Is It Enough?

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How will I know when I’ve done enough?

The year was 1977. My father was 18 years old when he came home from school to discover that his 16-year-old brother had taken his life. It was a tragedy that would mark the family for decades to come.

I see it most in my grandmother. For a parent to bury their child has to be the most unnatural thing in the world. When we hear about letting nature take its course, we can be emphatically assured that this isn’t it.

I still hold a vivid memory of the two of us at the funeral of another relative years later. I was a teenager, and we were sitting side by side during the service. I crossed my legs—one over the other, the way women often do—and no sooner had I done so than she swatted at my leg, brushing me only slightly.

“God wants us with both legs on the ground in church. It isn’t proper to cross them,” she said in Greek.

Even as the angsty teenager I was, I couldn’t be annoyed. I knew where she was coming from. She was always concerned with doing everything just right to appease an angry God. This was just a tiny part of that.

You see, my grandmother has carried the guilt of her son’s death for nearly 50 years now. She has convinced herself that she is responsible and somehow did something to push her son to end his life. It would only take a moment in her presence for you to see how kind, generous, and selfless she is, and how wrong she is about her self-condemnation as a result.

She carries a burden no one should.

Unfortunately, she won’t put it down.

In fact, she has made a vow to God to keep and uphold various sacraments and religious fasts in order to appease God and avoid further punishment for her sins. She has fully committed to pay for her sins through perfect behavior (like uncrossed legs during the liturgy) and regular church attendance.

By regular, of course, I mean multiple times per week. Unfortunately, in her old age and frail health, she can no longer meet this commitment. But until recently, she would go to church all the time and pay a hefty tithe to light a candle in her son’s honor, with the hope that God would have mercy on his soul—visiting his graveside no matter the difficulty in getting to Montreal’s Mount Royal Cemetery. 

We’ve told her countless times that she doesn’t have to carry it anymore. But how do you convince a grieving mother that grace is a gift she can’t repay?

Her deceased son is at the forefront of her mind, though his name rarely passes her lips. He is rarely spoken of. Like the elephant in the room, his faded photos fill her home while his memory fades from the family because it’s too painful to talk about the good times. Can I blame her? There were only 16 years’ worth of good times.

Instead, she remembers him by stoically punishing herself, with grief eclipsing any fleeting moment of joy. 

But when will it be enough? And how will she know? Will God tell her?

You may not have had such a horrific experience, but perhaps you have asked the same questions. Many of us do.

Think of the parent who works tirelessly to give their kids a better life, wondering if it’s enough. Or the activist pouring themselves out for justice, burning out along the way. We are all, in one way or another, asking the same thing: Am I enough? Have I done enough?

These are questions humanity has been asking since the dawn of time.

• Where do I stand before God?

• Have I done enough?

• Have I sacrificed enough?

• When God weighs my life on a scale, will my good deeds outweigh my bad? 

In contrast to my grandmother’s experience, I have a silly example from my own life. For years, I would slide into my usual spot in the pew at church and silently assess whether I had earned the right to worship that morning. I wish I could say I stopped doing this years ago. But the truth is, I carried that mindset into very recent seasons of my life.

As the music began, I’d mentally replay the week. If my replay included a few too many impatient words, too many moments of lashing out at my kids, or too many spiritual shortcuts of going through the motions with my Bible reading plan, I felt like a hypocrite. Like I had no business singing to a holy God who sees right through me.

But if I thought I had done “okay”, I would raise my hands and sing my heart out with confidence that I had measured up enough to worship sincerely. 

It sounds silly now, but I see what was really happening. I was still trying to earn what had already been given. My worship wasn’t a response to grace; it was a performance review. I was still trying to prove that I was enough, instead of trusting that Jesus already is.

See, in the Old Testament, God’s chosen people had a pretty sweet arrangement compared to the surrounding nations at the time. The gods of the ancient world were fickle and capricious, so it was impossible to be sure that you were in good standing. The sacrifices required to appease the gods had to be more and more elaborate and costly.

