I Can Laugh

Worship and laughter

“All joking aside, now it’s time to worship.” Those were the words of a lay leader after sharing the announcements (and a few funny comments) during the Sunday morning service. I’d been thinking about doing a post on laughter, so her statement caught my attention.

I understood what she meant. The announcement time, which really couldn’t be described as worship, was over. Now we needed to focus on God with reverence and humility. But I wondered, can’t we worship and laugh at the same time? Are we sometimes expressing our worship of God in our laughter?

Several years ago John, a young relative, was going through a tough time. I naturally felt his stress and sorrow and frustration. One day, he received some much-needed financial help in the form of a check. He told me that he was taking it to the bank to cash it, but he was a little nervous about walking out of the building with all that money in his pocket.

So he took a few hefty buddies along with him. He asked them to wait in his car while he went inside. When he came out of the bank, if anyone seemed to be following him, his passengers were to jump out and look mean.

He entered the bank. There, three people ahead of him in line, was a friend in upper management in the organization that John worked for. (What are the odds of that happening???) The manager offered to wait for John to complete his transaction so they could walk out to the parking lot together and have a brief chat.

They left side by side. Approached John’s sedan.

Suddenly three car doors flew open and a group of athletic young men burst out, glaring at the manager menacingly. He looked startled, then alarmed, muttered a quick goodbye, spun around, and hurried off. They all got back inside and broke into hysterics. John immediately called me and told me what had happened.

My laughter in response to the situation ministered to me in a special way. As I blinked back a few tears, I was praising God for the stress relief. Most of that relief came through the unexpected check, but the humor of the situation also helped. I was worshiping Him in that moment. Could my laughter itself be considered a part of that worship?

The benefits of laughter

Laughter is refreshing. It’s good for us. For many decades, Reader’s Digest has included a regular feature titled, “Laughter: The Best Medicine.”

According to a Mayo Clinic article in their section on stress management, “Laughter helps you take in oxygen-rich air, which stimulates your heart, lungs and muscles. Laughter also increases feel-good chemicals called endorphins that your brain releases.” It “fires up and then cools down your stress response,” helping you to relax.

It may also provide long-term benefits for the immune system, “make it easier to cope with tough situations,” and help you “connect with other people.” Ella Wheeler Wilcox wrote in her poem, “Solitude” (1883), “Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone.”

Being serious

Where do I hear the most laughter today? Among Christians.

About twenty years ago, I was invited by a group of friends to see the movie, The Bucket List. I was told it was a comedy. I wasn’t thrilled with the premise, but I knew I could use a good laugh.

There weren’t many of those. The two main characters, who were both terminally ill, spent far more time facing serious issues and engaging in personal conflicts than joking around. From what I’ve seen, that’s been the trend in modern movies: What used to be labelled as drama, with a few funny moments thrown in, is now considered comedy. Not in my book.

Our current culture is far more serious than it was when I was younger. Everything is a crisis. Perpetual outrage is encouraged and inflamed by influencers. Anger is considered the best indication of how much someone cares. Even where there’s humor today, how much of it is hateful—biting, cutting, intended to hurt?

We’re not made to carry that kind of weight around. Anger and hatred destroy. Laughter revives. Filmmakers recognize this when they intentionally include comic relief in even the most serious movies. In real life, if that relief doesn’t come from lightening up (including laughing) people will turn to the excessive use of sex, drugs, and alcohol to find it. A perfect setup for the increase in deaths from despair—drug abuse, alcoholism, and suicide—that we’re seeing today.

Why do Christians (in my experience) laugh noticeably more than the culture as a whole? Shouldn’t we be taking life as seriously as everybody else does?

We face much higher stakes—those with eternal consequences. The Bible never mentions Jesus laughing. When I did a word search for laugh on Bible Gateway, there were negative uses in the list of verses, as well as positive ones. 

Why we can laugh

We can laugh because the Lord draws us into more intimate human relationships than we can have without Him. We can let our guard down among the body of Christ as we laugh. Genuine laughter occurs most often with people who we know will accept us no matter what.

