Transcendant Joy
We have reached the beginning of the third week of Advent. The midpoint. Which can certainly bring to mind the difficulty of the journey, the struggle to keep taking that next right step. And it’s here, at the midpoint, when the temptation is to give into sadness, to see the distance before us as the same distance that is behind us.
For me, this is where Joy cleans the spectacles of the heart, providing a clearer picture of purpose.
Because Joy is not simply the celebration of our liberation, but also our initiating liberation for others.
To simply focus on individualistic freedom is to actually live shackled to the shallow ways of happiness. Happiness lives in the category of binary or dualistic thinking. Happiness exists as a partnership with sadness. Happiness is tethered to circumstances. And sadness can quite easily tackle and destroy happiness.
But Joy extends beyond the categories of dualism and binaries. Joy has room to include both happiness and sadness, while simultaneously transcending their limited perspectives.
A story that put flesh on this truth for me.
Several years ago, another couple asked my wife and I if we would join them in starting a new church community in a diverse and depleted context. It was the four of us adults, their toddler son, and my wife, Sarah, about six months away from having our first son. It was a total roller coaster, with every single day offering glimpses of glee while simultaneously throwing punches to the gut.
The first family that we met in this journey was a bi-racial couple with three kids, the youngest being adopted. They had a mountain of stories from their diverse life together. And they carried within them this mysterious fire and soul buoyancy, along with a fantastic sense of humor. About two and half years into the church adventure, the wife’s mom passed away. I was in the room as she held her mom’s hand and said goodbye. My friend, who I started the church with, held her other hand and prayed over her.
In the days leading up to her death they had planned out the funeral, which included a music playlist. The room of the funeral home filled up very quickly, and to begin the memorial service they played the first song on the playlist.
Save A Horse (Ride A Cowboy), by Big and Rich.
My heart darn near stopped and I thought someone had just made a huge gaffe. My eyes immediately sprinted to my friend, the daughter, and she had tears spilling down her face, but they were accompanied by a smile that had lassoed each ear. She was giggling and soaked in joy, while simultaneously heartbroken with grief. She stood and shared how that had to be the first song played, because she wanted the moment to capture a lightness within the heaviness. In that moment she was acknowledging how death was devastating and how it does not get the last word.
I’ll never forget that moment or that funeral. The room was drenched in depth, full of both laughter and tears. Life and death in the same room, held together by a web of Love, Hope and Joy.
Joy is not circumstantial, it cannot be held captive by happiness and it doesn't get hijacked by sadness. Joy shows respect for both, while having the power to scoop them up and carry them along life’s much larger adventure.
How much do we need the depth and breadth of Joy, today? Every day we chase life, while simultaneously being bombarded with death. Circumstantial happiness is much too fragile to keep this ship on course.
We need Joy. Because Joy is knit to Hope and Love. All of which have no ceiling. There is no limit or end to Hope, Love and Joy. Joy has this amazing pliability which can flex with the sadness found throughout life’s journey.
So at the midpoint of Advent, in the midst of this wild journey, may you choose Joy.
