With those who rejoice

Sometimes, I am a most self-centered person. I hate to admit that, but it’s true. I expect that the whole world should revolve around me and share my perspective and my emotions on the subjects of life, the universe, and everything. Now, this is not all the time, but particularly when I’m down, disappointed, discouraged, disheartened, etc., I tend to focus on me. And expect everyone else to do the same. But in Romans 12:15, the apostle Paul took that attitude of mine to task with a seemingly simple statement: “Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.”

And…

I don’t like persecution. Not that I’ve ever suffered anything even remotely like the persecution saints experienced in the New Testament – or continue to experience today in some parts of the world – but even the little bit that I have experienced – generally, name calling, strange stares, etc. – has been enough that I don’t like it. In Acts 13, though, I ran across an interesting account. As Paul and Barnabas set out on their first missionary journey, they came to the city of Pisidion Antioch and began to preach to the synagogue there. When a large crowd began to follow Paul, Barnabas, and ultimately Jesus, we learn in verse 45 that the Jewish leaders became jealous and confronted Paul about it, compelling the apostle to proclaim, “It was necessary that God’s message be spoken to you first. But since you reject it and consider yourselves unworthy of eternal life, we now turn to the Gentiles!” It was a watershed moment for Paul’s ministry and the Church, but when they continued to meet success, it was also the direct cause of some serious trouble: “The Jews incited the prominent women, who worshiped God, and the leading men of the city. They stirred up persecution against Paul and Barnabas and expelled them from their district” (50 HCSB).

The (new) grace of God

Ever since I first set my sights on being a leader, I was told that the first, instinctive response that everyone has to change is resistance. Over the years, I’ve sat in countless seminars and discussions where the varying degrees of that resistance are outlined and explored, but the fact remains that, whoever we are and wherever we might come from, we don’t naturally like change. We don’t want to move to a new house. We hesitate to get a new car. And we are reluctant to pick up new skills or do things in a new way. And if there is one thing that I’ve learned over the years, it’s that sometimes, the Church can be one of the most resistant groups of people to work with when it comes to change. I suppose that’s why we still have carpet from the 70′s, paint from the 80′s, and hairdoes from the 90′s. We just don’t want to change. But that’s far from new. In fact, in Acts 11, we find the dawn of what will eventually be a revolution in the church. And the first reaction that the apostles had to the situation was skepticism and – you guessed it – resistance.

Will

The future tense has always intrigued me. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been a Star Trek fan since I saw my first episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation in something like 4th grade. I’ve enjoyed science fiction in general for even longer. And I love reading magazines like Popular Science, Popular Mechanics, and others that looked forward to the things that will be. Someday. Down the road. In the future. This afternoon, as I once again pick up my study of the word “joy” in Scriptures, I find myself in John 16, where Jesus tells His disciples in verse 16, “A little while and you will no longer see Me; again a little while and you will see Me.” Understandably, the disciples were confused by this statement. They didn’t quite know how to process it. And so they began asking, debating, maybe even arguing amongst themselves about what Jesus meant. And His response contains a significant key about the nature of joy.

these things

In my study of joy, I’ve come across numerous instances where joy is attributed to obedience. In other words, if we obey God, we will have joy. In John 15, though, we have a little different take on this connection. As Jesus prepares for the Garden and the Cross, He spent a night hanging out in a quiet, private upper room with his disciples and engaged in what may have been His most candid conversation recorded in the Bible. And among a long list of encouragements and exhortations, our Lord delivered this in John 15:9-11: “As the Father has loved Me, I have also loved you. Remain in My love. If you keep My commands you will remain in My love, just as I have kept My Father’s commands and remain in His love. I have spoken these things to you so that My joy may be in you and your joy may be complete.”

