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How do we find joy? Joy
is not automatic. A life free from trouble is no guarantee of joy, and a
difficult life does not prevent it.
From 2002 to 2005 we lived in the
Philippines. In spite of widespread government corruption, crippling poverty,
oppressive heat, and high unemployment, we found Filipinos to be some of the
happiest people we've ever met. They can fall asleep anywhere, turn a
1-year-old's birthday into a wedding-sized celebration, and laugh in the face of
trouble. They are among the poorest in Asia, but arguably the happiest.
Clearly, joy does not depend on circumstances. So how do we get there?
If we imagine a pathway to joy,
forward movement depends on three deliberate choices. (There may be others; I'm addressing three here.) The first comes at
a gateway, the second at an intersection, and the third at a bend in the road.
To enter the gateway we need to choose honesty. To navigate the intersection we
must choose gratitude. And to lend perspective for the bends in the path, we
need faith.
We make the first deliberate
choice at the gateway of honesty. We will never arrive at true joy by
pretending to be happy. Denial is the enemy of joy —a closed door to
joy's garden path. We cannot bypass grief and pain, guilt or
unforgiveness and expect to find joy. That thing that robs us of joy must be
faced head on. We must look it in the eye and name it.
In fact, psychologists tell us
that when we avoid honesty, we invite poor health, both emotionally and
physically. In the words of one scholar who has studied this phenomenon (Brent
Strawn, on James Pennebaker's study, in Brueggemann, From Whom No Secrets
Are Hid, xix), "Inhibition is hard work, and that work eventually
takes its toll on the body's defenses." So you want real joy? Step one is
to grieve your losses. Admit your fault. Express your anger. Own your failures.
Voice your disappointment. Forgive those who have let you down.
This is a bit awkward to say in church. Most
churches have lost the art of making space for this kind of honesty. We give
the distinct impression that "putting on your Sunday best" always
includes a bright smile. We rarely confess our sins, name our failures, face
our fears, and grieve our losses in community. And so our unexpressed emotions
become roadblocks to joy. One way to recover these practices is to pray the
Psalms together. The Psalms let it all hang out. Every ugly emotion you can
imagine. It's like reality TV, minus the
TV.
God, I cry out by day, but you do
not answer! By night, but I find no rest! (22:2)
Do not be far from me, for
trouble is near and there is no one to help! (22:11)
Break the arm of the wicked man;
call the evildoer to account for his wickedness (10:15)
All night long I flood my bed
with weeping and drench my couch with tears (6:6)
Heal me, Lord, for my bones are
in agony. My soul is in deep anguish. How long, Lord, how long? (6:2-3)
Against you, you only, have I
sinned and done what is evil in your sight. (51:4)
Troubles without number surround
me; my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see (40:12)
Let evil recoil on those who
slander me; in your faithfulness destroy them (54:5)
Through prayer, all these raw and
gritty realities are brought into the presence of God and given over for Him to
handle. The Psalms are proof that God invites us to come as we are. To say it
like it is. And by doing so, to find a new way forward. There's no way around
it.
So we begin our journey to joy by
choosing to be honest.
Then we come to an intersection, and we have to make our second choice: gratitude. I'll talk about that intersection in my next post on joy.
Love this.
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