Antoine and Prevot crashed their small plane in a desert known to kill men without water in less than nineteen hours. They had no water for over twenty-four hours and then Prevot found a lost orange in their supplies. Just an orange. Here’s how Antoine described that experience:

“We shared it, and though it was little enough to men who could have used a few gallons of sweet water, still I was overcome with relief. Stretched out beside the fire I looked at the glowing fruit and said to myself that men did not know what an orange was. ‘Here we are, condemned to death,’ I said to myself, ‘and still the certainty of dying cannot compare with the pleasure I am feeling. The joy I take from this half of an orange which I am holding in my hand is one of the greatest joys I have ever known.’ I lay flat on my back, sucking my orange and counting the shooting stars. Here I was, for one minute infinitely happy” (from Wind, Sand, and Stars, by Antoine de Saint Exupery).

That, my friends, is pure pleasure. It was true in Antoine’s life as it is in ours: simple tastes find greater pleasure. That goes for cars, job satisfaction, and relationships. This short account of the power of pleasure set me thinking about joy. What if someone dedicated a year to not just simple tastes, but simple longings? Would simple longings result in greater joy? It’s worth an experiment, don’t you think?

It’s true that there is some relativity to “simple longings.” It’s also true, however, that longings for self-fulfillment are always complicated and grow in complexity while longings for God are actually quite simple. Those who keep their physical longings simple will usually keep their spiritual longings simple. Jesus reminds us of the power of simple spiritual longing in John 4:13-14 when he says to the woman at the well, “Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again; but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life.”

God is in the business of satisfying our thirst for him. Thirst for him. Search for him. As it says in James 4, “Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.” Aim high, but keep it simple. Joy demands a simple heart posture.

Stop trying to build your personal sky rise on prime Manhattan real estate. Cultivate a garden at your feet. Plant some tomatoes and carrots. Water those three pots of geraniums. Raise sons and daughters on your twenty feet of grass. Wash your hands and thirst for God. You will wake to find joy playing in the grass.

 

[picture: “Lentz Man with an orange” by Stanisław Lentz – cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lentz_Man_with_an_orange.jpg#/media/File:Lentz_Man_with_an_orange.jpg]

 

Like love, joy is less an emotion than it is a posture of the heart. That posture must be a humble one or joy will run for the hills.

Joy and pride are incompatible.

Humility and pride look in different directions. A humble heart posture looks up (toward God), not down (toward the traps around our feet). It looks out (toward others), not in (toward self). The great irony is that the one who lifts her face to God is often delivered from all those traps around her feet.

Humility and pride also splash praise on different objects. A humble heart posture gives glory to God, but pride gives glory to self. A humble heart says to praise, “Thank you. I worked hard to accomplish that. I’m so thankful that God has given me this gift and sustained me along the way.” Pride says to praise, “Yes! That’s me! I’m the greatest!”

The real test of that humility is when we face disappointment, or loss, or grief surges up in our throats. It’s easy to give God glory after a win. During and after loss is the real test.

If you haven’t watched the interview yet, click on the video above for a wonderful ten minute interview with Colt McCoy: a man who has long embodied this humble posture. If you’d like, skip the opening conversation. It starts getting exciting at 1.30.

There are much worse things than losing a football game. Much worse things rise up out of the dark waters and swallow us whole. Perhaps this old poem will encourage those of you who feel swallowed right now. Even in the belly of the whale, the humble heart posture looks up, not down. And when delivered, the humble heart posture gives glory to God.

The Ribs And Terrors In The Whale
by Herman Melville

The ribs and terrors in the whale,
Arched over me a dismal gloom,
While all God’s sun-lit waves rolled by,
And left me deepening down to doom.

I saw the opening maw of hell,
With endless pains and sorrows there;
Which none but they that feel can tell—
Oh, I was plunging to despair.

In black distress, I called my God,
When I could scarce believe him mine,
He bowed his ear to my complaints—
No more the whale did me confine.

