Joy in the midst of it

These days, the Internet is full of videos posted by proud parents of their children’s Christmas pageant, or choir concert. There’s their little girl (it’s usually a little girl), the one singing louder, dancing more flamboyantly—filled with exuberance and joy—who sticks out ostentatiously from the timid children around her. I love watching them—they’re a picture of un-self-conscious, happy, youth—a youth we wish for every child, and wish we could recover.

They’re like our pink candle. Amidst the more somber blue ones, there it is, its own flashy, pink self, appearing just this one Advent Sunday that we associate with joy. The prophet Zephaniah from our first reading is like that pink candle. He barely makes an appearance in our Lectionary (twice in three years, in fact) and this is his week. His is a message of ostentatious joy and exuberance, standing out in the darkening days of Advent.

But…despite a message of joy, it’s not quite accurate to think of Zephaniah as just “the happiness guy.” So let me tell you a little about the back story. Zephaniah prophesies just after the northern kingdom of Israel has been swept off the pages of history by the Assyrians. They’re in exile. The residents of Jerusalem, in the southern kingdom of Judah, had also been under assault, but escaped by the skin of their teeth. Now Josiah, one of the “good kings,” is in power, and has instituted reforms. He has all the right ideas, and God favors him. The principle behind Josiah's reforms was that Judah's transformation was needed not just for its own sake, but for the benefit of the world.  So Zephaniah is calling the people to respond to Josiah, to step up, to join in, and to be a light in the world. But what have the people said? 

“Meh.”    

Among those Zephaniah chastises in the previous chapters are the indifferent. The ones who say, “the Lord will not do good, nor will God do harm.” They are complacent, hands over their ears, drowning out their fears and anxiety with excess and escapism. They’re not using their agency for good; they have come to believe it does not matter whether they follow God or not.  As much as those who do explicit harm, these ones are reckoned unrighteous by the prophet because they are self-righteous. And, he warns, it’s not going to go well for them.

Zephaniah tells them, just because Israel fell and Judah didn’t—just because you are God’s people--don’t think you have a pass. It sounds like our Gospel message – where Jesus says, “Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor.”  He’s saying, “more is expected of you than that. Share what you have. Don’t exploit others. Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you.”

You see, this business of living under God is not a destination. It is a discipline--a constant cycle of backsliding and returning. We’re approaching a fork in the road, but a choice will be required. That’s why we have been hearing all Advent season: “Get ready. Better have your lamps lit. Prepare ye the way.” And in our Gospel today we hear an illusion of this coming reckoning, a winnowing, where the wheat will be separated from the chaff, and the chaff will burn with unquenchable fire:  

“Do not fear, O Zion. Do not be afraid.” 

Really? It sounds like there’s plenty to be afraid of.  

So now we pick up with today’s reading from Zephaniah and he’s talking about JOY?  What do we make of a prophet who says, “y’all are not listening and if you don’t shape up, you’re going in big trouble. So you’d better REJOICE!!!”

Perhaps Zephaniah had listened to God and heard God told him, “I read your first two chapters. You know, you can’t only motivate people by telling them how terrible they are.” A modern understanding of many of the sins the prophets call out are that they were reflections of human anxiety and fear, responses to traumatic events, and the feeling of powerlessness, that we can’t make a difference.  Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?  In any case, Zephaniah is changing course here, and our reading today reflects his decision to be encouraging.  When we are discouraged, when hope wanes, remember that there is dawn after darkness, that suffering can be transformed into joy, and that, as the great theologian Mr. Fred Rogers once said, we can always “look for the helpers.” We can trust in God. And yes, we can find joy.

So joy is always held in tension with the darkness. It’s “both/and” not “or.”  In dark times, there can still be Joy. After terrible disaster, there is hope of Restoration. In the midst of strife, God is with us.

Our journey in Advent calls to mind the dark times before Jesus came. Rome was an oppressive empire and King Herod ruled as one almost crazed with fear of his rivals. But then--joy burst in. The light burst in. And unlike Caesars and kings and Presidents and senators--who don’t last forever--this humble one who was called a king never left us, and never will. So joy is not something we celebrate once a year—we celebrate it in dark times, too.  That’s why we read Zephaniah in Advent. That’s why we light the pink candle.

Paul suggests to the Philippians that the nature of joy is not really emotion. Rejoicing is a habitual practice, a cultivating a mindset and behavior that builds upon itself. By rejoicing we actually increase our capacity for joy. But the source of our joy is our belovedness in God. We hear in Zephaniah that God rejoices in our joy: “God will rejoice over you with gladness. God will renew you in God’s love.” This is God in the midst of us. This is not the distant, impassive, unchangeable, unmovable God.  No, Zephaniah speaks of a God who is invested in the life of the world, who cares about our response, who is rooting for us, and who rejoices in our joy.

Viktor Frankl, the author of Man’s Search for Meaning, wrote about joy as not an end in itself, but a byproduct of finding meaning. “Human freedom is not a freedom from,” he wrote, but a freedom to.” Likewise, the coming of Christ is not the promise of freedom from want or struggle. And it is not the freedom to celebrate the gauzy image of a perfectly decorated Christmas tree or the perfectly chosen Christmas present. It is the freedom to be transformed into children of divine love. It is the freedom to be our true selves without fear, or shame, or any conditions imposed by the powers of this world. To insist on hope. To claim our humanity and refuse to dehumanize others. It is in this freedom where we find our joy—joy that does not numb, or dull, our perception of what is around us—but heightens it.  We find it when we imitate our creators and become creators ourselves—of art, poetry, food, music, and new ways of being in community. In bringing new life into the world and raising our children and grandchildren. In delighting in the gratuitous beauty of nature--and the wonder of our capacity to perceive it. And in the crazy and generous grace of the undeserved love of a dog.   

Civil rights workers in Selma 

This joy is not acquired, but received. And it has a particular subversive power. I remember when I watched the movie Selma, about events leading up to the famous civil-rights march in Alabama, I was impressed by the capacity of the workers to celebrate together even in the midst of their struggle. Like the early Christians in Philippians, they were united amidst danger, bearing each other’s burdens, listened to each other’s stories, and shared their hopes and fears. They celebrated traditions of food and song and worship that the dominant white culture did not make room for. They offered shelter, safety, and hospitality to each other amidst the storm, and from the little they had, they gave abundantly. They endured threats, scorn, and attacks. They were truly connected—to each other, and to God. Because they knew they were acting together in a righteous cause—theirs was a joyful struggle. It is the joy of doing work in which our own selves fall away, and we know we are doing exactly what we are meant to do, with the people we are meant to be with. This is a joy that energizes and gives strength for the journey. It is a quiet joy, but it burns brightly, in stark contrast to the darkness around it. Amidst the darkness, we are not afraid. We fight back with joy.

Even in the quiet, and dark blue days of Advent--even in a world full of headlines we do not want to read, and difficulties we do not want to face--there’s always joy!!  Whether we experience God's presence as a blissful rush or an unwelcome interruption, what we must not do--is fail to choose.  And why ever would we not choose joy?  For the pink candle stands there, radiating the message: “The Lord your God is in your midst…God will exult over you with loud singing as on a day of festival"--like that little girl in the Christmas video.  So join in the song!!  Rejoice, and be glad in it.

Again I will say, REJOICE.

Lectionary readings:  Zephaniah 3:15-20; Isaiah 12:2-6 (The First Song of Isaiah); Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18