At least for the Israelites, they knew that once a year, on the Day of Atonement, they would be at one with God again. Their sins forgiven. A blank slate.

Once a year, on Yom Kippur, the high priest would enter the Holy of Holies, the most sacred space in the temple, with the blood of a perfect animal. He did so with trembling hands, carrying the weight of a nation’s sin. Outside, the people waited, praying that the sacrifice would be accepted.

Here’s the thing, though: Hebrews 10:4 tells us that it was impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sin. So I wonder sometimes if that truth was in the back of their minds as they followed the rituals and went through those motions.

What we are doing couldn’t possibly fix what is broken.

Did they ever think that?

There’s good news, though, I promise! If you continue down that same chapter in Hebrews, the author talks about how every priest would stand every day at his post, offering repeatedly, over and over, the same sacrifices.

Over and over. Every. Single. Day. 

The same sacrifice. 

It was like a tag team. One guy works to the bone, not even sitting down to catch his breath, until he taps out and another priest tags in. 

Offering sacrifices, and offering sacrifices, and offering sacrifices, knowing that the sacrifices could never permanently take away sin.

But then we get to Hebrews 10:12, and it describes one sacrifice for all time. 

“But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God.”

The priests stood because their work was never finished — sin kept piling up. But Jesus sat down. Not because he was tired, but because the offering was perfect and complete. One sacrifice. For all sin. For all time.

There was nothing else to be done. It was enough. It was enough to save all people, for all time. Friend, do you get this? It was enough to cover all the bad of all people. For all time. That includes you and me.

So if you’re wondering if you’re doing enough,

if you’ve been good enough,

if you’ve donated enough,

if you’ve helped enough,

if you were selfless enough,

if you were kind enough,

patient enough, 

generous enough,

forgiving enough…

The truth is that anything you do would never be enough. And that’s the point.

Jesus came to be enough for us because we, like those priests, stand at our post every day offering the same sacrifices.

We keep doing the same things to make amends and save ourselves. 

But when Christ offered, for all time, a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God. His work completed. Nothing more to add. It was enough.

Perhaps you’re taking all this in and wondering, “Don’t our good deeds matter?” “Are we not supposed to do good in the world?” 

Absolutely!

When we say that Christ’s work was complete with nothing more to add, it does not mean that our actions don’t matter. It simply means that they are a response, not a payment. We don’t give, serve, or sacrifice to earn God’s love. We do it because we already have it.

The good we do flows from grace, not for grace.

So lay it down.

The guilt, the striving, the question that haunts you: “Have I done enough?” You don’t have to live in that tension anymore. Jesus sat down because the work is finished. Rest in that and live from that. Let your life be a response to grace, not a desperate grasp for it. If you’re weary from trying to earn what’s already been given, come to the One who was enough, and still is. Today, choose to trust that Jesus’ sacrifice is sufficient.

Because it is. It really is.

Consider taking a moment to pause right here.

Take a few deep breaths and whisper aloud, if you’re comfortable, “Jesus, you were enough.” Let that truth sink in. Let it be the melody under every decision you make, every moment you feel like you’re falling short. The striving can end. Rest has come. 

And from that rest, real life begins! Not a life weighed down by guilt, performance, or penance, but one marked by peace, purpose, and joy. This is the soil where a flourishing life takes root, not in your endless effort, but in Christ’s finished work. There’s freedom in admitting you could never do enough, and then knowing that Jesus is enough. 

If this stirred something in you, share this post with a friend or drop a comment below. I’d love to hear what small step you’re taking towards the flourishing life today! And don’t forget to subscribe so you don’t miss a thing.

What’s in the Ears

This is the part where I share a song or podcast I’m currently into. Curiously Kaitlyn is a podcast show that explores theological questions, often sparked by questions from children, in an accessible and engaging way. Kaitlyn interviews scholars who attempt to answer kid questions with clear language and relatable examples.

A recent episode addressed the question: “Why doesn’t God answer my prayers?” A question that pairs well with the topic we’ve addressed today.  Let me know if you check it out!

Podcast available on Apple Podcast, Spotify, or your favourite streaming platform!