Dec 14th: The One Who Brings Joy, with Rev. Dr. Steven Koski.
A Part of the Series:
Rev. Dr. Steven Koski
Other Articles in:
WATCH:
The One Who Brings Joy with Rev. Dr. Steven Koski. Series: Rediscovering Jesus A Spacious Christianity, First Presbyterian Church of Bend, Oregon. Scripture: Philippians 4.4;John 15.11;Ecclesiastes 3.4.
Curious about how joy can coexist with real‑life pain, grief, and stress? Join us this Sunday (online or in-person) as we explore a hope-filled message about “deep, defiant joy” that shows up even in the hardest seasons. You’re welcome to come with your questions, doubts, and stories.
Transcript:
Steven: What brings you joy? You know, it may feel like an impossible question these days. You know, with everything happening in our lives and in the world, joy can can seem naive, tone deaf, even offensive, many of us quietly think maybe I’ll know joy again. You know when the crisis is over, you know when the mess is cleaned up, when when the grief subsides, when things get better. But what if that’s backwards? What if joy isn’t the reward we receive after the struggle, but the gift God gives us to get through the struggle, there’s an old saying that the art of living well is learning to hold our grief in one hand and joy in The other, and allowing both to stretch and strengthen our heart. You know, that’s the wisdom of the third Sunday in Advent, when we light the pink candle. Every year, someone asks, you know what’s what’s with the pink candle? All the other candles are purple. What’s with the pink is the candle. Pink because Mary secretly wanted a girl today is actually called godette Sunday. Godette is a Latin word that that means rejoice in the middle of of Advents. Seriousness, you know the longing, the waiting the church interrupts the heaviness to say before the wait becomes too much, breathe. Make room. Make room for the gift of joy. Gary Haugen has spent the last 30 years of his life devoted to freeing women across the world from the evils of sex trafficking. I can’t think of more difficult work you know, where you’re constantly confronted with with despair, Gary was asked, What sustains him, you know, what? What helps him to keep showing up and doing the hard work that he does. Surprisingly, he said, joy. He said, Joy is the oxygen I need to do such Heartbreaking Work. He said I constantly need infusions of joy, like the laughter of my grandchildren listening to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, walking my dogs in nature, he said, Joy is the oxygen we need when the pain of life threatens to suffocate us. Now, he’s not talking about a thin joy, you know, one that denies pain. He’s not talking about the forced cheer of this season in the shopping malls and Hallmark movies. He’s actually talking about the deep, defiant joy that insists that even in the darkness, even there light. Light is possible. Joy throughout Scripture, is never the denial of sorrow. Joy is the presence of God in the midst of our sorrow, Joy is the Whisper reminding us that darkness, suffering, death will not cannot have The final word reading from a prison cell, cold, dark, uncertain whether he would live or die. The Apostle Paul said these, these remarkable words to the Philippians, who who were themselves facing persecution. The apostle Paul said, rejoice. Rejoice in the Lord. Always again I will say, rejoice. Now, remember the context. Remember where Paul was. Paul wasn’t being sentimental or shallow or. A Pollyannaish. He wasn’t telling them to, you know, plaster on a smile. Paul was proclaiming, you know, a much deeper reality. You know, reality that we forget, a reality we need to be reminded of constantly, that there is nothing, there is nothing in life or death. There is, there is no no prison, no hardship, no suffering, no darkness that can ever separate you from the love of God and Jesus. Himself on the night before his own death, knowing the cross was only hours away, this was the prayer that Jesus prayed for his disciples. May my joy be in you, and may your joy be full. What kind of joy is that? It’s a joy that is stronger than fear. It’s a joy that suffering cannot steal. It’s a joy rooted in the unshakable love of God. You know, notice Jesus didn’t say my rules I give to you. Notice he didn’t say my guilt and my shame I leave with you. Jesus prayed. This was Jesus’ desire. May my joy be in you. Frederick Buechner put it this way, God, created us in joy. God created us for joy, and in the long run, not all the darkness in the world can ever separate us from that joy. You know, a woman in our church recently walked out of the cancer center after yet another round of chemo. She made it to her car, and then the tears came. I mean, she was exhausted, afraid. Alone, she said, she sat for quite some time in the cold silence of her car, trying to trying to gather herself. Then she heard a tap on the window. It was a security guard holding a Styrofoam cup. She rolled down the window just an inch. Ma’am, he