Practicing the Presence of Joy

Most mornings, I try to get outside to notice and breath in, the wonder of God’s handiwork. And my heart is full of the abundance and color and design and loveliness. It is a highlight and sets the mood for my day.

The Bible represents the whole of creation, what we call the natural world, as being caught up in the dance of joy and celebration. The trees in the forest clap their hands, the mountains and hills are bursting with joy, the brooks are bubbling with laughter. As the musical, The Sound of Music states it—the hills are alive with the sound of music.

With each new day, the birds start their singing, the flowers open their petals to the sunlight and warmth, the animals resume their busy activity with delight. As GK Chesterton observed, It’s as though, with each new day, God says “do it again.”

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice;
let the sea roar, and all that fills it;
    let the field exult, and everything in it!
Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy
    before the Lord, for he comes. (Psalms 96:11-13)

Do you experience joy when you encounter the beauty and aliveness of the creation? How often do you get outside to be reminded of the glorious creation? God has made a world brimming with beauty, and he has made us with the capacity to appreciate the beauty. As Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.”

The Old Testament Hebrew poetry employs numerous words for joy: “merriment,” “gladness,” “happy,” “laughter,” “wonder,” “exuberance,” “exulting,” “praise,” “worship,” “shout,” “sing,” “delight,” and “blessed.” Even dancing becomes a synonym for joy, as in “you have turned for me my mourning into dancing, you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy” (Psalm. 30:11). It’s as though the creation is saying to us: What are you waiting for, you children of God? Don’t you get it? Surely you would want to join in the dance as well. I confess, I have never been much of a dancer, but when I am caught up with the beauty of God’s wonderful world, my heart is dancing.

All these things point us to a God who is beautiful, wise, loving, and lavish with his gifts.

The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.

Yes, there is also evidence of a fall—thorns, thistles, weeds, and decay. In addition, we find abuse, exploitation, and pollution. But in spite of all this, it is still true that the earth breaks through with God’s beauty. And even though our senses are dulled by the fall, we are still able to respond to that beauty with joy and gratitude.

Are you having a blah day? We all do. But that’s no reason to stay in the gloom. Sometimes we need to lift our eyes to the heavens, see the lovely green trees against the blue sky. If it is a dreary day, I am reminded of the importance of the rain and moisture for the growth of all these beautiful gifts. And the Lord turns my mourning into dancing (Psalm 30:11).

One of my favorite hymns is “We Plow the Fields and Scatter,” originally written by Matthias Claudius in 1782. More recently it was included in the Godspell Musical with a new tune. It is a harvest hymn, but one that serves as a reminder that “every good and perfect gift comes from above, from the Father of lights” (James 1:17).

You can find the 1973 Godspell version here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mURti-s0jc

It never fails to fill my heart with joy.

1. We plow the fields, and scatter the good seed on the land,
   But it is fed and watered by God’s almighty hand.
   He sends the snow in winter, the warmth to swell the grain,
   The breezes and the sunshine, and soft refreshing rain.

Refrain
All good gifts around us
Are sent from heaven above;
Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord
For all His love.

2. He only is the Maker of all things near and far;
   He paints the wayside flower, He lights the evening star.
   The winds and waves obey Him, by Him the birds are fed;
   Much more, to us His children, He gives our daily bread.
3. We thank Thee then, O Father, for all things bright and good,
   The seed-time and the harvest, our life, our health, and food.
   Accept the gifts we to offer for all Thy love imparts,
   And, what Thou desirest, our humble, thankful hearts.

I am writing this on July 4th, the commemoration of American Independence. We have witnessed an amazing display of fireworks in our city. But nothing to be compared to God’s amazing fireworks display of Aurora Borealis, or the Northern Lights.

“The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” –Gerard Manley Hopkins

 

If I were to ask you to list the top three characteristics of Jesus that come to your mind, I don’t imagine that joy would be in that list. We might answer “kind, compassionate, serious, or even stern,” but probably not joyful. If that is the case for you, I would like to ask you to reconsider your image of Jesus.

The statement by Jesus that has re-shaped my own thinking about this question is this: “These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete” (John 15:11). His promise to his disciples is that my joy will be in you. So, Jesus must have joy himself that he is eager to share with them and us, not just a little joy, but complete or full joy. Just as Jesus passed on his love and his peace to his disciples, so he also gives them his joy.

