Ugly babies and quiet singing: Where’s the joy?
What brings you joy?
A quiet sunrise blasts an array of colors out your window. Your home team won the big game. You finally get to watch that new episode of your favorite television show. The meal was even more delicious than you expected. Your vacation was timed perfectly. Your child didn’t cower in the spotlight. Your joke was well received. Sometimes it's the little things in life that bring us joy.
The hymnals at our church mostly contain songs from the early to mid twentieth century. A lot of them are upbeat. Many of them tell a story about finding Jesus and thereby finding joy. No doubt the writers must’ve felt such things when penning these upbeat lyrics and fast tunes, but our church often sings them half-heartedly at best, if at all. Some songs are so quiet they seem to be mouthed or whispered rather than sung.
Whatever gives us joy, the story of the gospel doesn’t seem to be it. That sounds bad, like someone admitting out loud that the baby they just saw for the first time is kind of ugly. But joy cannot be manufactured, no matter how firmly we are scolded to create it. We either have it or we don’t. Singing at a whisper level about supposed joy creates as much real joy as merely talking about making money creates real wealth. So where can joy be found?
The hymnal of God’s people, Israel, handed down to us in the book of Psalms contains a variety of moods for every occasion: celebration and lament, triumph and defeat, loneliness and togetherness, hope and despair. Were it written by just one person, we’d have serious doubts whether or not they were manic-depressive. Even within the same psalm the author can describe wanting to be dead before expressing hope in God’s goodness.
When the villages of Israel laid in ruins and God’s temple was a heap of rubble, a psalmist describes the day God would restore everything as he had promised. When someone is pursued by enemies, fleeing for his life, a psalmist wonders what it would be like for God to smash those same enemies for their wickedness. When God’s people make their regular pilgrimage to Jerusalem to worship what God has done mightily in the past and what he promises to do in the future, several psalmists speak of the joy to be found when God’s salvation comes in full. The psalms were written by a people unsettled, even exiled, but always hopeful. And sometimes, joyful.
Psalm 126 was written for the pilgrim journey to Jerusalem. It reads:“When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dreamed. Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy. Restore our fortunes, Lord, like streams in the desert. Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them.”
If we only had the first half of this psalm, we’d presume it described great events that already happened in real life. The moments only dreamed about in the past about are now a reality, and the happiness is so palpable that we can hear raucous laughter. God has delivered! He came through for his people. We are finally vindicated. Even our most bitter enemies have to admit it.
But then we read the second half. The desert is still dry. It’s time for planting, not harvesting. Instead of the laughter of a comedy club there is weeping and wailing. Our bright future is not merely a dream, but it’s not yet reality either. The psalm as a whole was written for that space between dreams and reality called faith. It's the space Christians live in most of their lives. With our sacks of seeds and sleeves wet with tears we envision the dusty ground flowing with streams of water and our tiny seeds eventually sprouting into lush crops. Joy will surely come, so in a small way it already has.
March Madness starts next week with 68 basketball teams competing for one championship. Most years a dominant team wins the tournament, but in 1983 an underdog won. That team’s coach had a routine before every season where he had his players practice cutting down the nets like they would after winning the championship. They all dreamed of doing it, so why not practice it? The experience of walking up the ladder with scissors and basking in the joys of victory played into the players’ imaginations. They still had to go out and win the tournament, which was always in doubt, but as Christians we can bank on God’s certain victory. It is secure in Christ, not our performance. There is no doubt.
What we practice today will be sure to take place some day in God's kingdom, so joy can be found in imagining what God’s kingdom will be like. That loved one you saw take their last breath will have a new body with new breath. We'll talk and hug once again. The newspaper with headlines about wars, rumors of wars, poverty, hunger, and disease, will be replaced with harmonious truth, beauty, and goodness. That thrill you receive witnessing a sunset, sinking a putt, or feeling the arms of someone wrapped around you will continue on even better than before. Charlie Brown will finally kick that football.
God’s kingdom is a joyful kingdom, and for the joy set before us we can endure anything in this life, whatever tears may come. That’s the way of Jesus Christ, who, for the joy set before him, endured the cross, setting aside its shame, and as a result is exalted. His joy was bringing people from all over the world into God’s kingdom with him.
There are times to weep, but our tears while planting are not worthless. The seed we are sowing is not dead. It will crack and sprout. And when the harvest comes we’ll be joyful enough to sing about it. Perhaps one day we’ll all practice what that’s like when we worship together by lifting up our voices in praise to God. It’ll be our version of cutting down the nets before the season begins.
That’s all worship really is, whether we are singing, praying, hearing the Scriptures, or feasting at Jesus’ table.
Some people—even supposed Christians—might find our practice a waste of their time compared to the call of the Internet, golf course, lake, couch, or bed.
I don’t. The more I can imagine myself living in the space between my dreams and God’s future kingdom, the more joyful I’ll be navigating the perils of this fallen world today.
