Now, at first glance, this seems simple enough. I mean, even in my most selfish moments, I expect that someone else would rejoice when I rejoice and weep when I weep. Remember, the whole world revolves around me. So I embrace this command in such cases as others will share in whatever it is that I feel.

But that’s not what Paul was saying. And the rest of the world is not who Paul was talking to.

No, the apostle to the Gentiles was addressing me. Giving instruction to me. And that instruction was simple: I should rejoice with those who rejoice, and I should weep with those who weep. Even if I’m not in the mood to rejoice. And even if I really don’t want to weep.

In short, I should sympathize with the people around me, but it’s not just a matter of being a copycat and jumping on the bandwagon. Rather, it’s a matter of focus. See, this whole section of Romans 12 deals with how I should relate with other people: I should focus on them. And so the whole matter of rejoicing with those who rejoice and weeping with those who weep is a matter of valuing others the way Jesus did.

Indeed, did Jesus not weep when at Lazarus’ death even though He knew He was about to raise the man again from the grave?

I need to pay attention to the people around me, particularly their moods. I need to care what they’re feeling. And if they’re joyful, that should bring me joy. And if they’re sorrowful, I should be, too.

Indeed, humans were designed to be social, and Christian faith is maximized in fellowship. And the only way for that to really happen is if I pay attention and share with my brothers and sisters – and anyone else – in whatever it is that they’re feeling.

In other words, Paul and Barnabas were literally driven out of town by the persecution. In my book, that’s a bad day. But today, I notice two things that came from this persecution and apparent failure that I think are important lessons for me as I continue in my study of joy.

The first is that, though they had seemingly failed miserably to see Pisidion Antioch turn to the Lord, Paul, Barnabas, and co. shook the dust off their sandals and went on to the next city undeterred.

How often do I find myself in a similar situation? I encountered some resistance, maybe even had to give up on accomplishing something that I had really set my heart on. And so I beat myself up. And convince myself that it had been crazy to think that I could do that. I had been silly to even try. But Paul and company, instead of doing any of that, shook the dust off their feet and wen on to Iconium to continue their trip and minister there.

Persecution is not grounds to give up. In fact, no failure ever is grounds to give up. Instead, I need to get up, shake myself off, and move on. And I think it plays an essential part in enabling the second important lesson that I see in this passage:

Joy can flow even in the midst of – and perhaps even out of – persecution and failure. In verse 52, we read that “the disciples were filled with joy and the Holy Spirit.” Even after this failure, Paul and those with him experienced joy. And even in the midst of this persecution – which in all likelihood did not stop for the new believers left behind – the disciples had joy. But notice how much joy they had. It wasn’t a little. Or even a bunch. No, they were “filled with joy.”

Persecution and failure do not detract from real joy. In fact, I think you could probably make an argument that real joy is actually refined, purified, and even strengthened in such moments as the happiness bit is drained away and we are left relying on that foundational sense that God will work all things out for the good of those who love Him and all this really will  pale in comparison to the reward we’ll receive in glory.

So, there we have it. Two insights into the nature of joy that I needed to read.

At the start of Acts 11, news of Peter’s encounter with a Roman centurion named Cornelius has spread to Jerusalem. And the apostle is called on the carpet for it. As soon as he returned to Jerusalem, in verse 2, we’re told that “those who stressed circumcision argued with him, saying, ‘You visited uncircumcised men and ate with them!’” These people thought that Christians had to be, first and foremost, Jews. And since Cornelius was most definitely not a Jew, they threw themselves a little hissy fit. Fortunately for Peter, he had had a bonafide vision from God, which was backed up by something Jesus had said, and he had managed to silence them all. But starting in verse 19, as the church continued to expand, driven by the threat of persecution, it wasn’t long before the actual implications of that revelation were met.

In verse 20, we’re told, “But there were some of them, Cypriot and Cyrenian men, who came to Antioch and began speaking to the Hellenists, proclaiming the good news about the Lord Jesus.”

Now, the fact that these men from Cyprus and Cyrene would be the ones to start preaching to Hellenists (aka, Greeks) is predictable. Cyprus and Cyrene were both Greek colonies with large Jewish populations. These men, though Jewish, had known and interacted with Greek-influenced Gentiles every day of their lives. So it was only a natural thing for them. In fact, I doubt they even meant to preach to these Gentiles. At first, anyway. But then someone asked them a question about why they were different. And they answered. And the Gentile wanted to pray to receive Jesus. Then they told another, who wanted to receive Jesus. And on and on, it snowballed until word finally reached Jerusalem about the Hellenists who were getting saved in Antioch.