But do we view Jesus as joyful? Think about his encounters with people, lots of people. And almost everyone who encountered Jesus went away joyful, those he healed, those he delivered from bondage, those who heard his teaching. Think of Mary Magdalene who was delivered of seven demons, or the blind man who received his sight, or Zacchaeus the tax collector who heard his teaching and changed his whole life. These are people who would testify, “He gave me back my life, he gave me back my smile.” Even those who he confronted, like the Samaritan woman at the well went from him ecstatic and transformed (John 4). One after another, people met him and found joy. Everyone, that is, except the religious rulers who could only see in Jesus a threat to their system and dogma, and they missed out on the joy and new life that he offered. When you read the account of the Pharisees, they hardly seem like a joyful bunch.

And there was that time, back when I was 18 years old, that I encountered Jesus, and embraced him as my Lord and Savior. I couldn’t stop singing his praises and telling others about him. He gave me back my life, and I have joyfully, gratefully followed him ever since.

Jesus’ whole ministry and teaching was liberating and life-giving and joyful. He went around healing all who were open to his message, mingling with peoples happiness at the wedding of Cana, supplying more wine when it had run out, interrupting funerals with his rude resurrections, and generally throwing life into disarray. This was his joyful ministry and his teaching about the joyful kingdom of heaven, an invitation for people to live, really live, not just exist. To live life to the hilt, a flourishing life of joy.

People were drawn to him, children were drawn to him, his smile, his laughter. But the suspicious, narrow-thinking Pharisees could not endure this sunny heartedness. He seemed to break all the rules, and he hung out with sinners and tax collectors and prostitutes. But he “did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” Of course, this is tongue in cheek statement, by which he meant those who knew they were sinners and knew they needed forgiveness and new life. The religious rulers did not.

And it was for joy that Jesus even endured the cross (Hebrews 12:20), joy at the thought of all the liberated, forgiven, reborn people, like you and me. Just as a woman in labor endures her pains with joy because of the new life that is coming forth. The cross was his joy because of the new life and deliverance from death that it provides to those who believe.

I need his forgiveness and new life every day. I need the comfort and healing that only he can give, as I grieve the loss of my dear wife. And his gift of joy shines through the tears each day.

How are you doing? Are you grieving, lonely, feeling empty, lost? Maybe your faith has grown dull and cold. Maybe you have lost the joy you once had. When I feel this way, I know I need to return to Jesus who stands with arms outstretched saying:

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. (Matthew 11:28-29)

Not everyone has a bubbly temperament. I know I don’t. Joy will look differently for different people. We certainly don’t mean “put on a happy face” when we speak of joy. It is more than a happy feeling. Feelings can be momentary and fleeting. Joy is sturdier, weightier, and deeper than that.

How would you define joy? It’s not easy, is it. It is about as difficult as trying to define love or hope. But you know it when you see it, and you certainly know it when you feel it.

What I mean by joy is having a hopeful and peaceful outlook on life. It is accompanied by contentment and gratitude. Joy is a disposition, a mindset. This inward state of mind will often be expressed in some kind of merriment—a smile, a chuckle, or a full belly laugh. Isn’t it true that joy often leads to laughter and laughter can produce further joy. And laughter, as they say, is good for your health, and it is contagious. But joy can also be expressed by tears. When we feel overwhelmed by joy, we may be moved to tears. And sometimes our joy is mingled with sadness. As I have been sharing in recent blog posts, with the loss of my wife, I often have memories that are both joyful and sad, and I may have tears of joy.

Joy and happiness are often used synonymously, but they differ in some important ways. Happiness tends to depend on the circumstances of our life at any given time. When things are going well, we are happy. When things change, our happiness disappears. Or maybe our circumstances don’t change, but we get used to it; it becomes ho-hum, and our happiness fades. Joy is not so fickle; it is not dependent on circumstances. Joy is enduring and can even thrive in hardship. To live with joy is to live with wonder, gratitude, and hope.

Also, happiness tends to be individual and self-oriented. We may ask, “Are you happy right now?” Whereas joy is others-oriented and self-transcending. We are always joyful over something or someone. Joy is often unexpected; it catches us by surprise, as C.S. Lewis discovered in his autobiography, Surprise by Joy.