There have been times in our history when Church leaders emphasized solemnity and frowned on lightheartedness. That’s carried over somewhat into my own experience.

Many years ago, I was at a funeral for a woman who’d suffered from a crippling chronic medical condition for a long time. She was a believer. Her passing was, in many ways, a relief. In those days, a “funeral” was a recognition of the pain and grief that accompanies death, not a “celebration of life.” It was mostly serious.

At the reception, I hung around with some friends that I hadn’t seen for a while. We got to talking and joking. Knowing them, and the situation, as well as I did, I didn’t consider it inappropriate. But other people started frowning at us, so we toned it down a bit.

I still remember the thrill and the sense of “of course!” the first time I heard someone say that God has a sense of humor. Humor is a good thing. All good things come from above (James 1:17). Of course He has a sense of humor! The Bible doesn’t come right out and say that, but it can be seen in many passages. It might just be a natural expression of His and our joy.

Maybe the more we hold the dominant American viewpoint that this world is all there is and that we can control it to a large extent, the more seriously we take it all. Then when our efforts to control the world fail (as they always do), the anger and the seriousness increase.

But we as Christians can escape this trap. We do have responsibilities to the world. God expects us to weep with those who weep, to relieve suffering, to stand up for the afflicted and oppressed, to be good stewards of the environment, to share the gospel.

But we know that the ultimate outcome is in His hands. We know that we don’t have as much control over events as we think we do. And we know that there’s more to life than this physical world alone.

My role is to follow the Holy Spirit’s leading and guidance, to serve in the areas where God wants me to be. I can’t change the entire world, but I can make a small difference by being obedient to His calling and His laws. He’s the one who will make all things work together for good, not me.

There are times when I can’t see any good coming from a particular situation. But I know, from experience and from His Word, that I can trust Him with it. The weight of the world isn’t mine to bear.

And so I can laugh.

 

 

 

Fearful and Troubled

Israel’s fear

Joshua 8:1: “Then the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.’”

Of course Joshua and his fellow Israelites are afraid! Of course they’re discouraged! Look what just happened to them.

In chapter 6, they were cruising along, miraculously crossing the Jordan River on dry ground and destroying the walls of Jericho simply by marching around the city, blowing trumpets, and shouting. God was with them. They could see His hand at work. After forty years of wandering in the wilderness, He was beginning to fulfill His promise to give them a land of their own. What could be more exciting?

Following the easy victory at Jericho, they headed out for the second battle in this new territory, fighting the city of Ai. They were so passionate. So confident of God’s presence and their own strength that they limited the number of warriors they sent into the battle.

“But they were routed by the men of Ai.”

They never had a chance.

“At this the hearts of the people melted and became like water.”

Even Joshua was shaken. He questioned whether they should have crossed the Jordan. He feared that the Canaanites would hear about it and “wipe out our name from the earth.” They were understandably afraid of their enemies.

The Lord revealed to them that the cause of their disaster was sin. One single man out of the entire population had defied God’s direct order. Because of one man’s disobedience, approximately thirty-six men were killed in the battle with Ai, all of the Israelites were put to shame, and the man and his children were executed.

Who wouldn’t be afraid of God after witnessing His judgment? Who wouldn’t be discouraged as they looked at their own sinful hearts and realized that they could be next?

And yet He comes to Joshua and clearly says, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Under these circumstances, I have to think that this isn’t a command (in the sense of demanding instant repentance and obedience) so much as a word of encouragement.

Could anyone honestly command someone not to be afraid after he’s just faced terrifying actions from both men and God? Could anyone expect that person to respond to that command by straightening his spine and banishing all his fears without another drop of anxiety seeping in? Surely God knows us better than that.

The disciples’ troubled hearts

It reminds me of Jesus saying to His disciples in John 14:1, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” What had happened in the days and hours before He spoke these words?

Jesus had predicted His death by crucifixion and told them about the frightening time of judgment to come (Matthew 24, 26:1-2). Impending danger from both man and God.

