So Where’s the Joy?

Enough gloom and doom. Well, mostly.

When I go on and on about the relentless trials that characterize not just the planet but our own personal histories, and when I intimate that suffering may not be the great question of life but its very meaning—well, there is an understandable objection: “Didn’t Jesus say, ‘Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid’?” (John 14:27).

The Greeks had gods of suffering (the Algea), but nowhere in Scripture is our God called a god of suffering.  Instead, he is known as “the God of peace” (1 Thess. 5:23). 

And how about the perpetual joy that is said to characterize the life of faith? 

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love.  If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full (John 15).

Paul chimes in by reminding us to “Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I say rejoice!” (Phil. 4:4).

One online comment summarizes a great deal of teaching on this matter:

It’s truly that simple.

You will never be more fulfilled, more satisfied, or more joyful than when you are walking in faithfulness and obedience to God. [Bold in the original.]

In sum: Joy is our new birthright in Christ. And the only reason we might not have joy is that we are not walking in faithfulness. Tell that to the mother who never missed a morning Mass, who ladled soup at the homeless shelter every week, who just lost a child to the withering onslaught of leukemia. 

For that matter, tell that to the Jesus hanging by his pierced and bloodied hands: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  It wasn’t as if he had stopped saying his morning prayers. In fact, his suffering was due to the very fact that he was obeying his heavenly Father. 

It’s not that simple. 

So what’s going on here? Isn’t our life supposed to be characterized by peace and joy, rather than relentless perseverance in suffering?  

As with many things, the answer is yes and no. 

As Jesus himself noted, the peace he gives is not as the world conceives of peace. Same with joy. 

One small example: It is the peace and joy of the man whose father has just died after a long and painful illness.  “It is a blessing,” he says calmly and even happily. And he is joyful as he envisions his father in the presence of God. But there is a sadness that will never leave him in this life; he will have to live the rest of his days without the man who nurtured him in youth and was a steady, wise presence in his adult years. He will never be able to go fly fishing with him again.  

In therapeutic America, where the purpose of life is to pursue happiness, this complex reality—joy and peace amidst suffering and even tragedy—is denied.  And the church is often complicit in the cover up.  God forbid that we allow people to leave worship on anything but an upbeat note.  A memorable song in my fundamentalist youth ran, “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart.” The songs have changed, but much of contemporary worship is less about sober adoration of almighty God than a spiritual pep rally. 

To be sure, we still rightfully and enthusiastically sing, “Joyful, joyful we adore thee.”  Indeed, sometimes the sheer blessedness of life and the goodness of God overwhelm us, so that this momentary joy so completely shines that it blinds sadness, despair, and gloom. For a while. For a while.  After this brief sojourn in heaven, we return to earth.  And yet that glimpse is enough to keep us trodding the hard path God has for us. 

But most of the time, we are given the gift of joy in the midst of suffering.  Not in place of suffering.  Not after suffering.  But as suffering gnaws on our arthritic bones. The paradox is not expressed any better than by a little known story about Francis of Assisi: 

On a cold winter’s day, Saint Francis walked with Brother Leo from Perugia to the Porziuncola. Because of their poverty, they suffered much in the cold. At one point, Saint Francis said to Brother Leo: “If God desired that the Friars Minor should serve as a great example of holiness to all people in all lands, please write down that this would not be perfect joy.” At some point later in their journey, Saint Francis said to Brother Leo: “If the Friars Minor could make the lame walk; if we could straighten the crooked; if we could chase away demons; if we could give sight to the blind and speech to the dumb; and even if we could raise the dead after four days, please write down and note carefully that this would not be perfect joy.”

Soon after, Saint Francis said to Brother Leo: “If the Friars Minor could speak every language; if they knew everything about science; if they could explain all the scriptures; if they could predict the future and reveal the secrets of every soul, please write down and note carefully that this would not be perfect joy.” After a few more steps, Saint Francis cried: “Brother Leo, little one of God! If the Friars Minor could sing like angels; if they could explain the movements of the stars; if they knew everything about all animals, birds, fish, plants, stones, trees, and all men, please write down and note carefully that this would not be perfect joy.” Finally, Saint Francis cried again: “Brother Leo, if the Friars Minor could preach and thus convert every person to faith in Christ, please write down and note carefully that even this is not perfect joy.”

When this manner of discourse lasted for several miles, Brother Leo, who had been thinking about these sayings, asked: “Father Francis, I pray that you will teach me about perfect joy.” Saint Francis answered: “If we arrive at the Porziuncola [the small chapel where Francis founded his order] and if we are drenched with rain and trembling with cold, covered in mud and exhausted from hunger; and if we knock on the convent gate; and if we are not recognized by the porter; and if he tells us that we are impostors who seek to deceive the world and steal from the poor; and if he refuses to open the gate; and if he leaves us outside, exposed to the rain and snow, suffering from cold and hunger; then if we embrace the injustice, cruelty, and contempt with patience, without complaining; and if we believe in faith, love, and humility that the porter knew us but was told by God to reject us, then, my dear Brother Leo, please write down and note carefully that this also is perfect joy!”

Saint Francis then said: “Brother Leo, if we knock again and if the porter drives us away with curses and blows; and if he accuses us of robbery and other crimes; and if we embrace this with patience without complaining; and if we believe in faith, love, and humility that the porter knew us but was told by God to reject us again, then, my dear Brother Leo, please write down and note carefully that this is finally perfect joy!” Saint Francis said once more: “If urged by cold and hunger, we knock again; if we call again to the porter; if we plead to him with many tears to open the gate and to give us shelter out of love for God; and if he returns more angry than ever; and if he calls us annoying rascals and beats us with a knotted stick; and if he throws us to the ground, rolls us in the snow, and beats us again with the knotted stick; and if we bear these injuries with patience without complaining; and if we think upon the sufferings of our Blessed Crucified Lord, then, most beloved Brother Leo, please write down and note carefully that this, finally, is perfect joy!”

Granted, Francis was a medieval “Jesus freak’ who had a penchant for hyperbole—in this he takes after our Lord.  But there is something here that is true, good, and beautiful. 

Grace and peace, 

Mark

Credit: The image and version of this Francis story come from The Assisi Project website.