There is something elusive about joy. We don’t find joy by seeking after joy. The search for joy leads to frustration. If you see a book with the title, “Three Easy Steps to Finding Great Joy,” don’t buy that book. It doesn’t work that way. We discover joy by seeking something else. Joy is a by-product.

Ah, but what then is the product? What is that prize that will finally bring us joy? Well, as we said, joy is self-transcendent; it is others oriented. If you have experienced sincere love toward someone, and you have been loved by someone in return, you know that this brings us great joy. However, if that love is lost, it can leave us more miserable than we were before and leave us wondering if it was really worth it. We may be very hesitant to open ourselves up to that kind of relationship again. Or as in my case, if that loved one dies, the intensity of grief can be overwhelming. Though I would not trade our 56 years of marriage for anything in this world.

But there is another, even more enduring way to discover joy. And that is to transcend not only ourselves, but to find something beyond human relationships.

That great prize is Jesus and his joyful kingdom. In his parables, Jesus talked about a man who discovered a hidden treasure in a field, “and in his joy he went and sold all he had and bought that field.” And again, there was a merchant looking for fine pearls, and when he found one of great value, “he went and sold everything he had and bought it.” (Matthew 13:44-46).

Of course, the kingdom cannot be bought, but the point is that its worth is so much greater than anything we can imagine; it is not to be compared with any riches or fame or power. It is the kingdom of love and joy and peace. It is where Jesus reigns with forgiveness and cleansing and fulness of life.

It is that great treasure that brings us joy, joy, joy. It is a gift that Jesus offers to the prodigal son who returns. It is pictured as Jesus rescues the one lost sheep and brings it safely back to the fold. (Luke 15). Jesus and his kingdom offer joy that cannot be lost like broken-hearted love, or the passing of a loved one. In fact, Jesus offers comfort even to my grieving heart with the loss of my wife and the hope of life eternal.

This is why there are not “three easy steps to finding joy.” But there is one path to travel where we will find incomparable joy. It is the divine path that leads us far beyond our own resources and striving, to resting in the arms of Jesus. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3).

Are you searching for joy? You may be searching is all the wrong places. We may be striving and researching and seeking enlightenment when the kingdom of God is right there in front of us. All we need to do is to recognize our spiritual poverty and in humility receive this gift. Jesus has already paid the price through his death on the cross.

 

Sometimes when I walk in my neighborhood, especially in this springtime of the year, I am struck by the many varieties of flowers and plants, the grass and trees, the lush greens under the blue sky. Who would have thought there were so many shades of green? My heart is filled with joy. And I sometimes say out loud, “Lord, your garden is still flourishing on this earth.”

As I stroll along my street, there is one home that has a stunning display of roses. And sometimes when the roses are in full glory the woman of that house puts out a sign: “Stop and smell the roses.” And I do. They are lush and lovely and fragrant. It’s not something that comes naturally for me. My dear wife, Sharon, taught me how to look and notice the details of the beautiful flowers and leaves and tree bark. And yes, I am still missing her every day, but at times like this, it is a happy memory. I am grateful for this important practice that she imparted to me, and I know she would be pleased that I am noticing this beauty.

 

Once we were walking along the continental divide in Rocky Mountain National Park, Sharon and I and a friend. We were well above the timber line, it seemed that there were just rocks. The only way to mark the trail was to follow the little pyramids of stones (cairns) to guide our way. But as we looked more closely, we saw the delicate, tiny flowers that could grow in the tundra. We were careful not to step on this fragile growth. And Sharon got to her knees and admired these brave and lovely flowers. It was all so pure and untouched and natural.

It reminded me of that first garden, what it must have been like, and that popular song, “Morning Has Broken,” which was not written by Cat Steven but by Eleanor Farjeon in 1931. She was asked to write a hymn to help children express gratitude every day for God’s creation. “Morning has broken like the first morning.” Each new day reminds us of that first morning, that first bird singing, the first dewfall on the first grass . . . born of the one light Eden saw play. We tend to take each new day as a common place of natural events, but as G.K. Chesterton suggests, “What if God says each day—do it again.” And each spring with the miraculous “springing” to life from that which seemed very dead, what if God says—do it again!

