What is joy? Is it happiness? Is it momentary? Is it something you work towards? Something you can experience now? Is it dependent on circumstances? Is it even important?
This blog begins a series of blogs that I’m calling the “Joy Series.” As I read through the book of Revelation, the last book in the Bible, I wonder something:
What if Heaven is more frightening than any concept of hell we can conjure up?
Here’s why I’m thinking this.
Do you know how to live a life of joy? I don’t sense that I do. I’m amazed how often I think I’m doing what I want and I’m actually just trying to outrun or outwit a fear. I can be trying to forge a new friendship, but really I’m afraid of being alone. I can be trying to apologize for something, but really I’m afraid of rejection. I can be trying to read more, but really I’m afraid of being out of touch or less informed than someone else. I can be trying to create a fun experience, but really I’m just trying to recreate a fun memory that I’m afraid is locked in the past. So, I wonder what joy is. I not only wonder. I long for it.
When I think of joy, I sometimes go to a memory where I’m sitting on our back deck in mid-May. The sun is rising just over the eastern hills and the air is already warm. It’s going to be a hot day- the first warmth after a long winter of damp, wet, cold days. And the plan is to go floating on a river, where the water will be freezing to help balance the heat, and there is no agenda. I’m with friends. We are laughing as we flow down the quicker parts. We wait in anticipation as we take bends in the river and wonder what will be around the corner. We can have more casual or serious conversations during the calm straightaways.
It’s a sweet memory.
But where is the joy for me? Is it in the anticipation on the back deck? Is it in the energy of the sun as it promises warmth and daylight after its lacking? Is it in the relationships? It is in the adventure? Is it in the lack of agenda? Is it in the constraints of the river that guide what we can say yes to and what we can say no to? Is it in the set-apartness of the day from the mundane day-to-day work and chores?
The last question is what makes me really wonder about joy. Thank God I could have a day to go do something set apart and adventurous and unproductive, but I really want to believe joy is always within reach. In the mundane. In the ordinary. In play and work. In lightness and darkness. In peace and turmoil. In happiness and sadness. But I am also wondering whether our ability to practice joy in the set apart times, the free days and evenings, planned or unplanned, impacts our ability to live a life of joy during the other times.
This is a round-about way of getting back to my initial question: What if Heaven is more frightening than any concept of Hell we can conjure up? When we practice a life of dissatisfaction, feeding our fears, protecting ourselves from risk and vulnerability, numbing our minds to the hardship around us, affirming momentary bliss as the epitome of the human experience, what do we think we will do when Heaven washes over us in its fullness and we’re overwhelmed with the absence of anything but joy? My theory is that we will run from it. It will be so foreign to us, that it will be frightening. If I’m honest, most of my self-protective measures are ultimately protecting me from experiencing the fullness of life, of Heaven on Earth.
I’ve heard many say that the image in Revelation of a bunch of people standing around and singing and worshiping Jesus forever sounds so boring. See Revelation 4 or Revelation 7.
But what are the people experiencing in that vision? Can you imagine it? There are no more hunched shoulders and dejected faces. There are no more factions and no more wars. There is no more inequality. I’m no longer hindered by my differences from those around me and my prejudices toward them. I’m no longer wondering whether I’m safe, whether I’m enough, whether I need to do more. I’m no longer driven by fear. I have what I need. I’m free in the truest sense. I’m loved in the truest sense. I’m known in the truest sense. And I hold no reservations about this wisdom. Can you imagine your natural guttural response to the situation? It’s not that I’m being forced to sing and worship. It’s just flowing out of me in pure joy as I realize this is the way the world was intended to be, that this is what I was intended to be doing- to be so free to sing and so enamored to worship, while I’m surrounded by a world that in unison agrees with this revelation.
This vision is already set in motion. This isn’t only a distant vision; it is the heartbeat of the present. This is why I want to wrestle with joy. Joy is nestled in that vision and yet it is not only hidden in the future. It is an invitation available now and I want to push through the weeds to find it, to choose it. Will you join me?
The cover photo painting is called “Joy II” by Alex Straub, 2019. More info can be found here: https://www.lalou.art/alex-straub
The “Fetival of Lights” painting is by John August Swanson, 1991. More info can be found here: https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/default.cfm/PID%3D1.2-3.html