Rev. Molly F. James, Ph.D.
St. Matthew’s, Wilton, CT
May 9, 2020
Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17
May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
I was always that kid who needed to do their homework first before they could go out to play. And I like to work ahead. Always wanted to be sure I had an assignment done early and handed in on time. Procrastinating made me nervous. I wanted to have all my tasks completed, and then I could have fun. This strategy worked well until about middle school. Once there started being long term projects, where there was always something I could be working on, it became much more difficult. Once I hit college and grad school, where part of the learning was about discerning priorities - I was assigned more work than could be accomplished and needed to sort out what was essential - it really became impossible to try to finish work before I could play. This was a struggle. I really wanted to be able to have a completed to do list I could put down, relish my sense of accomplishment (yes, I am an achievement oriented Enneagram 3 for those of you are into that), and then celebrate with time outside with friends, a good book, a movie, a special meal, etc.
I thought I could keep those things nicely separated. Work and tasks over here. Fun and celebrations over here. And I thought real fun and joy were only possible when I finished my work. “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” That your joy may be “complete.” I know that complete joy. It’s what would be possible if only I could have that magical fully completed to do list. It would be what is possible when all the tasks are done, and I have nothing left to worry about.
That’s not how life goes. We do not live in some mythical universe where all the tasks can actually be accomplished. There will always be more to do, more that could be done.
That realization, that truth could have been the source of great stress and anxiety (and some days it still is!). Instead I am learning (slowly), thanks to wonderful people in my life who are kind and patient teachers who care deeply about my well being, that joy is not contingent.
Joy is not something I earn when I finish my tasks. It is not my reward. It is not dependent on my productivity. It just shows up. It shows up with the beauty of springtime blossoms. It shows up with the embrace of a loved one we have not hugged in far too long. It shows up in the laughter of children. In the first bite of a delicious meal. It shows up in the sound of a voice or a smile. A surprise phone call or text - just to say someone is thinking of us. A favorite piece of music. A card in the mail. A few extra minutes to put our feet up and breathe deeply.
Except, how can we talk about joy being “complete” in this time? How do we talk about joy when our news headlines are so full of suffering? How do we talk about joy when we are all grieving all that has been lost in the past year? How do we talk about joy when we are this tired, or maybe weary or exhausted would be more accurate? How can we talk about joy when even some of the most joyous moments of our lives are tinged with sadness - for that loved one who is not there to celebrate with us, for the what ifs of the path not taken, for knowing it won’t be like this again?
Here’s the thing though. If joy is not contingent on my completion of tasks, then it is also not contingent on how much energy we have or what the news headlines say or whether we have been able to fully compartmentalize our grief. The joy is not contingent on anything. And joy being “complete” is not about the absence of grief. Like so many things in our faith lives, when we would like clear lines and tidy boxes, God is inviting us into abundance.
I think Eugene Peterson’s Message translation is helpful here. In this passage, he does not call joy “complete,” rather he calls it “fully mature.” Yes. Fully mature. Like a delicious cheese that allows for complexity and depth, for a fullness of texture and flavor. It’s okay for it to be complicated. Life is complicated. Our experiences, our feelings, do not fit in tidy little boxes. It is not as though we do grief on Mondays, so we can have joy on Tuesdays.
Life is messy. Life is wonderful. God is inviting us into the fullness of it all. The joy is a gift - one that will just show up in our lives, if we are paying attention. It is not contingent on anything. And the thing is, if we can open our hearts to the joy, if we can let it in to sit alongside the grief we feel, something remarkable will happen. Our joy will deepen because our grief reminds us how precious, beautiful, and fragile life is. We can pay attention more fully to the joy because we know the realities of loss. And the grief will lessen because the joy has come - we have again been reminded that Easter is real - pain and suffering never have the last word. Love is stronger than death. Today and always. Amen.