To be honest, this spring came hard for me this year. Because of my grieving, I couldn’t, or didn’t want to let myself feel the excitement again this year. It wouldn’t be the same without Sharon. It is strange that this can seem like a betrayal of my grief, but of course, it is not. I finally succumbed to the invitation to join in the dance of joy. Even in my sorrow, I was won over by the lavish beauty everywhere I looked. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome.

By now, you have heard me say this a dozen times, the opposite of joy is not sorrow. I am finding joy mingled with sorrow every day. The opposite of joy is despair and hopelessness. As my counselor reminds me, there is a difference between grief and depression. Grief is a healthy and normal response to deep loss; depression is letting the darkness take over. The interplay between hope and joy is constant; they play off each another. My hope is that God is with me and will continue to be with me as my comforter, and that brings me joy. And the joy that stubbornly keeps springing up in my soul produces hope in me. And of course, that hope is built on the assurance of what I have come to firmly believe to be true. (But that is for another day.)

Back to the flowers, our apple trees are so packed full of blossoms now that the branches look like sticks of cotton candy, almost unreal. I marvel that they can pack that many blossoms into such a small space. And soon they will be giving way to small leaves and miniature crab apples. I watched last year as those tiny apples were feeding the birds and squirrels all through the winter months. God is good, his works are marvelous. We can see so much beauty, even in this fallen, imperfect world.

And once again, our hearts are drawn to that first Garden, where there was sweet fellowship with God, the food was there for the picking, the water was pure and sweet and refreshing. The garden of God was filled with beauty of every imaginable flowers and lush plants and trees, with rivers and brooks, rolling hills and valleys. It was a place a peace—shalom—where all is well and harmonious, where the worship of God is natural and continual and joyful. We have this yearning because we have a sense that this broken, decaying world is not the way it is supposed to be. And one day this earth will be renewed, finally restored (and more than restored) to its re-created glory.

And we are reminded that we were made for joy, and we are destined for joy. For now, let’s just enjoy this spring and let it bring joy to our hearts. Let me urge you to get outside, allow yourself to get lost in the beauty, the wonder, and the joy of God’s good creation, where he says to the good earth, “do it again.”

I am often reminded, even haunted by that famous rejoinder by Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire. When his sister tries to convince him to give up running, give up competing in the Olympics, and come serve Christ in China. He promises that he will go to China (and he eventually does go), but for now, he says, “God made me fast, and when I run, I feel his pleasure.” Do we feel God’s pleasure? Ever?

Do we sense God’s smile, even over little things. Yes, we may feel his frown, or a puzzled look, at times, when we knowingly act in selfish ways. But when we do the right thing, finish a job well done, say a kind word to someone, sing his praises—do we feel his pleasure?

Lately, as I continue to walk through the grieving process over the loss of my wife, I have struggled with low motivation to do the next thing. It doesn’t seem to have the same meaning or significance as when I could share it with my wife, Sharon. But I do it anyway, because God notices even the small things, and I sense God’s smile, his nod. And then I just need to bask in that smile, that delight, and let it flow over me.

Do you know that the Bible says that God delights in us, he rejoices over us? Zephaniah 3:14-17 is one of those places where the prophet packs in several different Hebrew words for joy—translated as rejoice, exult, sing, shout, gladness, loud singing. But the surprise is when he says God expresses his joy over us.

The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing. (Zeph. 3:17)

The Lord takes delight in his people, even his wayward people who return to him as a loving Father. Can you imagine the Lord exulting over you with loud singing?

Again, Isaiah says, “As the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you” (Isa. 62:5). Have you seen the look on the face of the groom at a wedding when he sees his bride walking down the aisle? He is beaming with a joy that is almost impossible to contain. That is the picture of God rejoicing over us.  We see it again in the great benediction of Jude 24: “Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy.”

In the beatitudes, Jesus says, Blessed are the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, the spiritually hungry, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted. That means whenever we live into these qualities, Jesus declares, we are blessed. “Bless you for you have been merciful. Bless you for you have been a faithful mourner.”

Later, when Jesus was with his disciples, he asked, Who do people say that I am? Answer: one of the prophets. Then he asked the  big question: “But who do you say that I am?” And Peter, who often did get things wrong, got this one right— “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” (Matthew 16:16) And Jesus responded with “Bless you, this did not come from human wisdom, you got this from the Father.”

