Rejoicing, Part I

"Trees Rejoice," fractal art found hereToday I participated in a Bible study on what it means to rejoice in spite of trials. It fit right in with my current devotional studies in Psalms. I had come to Psalm 102 this morning before I went to the study and was once again impressed that the psalmists can never whine for long; they almost always end up in praise.

To be more specific, the note on Psalm 102, just under the title, reads "A prayer of an afflicted man. When he is faint and pours out his lament before the Lord." The first part of the psalm describes a really, really miserable life. But then just before the halfway point of the psalm, the writer suddenly turns away from his misery and makes the following points: (1) God is on the throne forever, (2) He will rise and have compassion on Zion and rebuild it, (3) He will respond to the prayer of the destitute person; he hears our prayers, (4) The whole world will praise and worship the Lord, (5) The children of those who serve the Lord will live good lives in His presence.

What amazing assurance, right in the midst of abject misery!

Our study group recognized that. My friend Roslyn (all names changed here) started out by saying that rejoicing is an act of faith, not necessarily an act of joy. I added what I'd learned in Psalm 102 and said that I thought rejoicing is also an act of hope. Another friend, Stella, whose parents were both killed in a car accident some years ago, then spoke up: "Rejoicing does not mean the absence of sorrow; it means the presence of God."

Rejoicing does not mean the absence of sorrow; it means the presence of God.

This is why the apostle Paul could rejoice and sing when he was in prison. In fact, our study leader, Thomas, pointed out that Philippians--written by Paul from prison--has the highest percentage of the word "rejoice" of any book of the Bible. How could that be, Thomas asked, when prisons in those days were so devoid of any support or comfort? Often a prisoner would starve in there, unless he had someone on the outside who would bring food for him. What focused Paul so strongly on rejoicing?

Rejoicing does not mean the absence of sorrow; it means the presence of God.

I would have missed Stella's statement if my friend Vincent hadn't pointed it out as the most significant comment made during our study. Vincent would notice things like that, though. He has gone through significant trials in the last ten years, one of the most painful being his daughter's journey through an ugly divorce. And still his smile, gentleness and pastoral care for others lights up a room.

Rejoicing does not mean the absence of sorrow; it means the presence of God.

Looking around the room, I saw so many people who could attest to the significance of rejoicing in the midst of trials. Wanda's husband has so far won two exhausting bouts with cancer. Yolanda's son spent time in jail as a teenager for dealing meth. Benton and Lorene were sitting in the back row where it would be easier for her to leave the room, slowed down by the effects of her rheumatoid arthritis. Martha's daughter, she recently learned, has been cutting herself in response to a deep hurt in the family. And our leader, Thomas, has also suffered deeply; his daughter died in an accident a year ago during an outing with friends. These are some of the stories of our lives. They are all messy. None of us lives with a pure happy-ever-after. And yet we still rejoice.

We rejoice because rejoicing is not the absence of sorrow. We rejoice because it is impossible to do otherwise in the presence of God. Our rejoicing is not a giddy leaping about--although some of us admitted to trying that. It is an act of faith and of hope in a world where rejoicing has the mysterious power to hold misery and darkness at bay at least enough to not overcome us. This is powerful stuff.

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Phil. 4:4, 5