Unfortunately for the Cypriot and Cyrenian men, they did not have a divine vision and personal memory of what Jesus had said and done going for them. So despite Peter’s argument before the council in Jerusalem, there was resistance. Were Gentiles really believing in Jesus? Was it being done right? How did they know that the whole Cornelius thing wasn’t an exception and that the vast majority of Gentiles weren’t really going to be allowed in?

So they sent Barnabas. And in verse 23, when Barnabas arrived, Luke (the writer of Acts) tells me, “he was glad” (HCSB) or “he rejoiced” (NASB, NET).

Barnabas rejoiced this change. Why? Because he “saw the grace of God” at work in the people of Antioch.

Here’s the thing. Change can be good. In fact, change can bring tremendous rejoicing. If I’m (a) patient enough to see its actual effects (as opposed to pre-emptively jumping to conclusions and rejecting it before it starts, let alone has a chance to make a difference) and (b) quiet enough to see and appreciate God’s grace at work, change can be a tremendous source of joy.

He said, now in verse 20, “I assure you: You will weep and wail, but the world will rejoice. You will become sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn to joy.” And then He went on, in verse 21, to provide the illustration of a woman in labor. As the delivery looms, she experiences excruciating pain and intense labor, and many stories have been told of women who go mad and scream all sorts of crazy things at those standing there, especially the baby’s dad. But then the baby comes, and there is nothing but smiles and kisses and cooing and love and joy for everyone.

Jesus was telling His disciples that, like the woman in labor, believers will experience trouble and pain, turmoil and more in the here and now. But all of that stuff begets – that is, gives birth to – a joy that, as Jesus says, “no one will rob you of.”

As believers, we may have to endure some tough stuff today. Even without persecution and abuse and all that stuff, the life of the believer can be painful as we strive for faithfulness in our own lives and work to witness to others. Who hasn’t known the agony of a friend or relative who is not yet saved despite our fervent efforts? And who hasn’t known the pain of giving up something we thoroughly enjoy to pursue obedience?

Truly, as Jesus said, “So you also have sorrow now.” But then He promised that the disciples – and we – will see Him again.

Notice that word “will.” It’s future tense, of course, but in the Greek language, verbs had various moods or voices that went along with the tense. One of these was the subjective tense, which generally conveyed the idea that something may – or should – happen. But this verb is what’s called indicative. Meaning that it wasn’t just a possibility. It was a certainty. The disciples – and we – will see Him again.

And at that reunion, our joy will be utterly complete, wholly irrepressible, and utterly theft-proof. And as I look down the road, it’s good to know that, however bad things may be right now, I will see Jesus again. And I will, on that day, have real joy. It makes it a little easier to get through the tough stuff right now. In fact, it makes it a little easier to have at least a measure of joy even in the midst of the tough stuff.

I suspect that’s what Jesus wanted His disciples to think.

Let’s follow the logic behind these three verses really fast. The Father loves Jesus, and Jesus loves the disciples. They need to make sure they stay in a position for that love to continue to cover them. How do they do that? They need to obey Jesus’ commands, just as He was obedient to the Father’s commands. But Jesus realized immediately that this whole keeping My commands thing was not exactly palatable to His disciples or, really, humanity in general. Simply put, we don’t like to obey. We want to do our own thing, go own our way, be our own person. So, in order to head off the obvious protest at the pass, He made sure to provide a little insight into the reasoning behind those commands: “I have spoken these things… so that My joy may be in you and your joy may be complete.”

In other words, joy does not just happen to flow from obedience. It’s not an accident that obeying God’s commands leads to joy.

No, God designed His commands to realize – and maximize – our joy.

Now, I must admit at this point that I have a hard time swallowing this. I mean, it’s not exactly fun to be the only kid that’s a virgin. It’s not exactly joyous to tell someone the truth when it gets you in trouble. It’s not exactly easy to look across the fence and see the neighbor’s shiny new boat as he’s getting ready to take it out for the weekend.

But then again, as we’ve seen time and again, joy isn’t always about the here and now. Sometimes – often, in fact – joy depends on me taking the long view. In other words, it might not be the most fun, wonderful, or even easy thing to do to obey right this instant, but at some point down the road, the reward will be worth it.

Indeed, the reward for faithful obedience, which is eternity in heaven, will be worth it. And that’s why – and how, for that matter – God designed His commandments. Obedience may sting in the moment, but our joy is founded on the hope and promise that our prize is waiting in heaven. And since God’s commandments are designed to point the way to heaven, they are designed to give us joy.