Like the disciples, we are often bungling, slow to understand, fearful, and selfish. But sometimes we get it right, and at that point Jesus is beaming, his eyes are moist, and he pronounces his blessing upon us. Well done!

And lately I have been thinking that by extension, we ought to be quick to bless others, ready to respond with a beaming smile, a well done.

As parents we are so often involved with correcting our children and guiding our children on the right path (and they do need lots of correcting and guidance). But what about those times when we can just take delight in them, rejoice over them. What about those “out of the mouth of babes” moments when they just say something that is so pure, so innocent, and so true? (Psalm 8:2; Matthew 21). Now with my grandkids, I am often joyfully smiling in those moments.

Have you noticed how the great apostle Paul often speaks of those who came to Christ under his care and teaching—You are my joy.

For you are our glory and joy. (I Thessalonians 2:20)

Therefore, my brothers, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord, my beloved. (Philippians 4:1)

At the memorial service for my wife, each of our four children shared something quite personal and profound about their mother for which they were grateful. And I told them that evening that I was proud of them and so pleased with what they shared. Yes, well done, my children. Our son wrote a song and sang it for the memorial service with his piano composition—”You took joy in me.” It illustrates this point so well. If you like, you can listen to it here.

I want to challenge you to take two opportunities today to rest in God’s smile and his rejoicing over you. It could be the beginning of a whole new dimension of your experience with God.

Thinking again of Eric Liddell’s quote: “God made me fast, and when I run, I feel his pleasure,” can you fill in the blanks on this statement?

GOD MADE ME __________ AND WHEN I ___________ I FEEL  HIS PLEASURE.

 

 

 

 

 I am not good at acknowledging weakness. Most men have trouble with this. According to Brene Brown (Daring Greatly and TED Talk fame), the most common shame factor for women is body image, and the leading shame factor for men is weakness. As I mention this to people, I regularly get nods of “oh yeah.”

I don’t do weakness. But here I am, alone, six weeks after my wife, Sharon, left this world for glory after a long experience with cancer. And I am grappling with what it means to be “widowed.” I had to check that box on a form in a doctor’s office recently and it jarred me. And I am feeling as weak and vulnerable and helpless as I have ever felt in my life, at least in my adult life.

How am I doing? Wow, this is humbling and scary and very uncomfortable. And I think Sharon would be proud of me for admitting this.

Against this backdrop, I am writing again about childlike joy and trust. Last week we started to talk about trust.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight. (Proverbs 3:5-6)

But what does it mean to really trust in the Lord, and what did Jesus mean when he said, “Unless you become like one of these children, you cannot enter the Kingdom?” (Matthew 18:3). Children know how to trust. They must trust their parents and other caring adults in order to survive.

In the first Beatitude, Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven” (Matthew 5:3). And this seems to be the key to unlocking all of the Beatitudes and unlocking the Kingdom. It is when we recognize our spiritual poverty, our utter dependence, like little children, casting aside any trace of pride or self-effort, that we are ready to receive his Kingdom, his joyful Kingdom. And all of us who have come to genuine faith in Christ have passed this way, we have come in all humility and recognition of our spiritual poverty.

It is also a profound act of trust, this letting go of our pride, our merits, our strengths, and our cleverness to tackle any challenge that comes our way. And we find freedom in this trust.

 

When hard times come—suffering and loss—our faith and trust are tested in new ways. Is God trustworthy? Can I trust him even in this? Is he my loving Heavenly Father who always wants what is best for me?

But when all the props are knocked out from under us, what are our choices? Either trust or despair. And I am choosing to trust. It is a wonderful discipline. “I am trusting you this day, Father, to see me through it, to show me the way forward.”

Among other things, I have been reading George MacDonald’s Unspoken Sermons. C.S. Lewis often recommended these writings to friends, saying that he believed anyone would be spiritually enriched by them. One of MacDonald’s regular themes focuses on the relationship between the Father and the Son. It is a relationship rooted in trust and love.

 Jesus’ perfect trust in the Father means that he is also perfectly at home in the world and can move about it with a sort of light mobility, for the world is the Father’s. Because of this complete trust in the father, the true child is in harmony with all of God’s creation. Rather than a heavy struggling with nature to provide for one’s needs, the child has a sense of supreme liberty and lightness and can play and delight in all of the Father’s works. He exists in a state of ‘divine carelessness.’