In John 13, He prophesied that He’d be betrayed by one of them. That He’d be going away and they wouldn’t be able to go with Him. That Peter would disown Him three times before the rooster crowed in the morning.

Who wouldn’t be troubled? Yes, He’d also provided some comforting words and actions (like washing their feet to express the depth of His love for them), but if the disciples were like me, the scary stuff would make a deeper impression than the comforting stuff.

And yet He says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”As if they could really do that. As in Joshua, I can’t see this as a command. It sounds more like an attempt to strengthen His friends in preparation for the most difficult challenge of their lives. To turn their focus from their fears to His promises and His character so that they would, in time, be able to overcome their troubled hearts.

God knows

When God tells me not to be afraid, I often feel like my fear is fully justified. Terrible, frightening things are happening. Doesn’t He understand that? How can He expect me to just let go of my fears and move ahead as if nothing was wrong?

But, as with the Israelites in Joshua’s day and the disciples shortly before Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, the Lord often comes to me (through His Word, through worshipping at church, through other people, through His Holy Spirit) not to sternly rebuke me for my fears, but to strengthen me by comforting and encouraging me.

What does He base this on? Surely He can’t expect me to just pretend all’s right with the world and the threats don’t really exist.

In both the Old and New Testament passages, God based it on the fact that He knew what was coming. His hearers didn’t. Neither do I.

He knew that the Israelites would defeat their enemy the next time around. He knew that Jesus would be resurrected from the dead on the third day.

After the Lord encourages Joshua not to be afraid or discouraged, He says that He’s given Ai into their hands. Past tense. He provides them with the strategy for doing it (using the whole army, not just a few thousand, and setting an ambush). Israel experiences a decisive victory.

The events that occur after Jesus’ conversation with His disciples are even more spectacular than the victory over Ai. He’s betrayed by Judas (one of the chosen twelve) and arrested in front of an angry mob. His disciples scatter in fear.

He faces multiple trials, beating, mocking, a crown of thorns, and the death penalty. Isaiah says His appearance was “disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness” (Isaiah 52:14).

He’s taken to Golgotha, where He’s brutally crucified along with two criminals. He cries out to His God, who’s forsaken Him. He dies. His body is laid in a tomb. How much worse could it get? How could any of His followers not be shocked and terrified?

But then, just as God knew would happen, just as Jesus had told them would happen, the whole reason the Son could say to them, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” the most unexpected and amazing thing happens. Jesus rises from the dead.

It was too unbelievable for the disciples to understand Him when Jesus predicted it beforehand (e.g. Matthew 16:21-23). It was too unbelievable for even His closest followers to accept someone else’s word for it (Mark 16:9-12, Luke 24:9-27, John 20:24-25). It’s the greatest, most spectacular, most unbelievable event in the history of the world.

And God knew it was coming. That’s why Jesus could reassure His disciples that they didn’t need to be troubled. Nearly every time He told them about His coming death, He also promised them that He would rise from the dead.

My hope

When I’m fearful and troubled, when life hurts, when scary things are happening, I have the same reassurance that Israel and the disciples had. God knows my future.

It might involve additional suffering. The scary circumstances won’t necessarily just miraculously go away (although they sometimes do). Jesus’ followers went through an intensely painful time before experiencing the unexpected, overflowing joy of the resurrection.

As the years passed, many of them were imprisoned and tortured and killed because of their faith in Him. He doesn’t promise me a life of ease.

But God knows my future. He knows that my future, in this life, includes intimate fellowship with Him and with other believers, joy and wonder at the works of His hands, and the fruit of the Spirit growing inside me.

He knows that my future, in the next life, includes the overwhelming, unimaginable joy and love and peace and glory of being with Him. It includes being completely separated from sin and all its painful consequences. Forever and ever.

Jesus has defeated death. I think He can probably see me through even the most frightening and troubling days ahead.

I don’t always find it easy to trust Him to do that. But I can look at the many examples in His Word and imagine His voice saying, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,” and, “Do not let your heart be troubled.” I can know that He knows my future, just as surely as He knew Israel’s and the disciples’ futures. I can learn to trust Him a little bit more.