The sower

For eight years and change, I had poured into Chip. Week in and week out, I had watched as he tried to make life work on his own terms. I was there when his baby was born (well, within a couple of hours, anyway). I listened when his wife and him had fights. I prayed with him when he didn’t think he could go any more. And I told him, time and again, that those prayers would do no good if he did not surrender his own will and start pursuing God’s. Because – and you’ll have to trust me on this – God’s will was infinitely better than the stuff Chip wanted to do. Then his wife announced she wanted a divorce, and Chip was devastated. He stopped coming to church. Pretty soon, I only saw or heard from Chip when he had done something wrong and whatever remained of his life seemed to be crashing down around him. And then I got the call. He was out of money and needed gas to get to work. Immediately, I hopped in the car and went to meet Chip. I put some gas in his car, and then, as we stood there talking, he grabbed me and said, “Jeremy, I have to tell you something! The other night, I was at this church near where I’m living now, and the preacher gave an altar call. I went up and prayed, and I got saved! Got a spiritual birth certificate and everything!” He was clearly excited, but two thoughts ran through my mind. The first was that he had been to the altar with me many times, tears streaming, and then walked away utterly unchanged. For him, God had been someone who would pick up the pieces after whatever Chip wanted to do. But this time, something was different. And so the second thought that crossed my mind was this: All that work…

He who has the bride

I will admit that I have a problem with jealousy. No, I don’t struggle a whole lot when I see someone else with a fancy new car or a shiny new boat. Sometimes, I get a tad jealous when people are toting new computers or gadgets, but even then, I certainly don’t lose a lot of sleep over it. But when I look at my friends and colleagues – especially people who graduated from Bible college with more or, worse, after me – who are now ministering in churches orders of magnitude larger than my own, I get jealous. I wish I had their larger flock, with its greater influence and prestige and (yes) income. But really, income is a distant, secondary thing. I wish I was “the man” at the biggest, hottest church in town. I don’t think I’m alone there, but it is nevertheless a problem that I have. And so, when I come in my study of joy to John the Baptist’s words in John 3, I am struck by his apparent lack of any jealousy whatsoever.

Worship and joy

For forty days after that first Easter, the resurrected Jesus kept coming back. He met with women, Peter, the two on the road, the disciples sans Thomas, the disciples with Thomas, and even a group of as many as 5,000. Apparently, after lingering a few days in Jerusalem, the disciples made their way back to Galilee, and He appeared to them there. And when they returned to Jerusalem for the Feast of Pentecost, He appeared to them some more before, with about 10 days left until the feast, He led them out to the Mount of Olives, in the vicinity of Bethany, and ascended into heaven. Luke 24:50-51 tells us that, before he left them, Jesus blessed His followers, and then, in verse 52, we see the disciples’ response: “After worshiping Him, they returned to Jerusalem with great joy.”

The resurrection

I imagine there was a great deal of commotion and confusion in that upper room that day. There was the lingering sorrow and trauma of Jesus having been crucified and buried less than 48 hours earlier, the grief that brought. And yet there was a strange, unlikely hope which was slowly blooming as the story was told again. And again. It had started with Mary, who said Jesus had appeared to her in the garden that morning. At first, she hadn’t recognized Him, but then… She knew He was alive. And then there was Simon Peter, who had burst into the gathering late and pronounced that he, too, had seen the Lord. And he knew that He was alive. Then more women stepped forward and corroborated the account. And then two who had left earlier in the day for Emmaus came in yelling and laughing. And panting. And the same story was repeated again. And with each repetition, it seemed just a bit more real. And then, as the men who had just run all the way back from Emmaus finished telling their story, they were all shocked by that familiar voice. “Peace be with you,” Jesus said, abruptly just there.

this brother of yours…

I’ve heard it said many times that, when someone chooses to believe in Jesus, the angels in heaven rejoice. It’s a great thought that reminds me of just how significant is that decision of faith, but also how valuable we are in God’s eyes: He and His hosts throw a bash for everyone who claims eternal life. But as I read again the parable of the prodigal son, I find myself struck by what Jesus tells us the father said in Luke 15:32: “But we had to celebrate and rejoice because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”