Your heavenly Father knows what you need. As he cares for the birds of the air and the flowers in the field, will he not much more care for you? (Matthew 6:25-34).

The question is, can we let ourselves be a child before him, trusting him to meet our needs day by day. When things are going smoothly and we feel like we are strong and in charge, it is very difficult to trust. But when all that we have known, all that is familiar to us is taken away, we gladly run into the Father’s welcoming arms.

Lately I have been practicing joy by watching the birds in my yard flirting with one another. It is mating season and nesting has begun. I have also been gazing at a photo of Sharon we took during tulip time in Holland MI. It is tulip time again. I am deciding to live this day trusting the Father to care for me and that gives me joy.

How is your trust factor lately? Do you sense that freedom and lightness of being that brings great joy? Increasing our trust level will bring us more joy at every turn in the road.

 

Thank you for your patience. If you have been following my blog, you know that I lost my dear wife, Sharon, after 56 years of marriage, about a month ago. I have been taking time for what I hope is healthy grieving and healing, so I am a bit late with this post. But this post is also part of my healing.

Along the way, my grandchildren are teaching me some important lessons about grieving and joy. Their presence always lifts my spirits. They are very sad to lose their grandma, and they miss her greatly. They always gave her big hugs when they came into the house. But they are trusting that she is with Jesus now and that God will care for them, and life will go on. As they become absorbed serious play, I watch them get lost in their games, running and jumping with imaginative drama, and it is pure joy. And I often get drawn into their playfulness.

I suspect that most of us who are adults have gladly put our childhood behind us with all its idealism and self-absorption. But there is a great difference between being childish and childlike. George MacDonald is known for his fairy tales and books for children. But he insists, “I write, not for children, but for the child-like, whether they be of five, or fifty, or seventy-five.” And Jesus made it clear that “Unless we become like little children, we can never enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” The Kingdom that Jesus came to offer is a Kingdom of Joy.

To be honest, it doesn’t  come easy for me to step into this childlike frame of mind. I am prone to be cautious, calculating, and careful. It seems to me that most adults are not very good at being childlike. We don’t want to appear foolish or immature and especially not irresponsible. As a result, we miss out on a lot of fun and joyfulness.

Think back on the scenes with Mr. Banks expressing his disapproval of the playfulness that Mary Poppins was bringing into their house, and his absolute horror in discovering that his children were spending their pennies to feed the birds. But then we see the transformation of character when this same Mr. Banks gets caught up in the fun of flying a kite and the world of “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

But perhaps the most important quality of childhood is not just fun, but trust. Children are not prone to worrying or viewing themselves as self-reliant. Their very sense of dependence on their parents and other adults puts them in a position of trust.

And I am finding that the loss of my wife puts me in a position of uncharted territory, a whole new terrain in life. I am sometimes disoriented, and it is very hard for me to see what lies ahead. I really can’t imagine life without her. So, while I am always dependent on God (far more than I realize), now I am keenly aware of that dependence in a way that makes me cling to God as a child clings to his mother. I am trusting God in a whole new way. And this is good, and even a little exciting—a new adventure. Oh yes, it is painful and confusing at times, but this sense of “just you and me God” is both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. That familiar verse from Proverbs 3:5-6 is becoming a vital part of my relationship with God.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight.

I need the Lord to make my paths straight right now because this is a new path for me. I don’t know the way ahead. I am going to need help navigating the grief, figuring out who I am as a widowed person, and dealing with the aloneness. I find myself singing that old Spiritual: “If we ever needed the Lord before, we sure to need him now.” And I really like the Take 6 version of this song. It is both joyful and aware of our dependence on the Lord.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_avcdMEeCs

How are you doing with your childlike joy. It may feel like something in the far distant past or another lifetime. Or your childhood may not have seemed very happy at all. Perhaps it was cut short by trauma and troubles in the adult world around you. Jesus is still the great healer, and he invites us to trust him as he trusts the Father. How are we doing with trust? This is a crucial question, and we will pick that up next time.

As I continue grieving the loss of my dear wife, I was looking over the many wonderful cards of condolence I have received from friends and family. One quote especially caught my attention, from Isaiah 53:

Surely he has borne our griefs
    and carried our sorrows.

