The Joy Set Before Us

(This article was originally published for Fool's Talk, a print publication and corresponding blog. Read it at https://foolstalk.wordpress.com/2017/05/18/for-the-joy-set-before-us/.)

“In the house of God there is a never-ending festival: for there it is not an occasion celebrated once, and then to pass away. The angelic choir makes an eternal holiday: the presence of God’s face, joy that never fails.” – St. Augustine

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Five years before Y2K on a cold winter’s morning, a wrinkly, extremely bald and unhappy baby entered the world, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Oh good, we got a screamer!” a happy father joked. But who was to know that the screaming would continue—and not just for days, but for months. Even years.

Sorry, Mom.

I not only continued screaming long after leaving the hospital, but I also quickly earned the reputation of being a bit of a human-hater. No one but my own mother was good enough to hold me, or even touch me, and few others could turn my frown upside-down like she could.

Put simply, I was a grouch. It was almost as if I were treating the world like a nightmare I wanted nothing to do with, and I faced that world with such unhappiness that my parents were actually quite concerned for me. That’s when my mom started praying. Just as St. Augustine’s mother Monica prayed for him, my mother prayed for me. Every day, she prayed that God would give me joy.

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When I think of joy, one of the first things that comes to my mind is C. S. Lewis’ treatment of joy in his autobiography. He relates some of his own early experiences of joy, telling how it would come through simple things such as Longfellow’s poetry, Beatrix Potter’s tales, and even a miniature garden that his brother Warnie made in a biscuit tin lid. Looking at these things, Lewis got a view of something beyond the things themselves. This glimpse filled Lewis with desire—a desire he describes as being “unsatisfied” yet in itself “more desirable than any other satisfaction.” He calls this desire joy, saying, “All Joy reminds. It is never a possession, always a desire for something longer ago or further away or still ‘about to be.’” In his estimation, the feeling of joy we experience today is just a hint of and a tug toward something we can’t yet have completely.

This description makes sense to me. It jives with the experiences I’ve had in my own life. When I look at a sunset or stumble upon a field of fireflies, the things themselves don’t give me as much pleasure as the miracles they hint at and the Creator they tug me toward. But, at the same time, Lewis’ idea that joy is a desirable unsatisfied desire is utterly confusing. I know that, as Lewis says, joy is distinct from both pleasure and happiness, but grasping this concept is difficult, especially in a culture that frequently equates joy with fleshly feelings of satisfaction. Nevertheless, the sense of longing and futurity that accompanies Lewis’ definition of joy complements the use of joy that appears in Hebrews 12:2. Here the author writes that Christ, “for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame” (English Standard Version). The suffering Christ experienced in death was not itself a fulfilled desire and did not bring Him joy in and of itself. That suffering wasn’t even something Christ wanted (Luke 22:42). But He did want to do the will of His Father, and He knew that obedience would bring Him into communion with His Father, which is the ultimate joy. Since His obedience required suffering, enduring the cross became a part of His ultimate experience of joy even though the suffering itself was not joy. The joy is present in the earthly experience because of the certainty of the complete consummation coming in the future.

Together, this verse and Lewis’ description of joy have helped me better understand how God can command His followers to “rejoice always” despite the sadness and seriousness of life (1 Thessalonians 5:16). Joy can exist even in the midst of life’s darkness because joy is not a matter of feeling happy or ignoring sorrow or pain. Rather, it is a matter of remembering the coming restoration and the communion with God we will one day experience. Joy is not just hope. It’s assured hope—hope that we know will find satisfaction. It’s something we’re so certain of that we know it’s never a waste of time to celebrate that coming bliss. Joy in this life, therefore, becomes a matter of living in accordance with our confidence that—thanks be to Christ—we will arrive at fullness of joy.

The source of the confidence that allows us to have joy is the Gospel of Christ. Christ is the reason why, in the literary sense, the entirety of history is a comedy and not a tragedy—a tale that ends with the happiness of its characters rather than one that ends in sadness. Psalm 126 captures the essence of the comedy Christ brings to history. The psalmist writes, “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy…. The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad” (Psalm 126:1-3). Although this Psalm originally referred to the Israelite captivity, it also reflects the comedic uptake of history’s grand story. A tale that began in sadness and tears—even screams—will end in joy and laughter with an eternal celebration in the Kingdom of our Lord.

I think that, in some strange way, we get a glimpse of this Kingdom whenever we hear beautiful poetry, see a stunning sunrise, or sniff at a biscuit tin lid filled with moss. All of these things are reminders of the presence of our Creator even in our broken world and reminders of His talent for redeeming things—of making beauty out of unimpressive matter. We experience joy in them because they are echoes of the beautiful story of Christ and His creation. As songwriter Ryan O’Neil (from Sleeping At Last) says, joy is an “afterglow… an echo still ringing out in spite of me. It’s the faint outline of the divine in the hiding place of my periphery.” It’s the echo and the glow of our God and Creator who will wipe away our tears and end our sorrow (Revelation 21:4).

* * *

One day, after a couple years of my screams, my mom’s prayers were answered. I was about four years old, molding play-dough in my hands at the kitchen table—and even then the Holy Spirit was molding my heart. “Mommy,” I said in the simple way of a four-year-old, “would it be okay if this is the day that I ask Jesus into my heart?” After I prayed that prayer, I told my mom that I thought Jesus was laughing.

It’s difficult to trace my transformation down to the day, but my mom remembers noticing a significant change in my personality beginning around that time. Who knows if that day was the day of my spiritual rebirth—I hardly understood Christian doctrine then—but I had become different. From then to this day, the most frequent compliments I get have to do with my smile or my joyful attitude. And the ironic thing is that it’s the opposite of what I used to be. God gave me joy in spite of myself—not an exclusive joy that belongs only to me but a joy of the Holy Spirit that God grants to every believer (Galatians 5:22-23).

Even on days when I’m weighed down by the nightmarish reality of this life, that joy remains—not in the form of smiles and goofiness but in the form of assurance and confidence. Despite the dirtiness of life, I cannot deny the divine and I can’t forget the certainty I have of the redemption Christ offers. Because of this certainty, I find that not even the greatest sorrow can make me forget the promise of the eternal holiday and the coming comedic end of all this sorrow. I know that, when that end comes, there will be an end to all my longing. I will find fullness of joy in the presence of God my Savior (Psalm 16:11), for He is the joy at the back of all other joys.