You’ll be more joyful too, if you give it a solid try, not a half-hearted one.
A quiet sunrise blasts an array of colors out your window. Your home team won the big game. You finally get to watch that new episode of your favorite television show. The meal was even more delicious than you expected. Your vacation was timed perfectly. Your child didn’t cower in the spotlight. Your joke was well received. Sometimes it's the little things in life that bring us joy.
The hymnals at our church mostly contain songs from the early to mid twentieth century. A lot of them are upbeat. Many of them tell a story about finding Jesus and thereby finding joy. No doubt the writers must’ve felt such things when penning these upbeat lyrics and fast tunes, but our church often sings them half-heartedly at best, if at all. Some songs are so quiet they seem to be mouthed or whispered rather than sung.
Whatever gives us joy, the story of the gospel doesn’t seem to be it. That sounds bad, like someone admitting out loud that the baby they just saw for the first time is kind of ugly. But joy cannot be manufactured, no matter how firmly we are scolded to create it. We either have it or we don’t. Singing at a whisper level about supposed joy creates as much real joy as merely talking about making money creates real wealth. So where can joy be found?
The hymnal of God’s people, Israel, handed down to us in the book of Psalms contains a variety of moods for every occasion: celebration and lament, triumph and defeat, loneliness and togetherness, hope and despair. Were it written by just one person, we’d have serious doubts whether or not they were manic-depressive. Even within the same psalm the author can describe wanting to be dead before expressing hope in God’s goodness.
When the villages of Israel laid in ruins and God’s temple was a heap of rubble, a psalmist describes the day God would restore everything as he had promised. When someone is pursued by enemies, fleeing for his life, a psalmist wonders what it would be like for God to smash those same enemies for their wickedness. When God’s people make their regular pilgrimage to Jerusalem to worship what God has done mightily in the past and what he promises to do in the future, several psalmists speak of the joy to be found when God’s salvation comes in full. The psalms were written by a people unsettled, even exiled, but always hopeful. And sometimes, joyful.
Psalm 126 was written for the pilgrim journey to Jerusalem. It reads:“When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dreamed. Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy. Restore our fortunes, Lord, like streams in the desert. Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them.”
If we only had the first half of this psalm, we’d presume it described great events that already happened in real life. The moments only dreamed about in the past about are now a reality, and the happiness is so palpable that we can hear raucous laughter. God has delivered! He came through for his people. We are finally vindicated. Even our most bitter enemies have to admit it.
But then we read the second half. The desert is still dry. It’s time for planting, not harvesting. Instead of the laughter of a comedy club there is weeping and wailing. Our bright future is not merely a dream, but it’s not yet reality either. The psalm as a whole was written for that space between dreams and reality called faith. It's the space Christians live in most of their lives. With our sacks of seeds and sleeves wet with tears we envision the dusty ground flowing with streams of water and our tiny seeds eventually sprouting into lush crops. Joy will surely come, so in a small way it already has.
March Madness starts next week with 68 basketball teams competing for one championship. Most years a dominant team wins the tournament, but in 1983 an underdog won. That team’s coach had a routine before every season where he had his players practice cutting down the nets like they would after winning the championship. They all dreamed of doing it, so why not practice it? The experience of walking up the ladder with scissors and basking in the joys of victory played into the players’ imaginations. They still had to go out and win the tournament, which was always in doubt, but as Christians we can bank on God’s certain victory. It is secure in Christ, not our performance. There is no doubt.
What we practice today will be sure to take place some day in God's kingdom, so joy can be found in imagining what God’s kingdom will be like. That loved one you saw take their last breath will have a new body with new breath. We'll talk and hug once again. The newspaper with headlines about wars, rumors of wars, poverty, hunger, and disease, will be replaced with harmonious truth, beauty, and goodness. That thrill you receive witnessing a sunset, sinking a putt, or feeling the arms of someone wrapped around you will continue on even better than before. Charlie Brown will finally kick that football.
God’s kingdom is a joyful kingdom, and for the joy set before us we can endure anything in this life, whatever tears may come. That’s the way of Jesus Christ, who, for the joy set before him, endured the cross, setting aside its shame, and as a result is exalted. His joy was bringing people from all over the world into God’s kingdom with him.
There are times to weep, but our tears while planting are not worthless. The seed we are sowing is not dead. It will crack and sprout. And when the harvest comes we’ll be joyful enough to sing about it. Perhaps one day we’ll all practice what that’s like when we worship together by lifting up our voices in praise to God. It’ll be our version of cutting down the nets before the season begins.
That’s all worship really is, whether we are singing, praying, hearing the Scriptures, or feasting at Jesus’ table.
Some people—even supposed Christians—might find our practice a waste of their time compared to the call of the Internet, golf course, lake, couch, or bed.
I don’t. The more I can imagine myself living in the space between my dreams and God’s future kingdom, the more joyful I’ll be navigating the perils of this fallen world today.
You’ll be more joyful too, if you give it a solid try, not a half-hearted one.
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