But you know, as I think about this, the joy of obedience isn’t always solely a long-view sort of thing. I mean, how often have I done something that I knew was wrong thinking that it would make me happy – or at least avoid a little bit of pain – only to find that my disobedience only made things worse? How many have compromised on Jesus’ prohibition of adultery and lust and ended up with an unexpected child or unsatisfied heart? How many have told a little white lie only to find themselves tangled in a mess of untruths? How many have forgotten Jesus’ relating anger and murder and then been racked with bitterness, guilt, and worse?

So yes, obedience does lead to joy. Not just because. And not by accident. But because God designed His commandments that way.

For some reason, I think I have a claim on that person because I took part in planting and cultivating the seeds of the gospel in their life.

In John 4, Jesus led his disciples into an area where Jews ordinarily wouldn’t be caught dead: Samaria. And as the disciples dared to go into town in search of something to eat at about noon, Jesus hung out at a well on the outskirts of town. As he waited for their return, a woman emerged from the village to get water. In all likelihood, she came at noon because she would have been mocked and abused if she came in the morning with everyone else. But as she approached, cautiously at first, and then – when she saw Jesus, a Jewish man, sitting there waiting for her – with a sigh of resignation that, even at this uncommon hour, she would still be condescended, something interesting happened. Jesus didn’t harass her. He didn’t abuse her. Instead, He asked her – politely, even – for a drink. And over the next few minutes, as their conversation unfolded, she came to believe that Jesus was the Messiah. Then, her water jars filled, she left there and started telling everyone that they needed to high-tail it out there to see this guy, and we discover in John 4:39 that “many Samaritans from that town believed in him.”

Can you imagine the electricity in the air at that well? How exciting that would have been, even for the Jewish disciples who hated Samaritans! And yet, in the middle of it, Jesus says something to those disciples that just smacks me upside the head. They were concerned that He needed to eat. He told them that what He really needed was to obey. And then he said this: “Don’t you say, ‘There are still four more months, then comes the harvest’? Listen to what I’m telling you: Open your eyes and look at the fields, for they are ready for harvest. The reaper is already receiving pay and gathering fruit for eternal life, so the sower and reaper can rejoice together.”

Let’s break that down really fast. In essence, Jesus said, Don’t you get it? We don’t have time to eat! The field is ready for harvest, and it’s time to get in the field! But then, He adds this tidbit about the sower and reaper rejoicing together. His disciples were getting in on the reaping. The fun, seemingly profitable part of the growing season. But as urgent as that moment was, Jesus still wanted them to remember that this day came only as the result of years – centuries, even – of work. The seeds of the gospel had been planted, even among the Samaritans. They had been cultivated, watered, and protected. Even among the Samaritans. And Jesus and His disciples were getting in on only the very end of a very, very long process.

Jesus wanted the reapers to remember the work of the sowers. That encourages me, but I think He also wanted me, as the sower, to realize that the reaping is really what I was working for. So I should rejoice with the reapers, even though I might not be the one enjoying the harvest.

I need to rejoice when someone gets saved. Whether I’m the reaper, the sower, the cultivator, whatever. The objective was never to get another plant in my garden. It was to get another sheave in God’s barn. So I need to have a kingdom mindset, and I think it’s in that realization that I find another key to joy. When I’m concerned primarily about my people, my church, my work, I’m wrong. And that attitude will only ever bring frustration and discouragement. But when I’m concerned about bringing people to the Lord, however that may happen and under whoever, I win every single time someone gives their life to the Lord. I like winning. So if I’m going to have joy, I need that Kingdom mindset.

Now, I realize that John wasn’t exactly competing with another pastor down the street or in the next town or anything like that. But I still think he would have readily understood the jealousy that I struggle with. You see, as Jesus’ ministry seemed to be rocketing Him to prominence, suddenly, all that John had said and done, the stuff that he was still saying and doing, and even the thousands he had baptized and other phenomenal results he had seen suddenly seemed to be falling meteorically into obscurity.

If I had been in John’s shoes, I would have been jealous. I mean, John was far from chopped liver. He had upon him the spirit of Elijah. He was a prophet of God, sent to herald the arrival of the Messiah. And yet, ever since that day that Jesus had come to be baptized by him in the Jordan, and he had pronounced explicitly that He was the Lamb of God and Savior of the world, John’s ministry and John himself had been being eclipsed by Jesus’.

As I said, I would have been jealous.

But in John 3:29, John rejected that when, after a couple of his remaining followers – most, like Andrew, had gone to follow Jesus – came and lamented the disappearance of the crowds, he said, “He who has the bride is the groom. But the groom’s friend, who stands by and listens for him, rejoices greatly at the groom’s voice. So this joy of mine is complete.”