 

 

 

Broken Body, Broken Mind

The emptiness

Sitting down to do my morning Bible reading. A few chapters in Job, one of my favorite books.

Having a hard time of it lately. A new chronic digestive problem struck six months ago, sending me to the emergency room for diagnosis and treatment. It’s generally manageable by diet alone, but occasionally medication is needed.

Many people my age have this condition. It runs in my family. And yet I feel completely alone in my suffering. Why?

When I have that sense of discomfort in a certain part of my gut, it’s always accompanied by weird emotional symptoms. A gloomy darkness. A heaviness. A gulf between me and God. As the discomfort passes, so do the other symptoms. Does anyone else with this condition experience that?

I’m afraid to ask.

Afraid of facing skepticism or judgment. Afraid of being told that it’s all in my head, that a good psychiatrist can fix it. Or that I’m just feeling sorry for myself or giving in to fear. While self-pity and anxiety tend to enter the picture whenever I get sick, with this condition it’s not that simple. There’s some kind of strange connection between my gut chemistry and my brain chemistry.

Can anyone else relate to this? Or am I truly alone?

This latest flare-up has been especially hard emotionally and spiritually. Those symptoms have been building up as time passes. Now the physical discomfort comes and goes throughout each day, but the bad feelings continue 24/7.

It started on a Sunday afternoon. I wanted to get over it without taking medication, but made a mental note to call my doctor for a prescription if it went on for too long.

Somehow I misplaced that note.

The gut symptoms improved little by little for the first week. Then they kind of plateaued. At the same time, the emotional symptoms bogged down. God drew further and further away. A sort of spiritual deadness hit. I reached the point where I was wallowing in the dark, begging for healing, wondering where He had gotten to.

Over the decades, I’ve learned many ways to draw nearer to Him when I’m hurting. I tried them all. Nothing worked. Like Job in 16:6, “If I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away.”

God, why won’t You heal me? Why are my emotions stuck in such a difficult place? Why do I feel so far from You? Why don’t You pull me in closer?

A week and a half after the worst of the symptoms hit, I was filled with fear and dread. Fear that this time it was more hopeless than with previous episodes. Dread of a drastically reduced diet for the rest of my life. Fear of being told that I needed surgery. Fear of losing my independence.

Then somehow that mental note popped back into my head. I called my doctor, got a prescription, and began to heal again. But I had another minor episode when I’d almost used up the medication, and God was still too too far away.

The refilling

So I sit down for my morning Bible reading. It’s in Job, but it’s not touching me, reaching me, strengthening me like it usually does. There’s a wall inside that I haven’t been able to break through.

I’ve written before about how Job actually struggled emotionally and spiritually. He didn’t just take his suffering in stride, as some evangelicals seem to think. They cite chapters 1 and 2 as evidence of his unshakable faith.

But I look to chapter 3 and hear him cursing the day of his birth, followed by the heart of the book where he openly challenges God, and I’m grateful for the model that he provides, because I need to know that God can handle our questions and complaints with compassion.

As I’m reading the opening chapters this time, my heart is heavy and my spirit is lonely. I’m more critical of my own thinking and assumptions. Job really did say some pretty profound things in chapters 1 and 2. It’s not until chapter 3 that he seems to fall apart. What happened?

First God allowed Satan to attack Job’s family, servants, and belongings. Job’s faith remained strong. Then He allowed Satan to attack Job’s body. Job broke down.

There could be different reasons for this change. Coincidence. The straw that broke the camel’s back. The natural irritability and self-pity that come with illness. Moving through the stages of grief from denial to anger.

Or Job could be so self-centered that even the loss of his children didn’t affect him that much. It was only when his own body was damaged that he couldn’t handle it. That seems to be what Satan expected. With all the uprightness attributed to Job at the beginning and end of the book, though, that doesn’t seem likely.

Then something I’ve never thought of before comes to mind: Maybe the physical changes in his body included physical changes in his brain chemistry. Wow.