I was familiar with this verse, but this time it was a great comfort to me and just filled my whole being with warmth and reassurance.  Jesus is the “man of sorrows, who was acquainted with grief” (vs 3). He is no stranger to grief and sorrow; he has walked this way before us. He wept over news of the death of his friend Lazarus. He wept over Jerusalem—seeing them as sheep without a shepherd. He was despised and rejected by men, he knew “aloneness,” even to the point of feeling abandoned by the Father. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.”

It is Good Friday, and I am identifying with the “man of sorrows” in a unique way. My friend Ron Pederson once created a sculpture of steel, profoundly depicting the Man of Sorrows, an abstract figure bent over and suffering. At times like this, when we know deep personal grief and loss, we may consider ourselves to be a man of sorrows or woman of sorrows. And we have a friend in Jesus who was “acquainted with grief.” This thought is bringing comfort to my heart now, and I offer this comfort to you if you are in a place of suffering.

Truly, in his death on the cross he suffered for our sins: “He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities” (vs 5). The idea of substitution permeates the whole Old Testament system of animal sacrifices and the story of Israel’s redemption. Jesus was the ultimate Pascal Lamb who takes away the sins of the world. And because of this, we who believe can have forgiveness and redemption through his blood.

As a small boy, growing up in Chicago, we had a ragman who would push his cart through the alleyways of the city, calling out, “Rags, I take old rags.” Occasionally my mother would send me to give him some of our old rags. Walter Wangerin wrote a short story entitled “The Ragman” in which this ragman not only collects old rags but gives new ones in return. As the story goes on, one observing follows this unusual ragman on his path. He discovers that not only does the ragman trade new rags for old, but he also takes on the infirmities and heartaches of those he encounters and offers healing in return. The ragman eventually ends up weakened and dying on the garbage heap outside the city. The final words of the story are “The Ragman, The Ragman, The Christ,” a beautiful picture of Jesus taking on our sins on the cross and offering us new life in return.

But what does it mean that he has “borne” our griefs and “carried” our sorrows? Through his sacrificial death he can offer comfort in our grief and relief in our sorrows. All the devastating brokenness of this sinful world, with the resulting sickness and suffering and death and the crushing sense of loss that it brings—all of this he bore on the cross.

And because of this redeeming work he is ready and able to heal those of us who are brokenhearted and crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18, 147:1). He is eager to minister to us in our weakness and time of need. And I am finding comfort in this truth today. I am basking in his love, his strong arms around me that will not let me go.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18).

And not only this, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.” And this Easter Sunday will be special for me, and for all who have lost loved ones and await the day when the dead in Christ shall be raised with glorified, incorruptible bodies. And there will be no more sighing and no more crying and no more dying.

It is my prayer that if you are brokenhearted today, you will find comfort in the Man of Sorrows.

My heart was lifted as I listened again to this segment of Handel’s Messiah: “Comfort Ye My People, The Mouth of the Lord Has Spoken It.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0XukAd4apCg

Is it possible to find joy even in grieving? Not just in small troubles and aggravations, but deep suffering and loss?

As you may have noticed, I took a two-week break from this blog. And the reason was to say goodbye to my dear wife of 56 years (see my last blog). She passed from this earth on March 15 into the arms of Jesus, her Savior and Lord. We had a sweet parting and wonderful memorial service for her last Sunday at our church. The outpouring of love and support from family and friends is so humbling and overwhelming.

Now I am grieving and moved to tears with each reminder of our life together. The loss is beyond words. Honestly, my belief that she is with her Lord, that her suffering is over, does not help me much to deal with my own loss and grief.

But I have maintained in my teaching that the opposite of joy is not sorrow and sadness. The opposite of joy is hopelessness and despair. I am finding that to be true. For me and my family, our times are marked by both tears and laughter, sorrow and joy, as we pore over old photos and tell stories. My final words to her were “until we meet again.” As St. Paul said, we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. And this hope allows me to remember with joy and thanksgiving the decades we had together, which, in truth were a mix of the mundane and adventure.

I know that I am only in the early stage of grieving, and I have a long way to go. But I think I am experiencing what Alexander Schmemann described as a “bright sorrow” or joyful mourning. Sorrow does not kill my joy, it strengthens it. Through my tears I see visions of love and goodness.