With speed he flew to my relief,
As on a radiant dolphin borne;
Awful, yet bright, as lightening shone
The face of my Deliverer God.

My song for ever shall record
That terrible, that joyful hour;
I give the glory to my God,
His all the mercy and the power.

 

Johnny Lee’s song, “Looking For Love” is a fitting description of our search for joy. All we have to do is replace the word “love” with “joy.” Like this: I was lookin’ for joy in all the wrong places. Lookin’ for joy in too many faces. Searchin’ their eyes, lookin’ for traces of what I’m dreamin’ of.

Sounds a bit like you and me, doesn’t it? I’m increasingly convinced that our search for joy is fruitless because we’re not sure what joy actually is. Joy is not so much an emotion, an attitude, or a state of mind. Joy is a posture of the heart.

One often neglected heart posture that fosters joy is godly dependence.

Dependence is the state of relying on someone or something else; unfortunately, dependence is treated largely like a disease these days. We prefer a strong, red meat diet of self-reliance, but self-reliance is the humanist creed and many Christians, including me, have adapted it into their own. Don’t get me wrong. By dependence, I do not mean snivelling weakness. The hammer depends upon the one who swings it. An oak tree depends upon the one who watered it when it was an acorn. The bloom on a tree depends on a million graces from God for its beauty.

Great men and women alike are dependent and recognize that dependence. Paul was dependent, learning through affliction to “rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead” (II Cor. 1:8-9). David was dependent, reminding himself and us that “blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust, who does not turn to the proud, to those who go astray after a lie!” (Psalm 40:3-4).

Those who are dependent on God still hunt down Goliath. They still mount a siege on Jericho, but their weapons are song and five smooth stones.

Those who are dependent on God could also be called meek. The meek are given a promise in Matthew 5:5, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

Matthew Henry writes, “The meek are those who quietly submit to God; who can bear insult; are silent, or return a soft answer; who, in their patience, keep possession of their own souls, when they can scarcely keep possession of anything else. These meek ones are happy [could we say, “joy-filled”?], even in this world.”

Meekness requires dependence.

This, my friends, is a high calling of Christian living: daily dependence upon the One who swings us and the One unfolds us into life and light. A posture of dependence remembers, moment by moment, that “it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Phil. 2:13).

Want joy? Practice a posture of godly dependence.

We’ll explore more of Joy’s heart postures next week. I’d love to hear from you. Won’t you share the one word description of a heart posture you find most difficult to sustain? The opposite of that word is probably linked somehow to joy.

 

[photo by Noah Palpant]

 

367,614 joys are just a click away!

A quick word search of “Joy” on Amazon.com offers 367,614 various options from which to choose. Books top the list, of course, but Amazon also offers organic supplements, essential oils, apps, necklaces, and cologne. All of those options appear conveniently on the first page and they each offer to ameliorate our longing for joy. Some make greater promises than others, but 367,614 is anecdotal evidence of the fact that the word “Joy” catches our attention.

The longing for joy appears to gallop through our very DNA.

We live in a chronically anxious culture, so we long for a talisman that delivers salvation from our anxiety. Many of us live under the misconception that if we just had joy, then we’d be less anxious; unfortunately, our search for joy generates what is already an immense cultural pressure that amplifies our chronic anxiety because our hunt lacks a clear aim. We aren’t sure how to define joy and we probably wouldn’t know what it was if it jumped up and grabbed us by the throat. We keep running, we keep looking, we keep buying, but joy remains largely out of reach.

Christians are not immune to this immense pressure to “be joyful.” It could be argued, actually, that we are guilty of both confusion over the term and also chasing it relentlessly. Many of us, therefore, chase happiness as if it were the same thing as joy and we collapse into bed each night exhausted and frustrated by the fruitless chase.

