gospel begins somewhere else entirely — with what God has already done.

Too Good to Be Saved

The Pharisees of Jesus’ day were the most religiously serious people of their time. They prayed, fasted, studied Scripture, and guarded moral standards. They were not indifferent toward God, they were devoted. Outwardly, the Pharisees appeared to be everything a believer should be. Yet Jesus reserved His sharpest warnings for them. Their tragedy was not rebellion, but self-righteousness. They were not too sinful to be saved; they were too confident in their goodness to feel they needed saving.

Jesus once told a parable in Luke 18. A Pharisee stood in the temple praying, thanking God that he was not like other sinners. His prayer was full of religious achievements. Nearby, a tax collector stood far off, unable even to lift his eyes, whispering, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Jesus said it was the broken man, not the religious achiever, who went home justified.

Salvation begins where self-trust ends.

Here lies a disturbing possibility: a person may be moral, religious, respected, and sincere, yet still miss grace. Could our greatest spiritual danger be not our failures, but our self-satisfaction? Could we be standing near the door of salvation while believing we have already entered?

Even today, it is easy for a believer to fall into the same pattern. Imagine a faithful Christian, let’s call her Sarah. Every month, she gives her tithe without fail. She attends church faithfully, never missing a service. She joins every social work program, volunteers for every outreach, and does everything she can for the church. From the outside, Sarah appears model-perfect — devoted, generous, and deeply involved.

Yet behind her devotion lies a subtle danger. Sarah has grown confident in her own faithfulness. Her routine and efforts give her a sense of assurance. She believes that her consistent giving, her regular attendance, and her active service reflect her standing before God. Her heart, however, quietly forgets the foundation of salvation: grace. She is doing all the right things, but is she truly relying on Christ, or on herself?

Interestingly, this pattern often shows up in the life of prayer. Those who have much – wealth, security, religious routine, sometimes pray less, assuming their effort or status will sustain them spiritually. Those who have less – materially, socially, or in spiritual confidence, often pray more, driven by a deeper sense of dependence on God. The paradox is clear: the more we trust ourselves, the less we may seek Him; the more we recognize our need, the more we lean on Him.

The apostle Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13 come to mind: “If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.” All devotion, all service, all religious activity is meaningless apart from love — love that flows from God’s grace, not from human effort. Good works cannot save; they are evidence of the heart transformed by Christ.

This raises uncomfortable but necessary questions:

Could we, like Sarah, be too good to feel our need for grace?

Could our religious activity, our disciplined service, even our good intentions, be hiding our dependence on God?

The Pharisees were not too sinful to be saved — they were too confident in their goodness to seek saving.

“All these I have”

A rich young man once ran to Jesus with urgency and sincerity. His question was not casual; it was the deepest question a soul can ask: “Teacher, what good thing must I do to get eternal life?” Yet hidden in that question was a misunderstanding. He believed eternal life could be earned by performance rather than received by grace.

Jesus pointed him to the commandments. The young man replied confidently, “All these I have kept.” Outwardly, he lacked nothing. Yet something was still missing. Good works are precious, but they are never the foundation of salvation. They are the fruit of grace, not its root.

Then Jesus touched the true treasure of his heart: “Sell what you have, give to the poor, and come, follow Me.”

At that moment, the young man walked away sorrowful. His wealth was not merely money — it was security, identity, and self-trust. He was willing to do many good things for God but unwilling to surrender fully to God.

This story repeats itself today.

I once asked a Christian friend, “What makes you sure of your salvation?” His answer came quickly: “I have changed. I am no longer the same. I am serving God.” His words reflected real transformation. But there was no mention of grace, no reference to Christ’s finished work, no dependence on mercy. His assurance rested on his progress rather than on the cross.

So, we must ask: ‘Am I saved because I have changed’ or ‘have I changed because I am saved’?

Is my confidence in Christ or in my spiritual performance?

A changed life is beautiful. Service to God is honourable. But neither is the ground of salvation. They are the evidence of grace, not the cause of it.

The Basis for Salvation

If good works, religious devotion, and self-confidence don’t save us, then On what basis are we saved?

Not on moral effort.

Not on religious discipline.

Not on generosity, service, or church involvement.

All these are meaningful, but none can erase sin or purchase eternal life. Scripture is consistent: salvation is grounded in God’s grace alone and received through faith in Christ alone. The cross is not a reward for good people; it is a rescue for helpless people.

Paul makes this unmistakably clear in Romans 10:8–11: “The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart — that is, the word of faith that we proclaim; because if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart, one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved. For the Scripture says, ‘Everyone who believes in Him will not be put to shame.’”

The gospel does not begin with “Do good,” but with “Believe.”  Not “Try harder,” but “Trust fully.”

Faith is not merely agreeing with doctrines; it is resting the full weight of our hope on Christ’s finished work. When we understand this, pride has no room and despair has no power. We are accepted not because we are worthy, but because Christ is worthy.

Why good works, then?

If good works are not the basis of salvation, why do they matter so much in Christian life?

Because they are the evidence of new life. When grace takes root in the heart, transformation follows naturally. A saved person serves, gives, loves, forgives, and obeys — not to earn God’s favour, but because they already have it.

Good works are the fruit, not the root.

They are the response, not the requirement.

They are the overflow, not the foundation.

This is precisely what Paul teaches when he says we are “created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

So the Christian does not work for salvation.

The Christian works from salvation.

Follow Me

Jesus’ final word to the rich young ruler was simple: “Follow Me.”

Not as a new rule to perform, but as an invitation to trust. Not a demand to earn, but a call to surrender. The young man walked away sorrowful because he could not release what he trusted most. That question still stands before every religious heart: What am I holding onto that keeps me from fully following?

Paul’s words bring the matter to rest: “For by grace you have been saved through faith… not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works.” (Ephesians 2:8–10)

Salvation is God’s gift. Good works are God’s fruit.

Jesus still stands before us with the same invitation: “Come, follow Me.”

And the only question left is simple: So where does your confidence rest — in your own goodness, or in Christ’s grace?