One of the surprises for me is that my relationship with the Lord has become even sweeter. I find myself talking out loud to God, “Lord, I really need you now, I am alone, please help me get through this, I can’t see the way forward.” And I sense his presence, I feel my spirit lifted, and less alone. I have a loving heavenly Father who watches over me, who knows my sorrow, who cares for me, and is moved by my pain. As Henri Nouwen observed, our aloneness does not necessarily lead to loneliness. God is helping me to be okay with being alone. And the bonus is that my Lord is more real, more needed, and more present.

The Christian life is always a faith-walk, but sometimes it is more poignant. At times of sorrow like this, the fact that we take each step by faith is more evident. And in this precarious state, I discover in a new way what it means to walk by faith and not by sight. Because I frankly cannot see ahead very far—I cannot conceive of life without Sharon, my life mate. This is new territory for me. And there is a kind of joy in letting myself trust God in this new state of affairs.

We have been observing the season of Lent in our church, a time when we long for the glory and peace of our true “home” where the Father embraces us with his forgiving love. Isn’t that what we long for—our real home that God has prepared for us?

Holy Week is upon us. Easter is again coming soon. I suspect that this Easter will take on a special meaning for me. The promise of new things, the hope of the resurrection, as the new life springs up all around us in such a bountiful way with crocuses and daffodils. Who would have thought that out of this gray and dreary winter, God could again fill the earth with so much life and beauty, everywhere we look? Each spring, we are pointed to the greater truth that God has a habit of turning death into life, loss into gain, the old into new.

I take great comfort in the words of the Psalmist, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints” (Psalm 116:15). And he will raise them up on the last day.

Do you find yourself in a time of great sorrow? I do know that sentiment. I am there. And yet, even here, we can know joy, we can go deeper into the loving arms of our God.

I shared last week about the journey I am on with my wife of 56 years, now in hospice care at home. We seem to be in the final stage of her life on this earth. Still, I am finding joy in serving her, caring for her, and loving her. But it is hard, the hardest work emotionally and mentally that I have ever done. There are times when I can hardly think straight. Honestly, I have been tempted to want out of this hard time, wishing we could be living in an easier and happier time of our lives together.

Have you ever wished that you lived in another period of history, or a different set of circumstances? Maybe during the COVID-19 lockdowns? You are in good company.  In the Lord of the Rings trilogy, when Gandalf informs Frodo about the dark times and evil forces at work in their time, they have this interchange:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide.  All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

In the end, Frodo did not shrink back from the challenge and the costly role he would have to play in the struggle. It is only natural to feel like giving up and running away at times, because we were made for and are destined for joy and peace. But there is a danger here. This earthly life is always a struggle, no matter what period of history we find ourselves. Life is difficult (as Scott Peck notes in The Road Less Traveled). We are in a battle; this is war. Our life is full of hardship, disappointment, loss, frustration, and confusion. We feel weary and overwhelmed at times. To try to avoid or deny real pain and trials that come our way is bad for our mental health and devastating to our character.

By God’s grace, I will not shrink away from this present challenge, this time of testing set before me. It is a day-by-day faith journey. Of course, every day is a faith journey, but the intensity of this time, makes it very clear and poignant.

The ancients had a term for turning away from challenges like this with a result of becoming mentally and spiritually lazy. It is called sloth. We don’t use this term much these days, but it is an important one. We find it in the list of “the seven deadly sins,” and it is deadly. It is a cowardly way to live, and it eats away at our soul, it is a living death. It is certainly the enemy of joy. Dorothy Sayers makes this sobering description of sloth: “It is the sin which believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, loves nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and only remains alive because there is nothing it would die for.”

Sometimes people romanticize war, and speak of the thrill of the battle. This can be very misleading and simplistic. But in our daily spiritual warfare, we know what it is the feel the thrill of the battle, even though we did not choose this battle, we stay in the battle because it is the right struggle, and because we know how it all ends. Jesus said, “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). And as someone said in summing up the book of Revelation, “The message is very simple and clear—God wins.”

As I travel with my wife on her final journey, I know how this will end and it is not in defeat. Oh yes, her life on this earth will come to an end. I am not in denial. But death is not the end, death is not the last word, life is the last word. And so, I will continue to bear this trial, to travel with her, joyfully loving her through her pain, her weakness, and her final breath. This is my calling at this moment. I am looking to God for grace and strength to carry on.

And yes, there is joy in ministering to my wife at this time and in this way.