Did Job, my hero, my role model, go through the same thing I’m going through? Did Satan’s attack include not just the natural emotional response to physical distress, but a biological change that brought on almost irresistible* emotional and spiritual symptoms?

I can’t say an absolute yes, that’s definitely what happened. But it would explain so much. Job’s strength in chapters 1 and 2. His weakness in chapter 3.

Some evangelicals won’t like this idea. One reason I’m having a hard time getting my memoir published is because there are many Christians in positions of power who deny the possibility that biology can directly influence emotions.

Some publishers won’t consider my manuscript because it clearly declares that my first depressive episode wasn’t cured through spiritual practices. They helped a lot—they saved my life!—but only an antidepressant could restore my brain to its normal functioning.

There’s a link between our physical bodies and our minds and souls. Changes in brain chemistry can badly damage our emotions and our spirits.

I always feel so alone and misunderstood when this happens to me. But now, for the first time in my many years of being blessed by reading this precious book of Job, I’m seeing something new and profound. Job himself just might have suffered from the same problem. (And if he did, then maybe other people in the Bible did, too.)

I’m not alone.

I’m in good company.

The company of one who was declared by God to be blameless and upright. One whose story God has chosen to include in His inspired Word.

And God loves me enough to come to me when I feel like He’s so far away, and to open my eyes to see an incredible truth that I’ve been missing for all these years.

My head collapses onto my folded arms on the desk in front of me. I cry hard. I release the tears that have been bottled up inside, unable to escape for the last couple of weeks even though I’ve tried to let them go. I pour out the pain and frustration and emptiness. And, eventually, the joy. God has brought me home to Him once again.


*A note to my evangelically-correct friends who might think I’m saying that we have no responsibility for thoughts and emotions that spring from biological causes: We might not be able to control the thoughts and emotions themselves at the instant when they strike, but we have at least a little bit of control over how we handle them.

The more we practice responding in more biblical ways to the feelings that seem so unmanageable, the better we’ll be able to handle the next attack. Christians also have the Holy Spirit inside strengthening us when we’re at our weakest, enabling us to deal with these challenges in more godly ways.

 

 

Considering

Blessed through suffering

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:2-4)

“We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” (Romans 5:3-5)

My thoughts as I’m considering these passages:

How similar they are, even though they’re written by two different authors.

The use of the word know in both passages. No excuse for not rejoicing. We know that suffering develops perseverance.

“Pure joy”? Not just some joy? Don’t think I’m there yet. But it helps to consider a pastor’s teaching from years ago. He said that the Greek word for “consider” is an accounting term. James isn’t telling us to expect to walk around in total bliss when life is at its most painful, but to rejoice as we look at the balance sheet and see that the profits far outweigh the costs (2 Corinthians 4:17).

What really stands out as I’m reading them this time around, though: The appeal to my selfish nature.

Consider it pure joy when I suffer, because it will bring me to the point where I’m not lacking anything. Rejoice in my suffering, because it will produce hope.

God isn’t saying here, “Rejoice in what I’ll do for others through you.” He isn’t even saying, “Rejoice because I will use this for My glory.” He’s saying plain and simple, “Rejoice because I will bless you in this situation.” As selfish as it sounds, it must be okay for me to do that.

Pressuring myself

My life verses, 2 Corinthians 1:3-4: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” The key words in my mind: so that.

In trying to resist our me-centered culture, I get hung up on sacrifice and denying self. I consider it absolutely necessary to turn my thoughts every time from “How does this benefit me?” to “How can this bring glory to God?” or “How can I use this to minister to others?”

The Christians who earn my greatest respect (and envy) are those who don’t consider themselves, but live lives of sacrifice. I end up making an idol of my own sacrifices and turning a blind eye to God’s generous blessings for me.

It can be so confusing. We’re told to put others ahead of ourselves. Jesus says to deny ourselves and take up our cross and follow Him (Matthew 16:24). To hate our own families if they turn us from our total commitment to Him (Matthew 10:37). Nothing less than dying to self is demanded of us.