said, I don’t want to bother you. I just saw you crying. I don’t know what you’re facing, but I wanted you to know you’re not alone today. And he handed her the cup hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, and he said, This helps my little girl on those hard days, and I’m kind of hoping it might help you. And then he walked away. She told me later, it didn’t fix anything. Didn’t make my situation any better, but for a moment, I could breathe again. That is joy, not loud or flashy. I mean, not denying the pain, a joy that sneaks sneaks in right beside the ache, the oxygen we need when life again and again knocks the wind out of us, a joy that reminds us we are seen and held and we’re not alone. If you’ve lived at all through illness, heartbreak, grief, or even just the stress of December. You know that joy can often feel impossible, but strangely joy. Joy keeps showing up, uninvited, unexpected, a candle burning pink in the dark, a good friend of mine in his final days before he died of pancreatic cancer, he said these words to me that I will never forget. He said, Stephen, my cancer doesn’t make sunsets any less beautiful. And he looked at me and he said, My cancer doesn’t make your love any less meaningful to me. And he said, It’s the beauty and the love that helps me to live with joy, even as I’m dying, the book of Ecclesiastes says there is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance in real life, those times overlap, right? Think of the most comforting, hope filled, healing memorial service that you’ve ever attended. There’s space for tears to flow without shame or embarrassment, and there’s also space for laughter and gratitude, tears and joy make the most beautiful dance partners strangely when everything feels wrong, as it does in the world right now, It’s the most important time to notice, celebrate what’s right. Our souls need space for joy, especially when fear and trauma threaten occupy every nook and cranny of our minds and spirits. Again, Joy doesn’t deny the painful realities of life. Joy gives us courage and hope to face those realities. Dr Bernie Siegel, who spent his career caring for cancer patients, you know, he wrote that he would ask his patients four questions, and he believed that these four questions were were more powerful in healing than any medicine he could prescribe. Where do you find joy? Where do you see beauty? How do you play and what are you grateful for? You know these questions make room for joy to breathe. Joy isn’t the relief we experience after the struggle, it’s the gift God gives to make it through the struggle. One last image, during the California wildfires, a high school became an evacuation center. You know, everything was chaos and fear, but one afternoon, volunteers arrived dressed as superheroes, Batman, Superman, Belle, from Beauty and the Beast. I mean, it was absurd and it was so beautiful. Belle read a story to a trembling girl. Superman hugged a frightened child. Batman knelt down and said, You have superpowers too to a little boy, we’ll get through this together. That’s joy, not pretending everything’s fine. Joy is bringing a candle into the darkness and refusing to let the darkness win. Times are hard right now, all the more reason to ask, what brings you joy, not to escape reality, but to face it with courage. Joy is God with us in the midst of it all. It so beloved, make room for joy to breathe, otherwise life can suffocate you. May Joy strengthen your weary bones, and may you become a reason small or great that someone else remembers, Joy is still possible. I offer this prayer, holy and loving. God. You who breathe light into darkness, hope into despair, open our hearts to joy. We come carrying the the weight of the world, our griefs, our worries, are our unanswered questions. We place them in your hands, in your heart, not to make them vanish, but so that your presence might meet us in the midst of them. Give us not not fragile happiness, but give us deep, defiant joy, the joy that knows that knows that you are with us always breathe joy into our weary bones. Let it steady us where we tremble, lift us where we sink, soften us in the places inside of us that have grown cold or afraid, stretch our hearts wide enough to hold both our sorrow and our gratitude, our longing and our wonder. God make us people, even when it’s dark, even in the shadows, make us people who notice the light and kindness offered by a stranger in in beauty that survives the storm and the small mercies that appear exactly when We need them and when we cannot find the light, help us remember that your light finds us lit. The joy of Christ, the joy that even death could not defeat, the joy that rose from the tomb may that joy live in us and shine through us. Use us as candles in the shadows, small lights, perhaps, but lights that refuse to go out, may your joy walk with us, surprise us, renew us and rise within us again and again and again. May it be so.
Related Ministries:
