I’m not happy right now.
As I write, there are far too many things to be upset about. I can think of six people that don’t like me, two that like me more than I’m comfortable with, and three I wish to see placed in an ailing spacecraft and blasted to the planet Zuphon 5. A minute ago I stood outside as the frigid Alberta wind cut through my thin cotton garments, screaming myself hoarse in an effort to coax my dog, Mojo, back to the house. She’s still AWL.
But wait. If I recall correctly, I was very happy several hours ago. In fact, right now my spirits are lifting as I remember the playful beam of sunlight, which broke through the canopy to dance across the living room carpet as I reflected on the glorious delight of being alive, loved by God and tolerated by man—with a few exceptions.
However, these serene reflections are short-lived as I hear a scratching on the front door. The culprit turns out to be my Shih Tzu/Maltese puppy with half of the neighbour’s flower garden hanging from her mouth. Mojo cocks her head and wags her tail, anticipating a reward for her hard work. The sound escaping my lips makes the neighbour children dive beneath a parked suburban.
I have found that keeping a firm grip on happiness is like trying to hold on to a greased watermelon while riding a roller coaster. There must be an alternative to this frustrating and messy pursuit. One that isn’t so dependent upon proper digestion, hockey scores, or appeasing a professor.
You may have guessed where this is going. Let’s talk about joy!
The Apostle Paul is rarely depicted as a jovial character. The thought of this renowned apostle putting Jell-O in John Mark’s pants or short-sheeting Peter’s bed seems completely absurd. And yet, Scripture gives us reason to believe Paul traversed those cobbled Roman roads with a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye.
While the New Testament captures his heart-wrenching burden to see the nations bow before Christ, they present another thing as irreducibly certain: Paul was a man completely and utterly overtaken by joy. To the Corinthians believers Paul boasts, “In all our troubles my joy knows no bounds,” (2 Corinthians 7:4 NIV) and he urges the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4).
So, was his secret high self-esteem? A healthy relationship with his mother-in-law? The result of a comfortable life? No. We’re talking about a man who was dished persecution for breakfast and floggings for lunch. Check out his resume in 2 Corinthians 11: Paul was a disaster going somewhere to happen, and yet he was bursting with joy.
Again, how is this possible?
It seems incomprehensible. I’m a guy who rests easy at night only when kind circumstances tuck me in.
“You just need a healthy perspective,” your Christian neighbour tells you. “Trust more and worry less,” he adds, before shuffling off to buff his new Mercedes.
So, you try to be positive. You try to trust. And, “Let go and let God,” (whatever that means). You pray, and might even plead with the Lord to give you joy, but nothing changes.
“Change your attitude,” someone else says. And they’re right. But you need more. You need a changed life. The difference between those who have genuine joy in the Lord and those who don’t is not some prayer or so-called commitment made for Jesus. It isn’t a positive outlook or a product of healthy self-esteem. The key, the foundation of Christian joy, is to live as Christ did.
So how do I live as Christ?
Good question. I could mention things like: discipline, prayer, and service. But if these are sufficient means to unlocking the joy-filled life, then joy depends upon performance, not Christ. Jesus served selflessly, and prayed constantly, yet what set him apart was his perfect relationship with his Father—a relationship of complete reliance.
So come to God as empty. As helpless. The truth is, you already are. Realize you have nothing to bring and everything to receive. And thankfully accept whatever He throws your way.
Now it’s evening. The dog disappeared again. I’m bracing myself for the fiasco, sure to accompany Mojo’s return. However, after an afternoon of reflecting on the persecutions Paul endured, I feel obligated to welcome her with joy.
I hear the anticipated scratching on the door. My heart skips a beat. On the doormat sits a dog, holding an aged slice of pepperoni pizza. I wrest it from her jaw and trundle off to my brother’s room with the perfect prank in mind. Count it all joy!
By Steve Callaway
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