And yet here God is, in the very challenging passages quoted at the beginning of this post, telling me to do something because it benefits me. Period.

Sometimes I need to hear this. Sometimes I need to remember that God rejoices in blessing me, that He takes pleasure in my joy and even in my happiness.

The pendulum

During certain periods in church history, the judgment of God was emphasized much more than His grace. Christians lived in terror of Him rather than in fellowship with Him.

Church leaders used that fear of God to control people. If they could threaten members with punishment and damnation, those members would be more likely to do what their leaders said. It was a source of intoxicating power.

The impact of the Protestant Reformation came from its return to grace, not works. To a God who loves us even when we’re sinners. Who forgives us when we simply believe and repent. But the pendulum always swings back and forth.

My understanding of twentieth century Christian history is that it began with a tendency to legalism, as expressed in the fundamentalist movement. Then in the fifties or sixties the pendulum started swinging back to an emphasis on grace, as modern evangelicalism spread.

Many Christians in my generation grew up in legalistic Catholic or Baptist churches. When they saw the light of the gospel, they were freed from the burden of fearful obedience to the law and began living in the joy of grace.

But through its own momentum, the pendulum has swung too far. From a legalistic focus on the law to an obsessive focus on my freedom. Christians began to consider the love of God for me as more important than any other aspect of the gospel. His righteousness and holiness and judgment and glory took a back seat to my importance in His eyes.

Self took center stage. In our evangelism. In our worship. In our prayers. In our teaching. In our lives.

I struggle with this. I’m part of this culture. Sometimes I can’t even tell when I’m being selfish because it comes so naturally and because it’s reinforced by everyone around me, including my fellow believers.

When I do see what’s happening, I overreact. I harshly judge myself and the Christians I know by how much we’re sacrificing, how much we’re giving up, how much we’re putting others ahead of ourselves. No room for grace.

It hurts. It’s not healthy. I pay a price for it.

Encouragement

Maybe that’s why the Holy Spirit leads me to these passages. I don’t usually read them back to back and make the connection between them. But for some reason, I recently read them just a few days apart and began to consider them, not in isolation, but together. When God repeats something in His Word, He’s emphasizing its importance.

It knocked me off my judgmental pedestal and threw me to my knees in thanksgiving. These verses tell me that it’s okay to consider what God’s doing for me. Not for how I can use it to glorify Him or minister to others, but just for my own sake.

That’s how much He loves me. That’s how well He understands me.

Of course I need to consider these words in the context of the Bible as a whole. They can’t be seen as an excuse to dive into greater self-centeredness.

But right now, He’s using them to comfort me, to encourage me, to let me rest in His great love for me without judging or condemning myself. Without pressuring myself. And it might just be that He’ll use that comfort and encouragement and rest to glorify Himself and minister to those around me in ways that I’m not even aware of.

 

 

Joy and Sorrow at Christmas

Different views of Christmas

Words to a Christmas carol, as I remember them from my childhood:

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat.
Please put a penny in the old man's hat.
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do.
If you haven’t got a ha’penny, then God bless you!

My impression of our expectations of the Christmas season today: Get excited! Be happy! Put up flashy decorations. Enjoy the great American pleasure of shopping. Eat holiday foods. Drink holiday drinks. Party. Escape from the hardships of life.

But then I look at the thoughts in the old carol. First joyful anticipation—looking forward to the birth of Christ and a fat goose to feast on. Next a poor old man. A prayer (expressing hope and compassion) for God’s blessing if you’re so broke you can’t even give away half a penny. All enfolded in an upbeat melody. Real joy in the presence of real suffering. A joy that opens the heart to give to those in need.

Which of these two images is more consistent with the first Christmas?