I remember singing George Willis Cook’s chorus song back in my Sunday School class: “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart!” I recognized, even while wet behind the ears, the disonance between the words I was singing and the reality. I wasn’t sure what “joy” was, but it sure didn’t feel like it was “down in my heart.” No matter how many times I told myself it was down there, it rarely seemed to stay. I’m not suggesting that joy is forever out of reach. I’m only suggesting that you could buy all 367,614 items on Amazon and still not have joy. There must be another way besides positive talk and a spending spree.

Perhaps we’re still chasing joy on our terms instead of accepting joy’s terms. Joy demands a change of heart posture.

Perhaps joy is not so much an emotion, an attitude, or a state of mind. Perhaps joy is a posture of the heart. We can sing, “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart” until our faces are blue, but joy will remain illusive until the posture of our heart changes. What does that posture look like?

I plan on exploring the posture of joy over the next few weeks. I hope you’ll join me.

Sam Storms calls joy a deep, durable delight. So what kind of heart posture is condusive to deep, durable delight? I welcome your suggestions in the comments below and I look forward to exploring some answers together.

“The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet within our reach, is Joy.”
–Fra Giovanni

“Joy is the serious business of Heaven.”

–C.S. Lewis

Dear Diary,

Ever since Adam told his kids stories, we’ve known that no story is worth hearing unless it involves struggle. The word “protagonist” means primary or first struggler and the Old English word from which we get our word “drama” means “to strive.” The first struggler must overcome some great obstacle, so I’ve spent much of my life imagining that I’m the center of my story because I feel there is so much that I must overcome outside of myself. But…

What if I am not the first struggler and the obstacle to overcome is not outside myself?

What if I’m not the center of my own story, as we often assume, but Christ is? What if he is the protagonist, the first struggler, who overcame not only sin, but who is overcoming me. What if all of me, my heart and intentions and imagination and identity, is the great obstacle? And what if my life is NOT the story of ME overcoming my myself (which is impossible), but of Christ doing so?

I’m reminded of that astonishing story of Jacob we find in Genesis 32. It says, “The same night he arose and took his two wives, his two female servants, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and everything else that he had…And Jacob was left alone” (v. 22-24). And then, through the fog strode a strong man. Jacob wrestled with that stranger all night until the dawn when the man “touched his hip socket and Jacob’s hip was put out of join as he wrestled with him” (v. 25).

Like Jacob, I have felt alone. In that aloneness, I have felt the strong arm of God touch me and force vulnerability.

Jacob thought the stranger was an opponent until he was defeated by his opponent. Only then did he discover that the divine stranger was his fiercest ally, the great protagonist of Jacob’s story. It was never about what Jacob was doing for God. It was about what God was doing to him and the story of which he was a part.

The picture of Christ as the first struggler, the protagonist, forces an imaginative shift for us as it did for Jacob. This whole complex narrative called “Life” is not about us. We are busy, busy, busy, but busy building our own kingdoms, staying ahead of the curve, keeping up with the Joneses. We’re not often busy serving God, even in ministry, but we’re often busy serving ourselves. And there it is again, my friends: the ego which Christ, the great protagonist, is in the business of overcoming.

For this reason, G.K. Chesterton wrote, “How much larger your life would be if your self could become smaller in it; if you could really look at other men with common curiosity and pleasure…You would begin to be interested in them, because they were not interested in you. You would break out of this tiny and tawdry theater in which your own little plot is always being played, and you would find yourself under a freer sky, in a street full of splendid strangers…How much happier you would be, how much more of you there would be, if the hammer of a higher God could smash your small cosmos, scattering the stars like spangles, and leave you open, free like other men to look up as well as down” (Orthodoxy).

Perhaps, then, our search for joy should embrace defeat. All those humbling, ego-crushing, events of life might be a secret key to joy. Perhaps this too is proof that the old paradoxes are also the best and wisest paths to joy: we live by dying, we win by losing, the way up is down, and those who are lost are found.

My life story is about God, the main character, and my life purpose is to welcome his intrusive, insistent love.

[painting by Caravaggio, “The Conversion of Paul”]