The up side

There were many happy moments surrounding Jesus’ birth. When Mary visited Elizabeth during both of their pregnancies, they praised God and celebrated together. (Luke 1:39-56)

An angel of the Lord appeared to lowly shepherds, bringing good news of great joy. A great company of the heavenly host suddenly joined them, praising God. (Luke 2:8-20)

Wise men from the east followed a bright star to Bethlehem to worship Jesus and present Him with precious gifts. (Matthew 2:1-12)

It’s good and right for us to celebrate His birth with joy and thanksgiving. God living among us in the flesh was the greatest gift the world had ever been given. The very idea that He would live a human life, with its roughness and dirt and hungers, leaves me in awe of His undeserved love and compassion. How can I help smiling and laughing and feasting and giving generously?

But what about those who are experiencing sorrow and pain at this time of year? Are they supposed to just ignore the aching, plaster on a fake smile, and join the celebrations? Should they feel guilty if they’re unable to pump up the enthusiasm that the season seems to demand?

The down side

There was another side to the months surrounding the first Christmas. A solemn side. A dark side. A painful side.

Mary and Joseph faced the unjust judgment of all their friends and neighbors when she became pregnant before they were married (Luke 1:26-38). They were required by a decree of Caesar to make a difficult journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem shortly before Jesus was born. When they arrived in that overcrowded little town, the only lodging they could find was in a stable. That’s where she had her baby. (Luke 2:1-7)

I have a tendency to romanticize their lives at this point. Look how they loved each other, if they were willing to go through so much together. Look how strong their faith was, as they obeyed God every time an angel gave them new instructions.

It seems almost blasphemous to think that they might have questioned God or complained or even just felt weary and discouraged. And yet they were human. And young. They didn’t fully understand what God was doing through them (Luke 2:33). They probably weren’t the perfect pair that I’ve always imagined.

When the Magi came, King Herod was so alarmed by their statement that they were seeking the king of the Jews, that he ordered all the baby boys in and around Bethlehem to be killed. Mothers were helpless as their precious children were murdered. Joseph and his little family fled to Egypt for safety. Another uncomfortable journey. (Matthew 2:1-18)

We could easily make Christmas a time of mourning and sorrow if we chose to look only at the dark side of the times. That obviously wouldn’t be appropriate.

But I think it would be okay to grieve even as we rejoice. To recognize that, as long as Satan is active on this earth, he will attack most viciously when God is pouring out His greatest blessings. And as long as we live on a planet broken by the Fall, pain will always hover around even our most joyful days.

Being both up and down

In spite of my caricature above, in some ways we Americans do experience both joy and sorrow at this Christmas season. We’re more aware of the needs around us now than at any other time of the year.

People give more generously. Organizations provide holiday meals. Children with impoverished or imprisoned parents receive special gifts. We recognize certain kinds of suffering and our obligation to help reduce it.

But do we allow those who are hurting in other ways to feel their pain? Or do we subtly pressure them to get with the program and rejoice?

A Christian friend shared a recent experience with me. Her husband’s health is declining. When she went to an event at church (alone, as her husband was too sick to attend), her heart was heavy with the sorrow of watching him suffer and of knowing that their marriage of more than fifty years was coming to an end. Her pain was intensified as she noticed other women in similar positions laughing and joking.

Her conclusion as she was telling me the story was that she’d had a bad attitude. She should’ve been able to put her grief aside, as those other women were apparently doing, and rejoice in our Savior.

Why can’t we do both? Both grieve and rejoice. Feel the very real pain, as many of the writers of the Bible did. (Especially the prophets and psalmists.) Even Jesus wept. Even when He knew that great rejoicing was only a moment away. (John 11:1-44)

This is the Christian life. It hurts. We suffer. We can’t and shouldn’t downplay that suffering. But the rejoicing is so much fuller than the sorrow. Jesus was born and walked among us. He died to give us eternal life. He rose from the dead. There is now no condemnation for those who follow Him. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. (Romans 8:1, 38-39)

But the pain still lingers. We can get through it because, as one who lived life in the flesh, Jesus is with us in that pain.

Just like in the Christmas carol. We can enjoy the feast without ignoring the sorrow. An old man stands on a street corner begging. Others are so poor they can’t help him out. But Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, we have the privilege of praying to a compassionate God to bless the needy, and the overall melody is upbeat.