A couple of things strike me about this. The first is that John realized that he was not the groom. Jesus was. And it was now Jesus’ time to shine. I will admit, here and now, that I have a hard time with this. I wonder if my time is coming. I wonder if my time has come, and I just missed it. I wonder if… But I need to hear John’s words. Because whether the person down the street is another pastor or Jesus Himself, this truth remains: I’m not the groom. The Church belongs to Jesus. She is His bride. And regardless of who the undershepherd is that gets the spotlight for the moment, that truth remains. He or she is not the groom, either. He or she doesn’t get to keep that congregation any more than I do. Regardless of how much we love our churches, we will (hopefully) both surrender them, willingly and joyfully, when He arrives to claim them. So I don’t really have any right to be jealous of that other pastor over there.

And the second thing is that, even as Jesus’ ministry escalated and John’s ministry declined, John declared, “This joy of mine is complete.” Wait a second. This joy… of mine… is complete? John is saying he actually took joy from seeing Jesus rise and his own corresponding fall. He owned that joy as his own. And it wasn’t just a little joy, but complete joy. In other words, I not only have no right to be jealous of other pastors, but I should actually take joy in their successful ministry!

Frustratingly, while I readily agree with this intellectually, I still have a hard time actually doing it. I suppose because I continue to have a self-centered perspective when John and Jesus both had Kingdom-centered perspectives. I hope someday to be over that, but if I had to guess, I would say that it will probably always be rather like alcoholism. I.e., I may have victory over it, but it may still present a temptation. At any rate, it’s something to work on.

Now, at first glance, that doesn’t seem all that interesting. But as I continue my quest for a better understanding of joy, its characteristics and causes, etc., I am struck by two things. The first is that this joy springs up in the wake of Jesus’ ascension. Now, I suppose it’s possible that they didn’t get it. But if you add together all of the different ascension accounts that we have, it’s hard to believe that it wasn’t pretty clear in that moment that Jesus was not going to appear anymore. At least, not nearly as frequently as He had been the last six weeks. In other words, I truly think Jesus’ disciples knew that His earthly ministry was at an end. And worse, He still had not inaugurated the terrestrial kingdom of God that – as Luke reminds us in Acts 1 – they were still very much expecting to see at any moment! Add all this up, and I imagine that, as exciting as it was, seeing Jesus rise up into the clouds that day was nevertheless tinged with more than a little disappointment, discouragement, and even grief. And yet they returned to Jerusalem later with great joy.

The second thing that strikes me about this verse is that the disciples’ joy follows directly on the heels of them worshiping the risen, ascended Jesus. As painful as it must have been for them to know that this was the last time they would see Jesus in the flesh, literally, and as hard as it must have been for them to realize that He wasn’t inaugurating His kingdom and promoting each of them to his right-hand men, they nevertheless worshiped Him.

Well, now that I think about it, that does make sense. I mean, regardless of the disappointment, discouragement, etc., that they undoubtedly felt at that moment, worship was the natural response to what they had just seen. You simply don’t see men who have been raised from the dead rising up into the clouds to the fanfare of angels every day. Or just about any day, for that matter. So it’s logical that they respond to the scene with worship.

Maybe the surprising thing, then, is that out of these things – disappointment, discouragement and grief and worship – springs joy. Here’s what I take home from this revelation:

Real worship is not discouraging, but encouraging. The only thing that happened from the moment they saw Jesus’ ascension to the moment they returned to Jerusalem with great joy was their worship. And during that time of worship, their entire outlook changed so that they knew, once more, that even though they may not know what’s going on in this instant, God is still at work. And when God is still at work, for those who love and follow Him, things will work out in the end. In fact, more than just joy for promises yet to come, we are told also in verse 53 that they went on to the temple complex, where they would hang out a great deal from this point on, “praising God.” In other words, they were celebrating who God was and what He had already done, including taking Jesus from them back into heaven. I’m supposed to leave worship with a surge of joy. And while I don’t know that I’m ready to say that, if I don’t leave worship with that joy, I’m not really worshiping, I must admit that, more often than not, that is the case. Instead, I’m usually focused on my part in the service, worried about low attendance, frustrated by something someone said or did, looking forward to whatever is coming up later on, etc. Worship is supposed to encourage joy, and when it doesn’t, there is something wrong, often with me.

When I need a boost of joy, I should worship. It seems simple enough, but how often have I prayed that God would just magically bestow joy? Or, probably more, how often have I just sat there and stewed in my joylessness? What I should be doing is raising my head, heart, and hands in worship of the King. No matter how discouraged, disappointed, or grieved I am. No matter how much trouble I’m in. No matter what’s going on at that moment in my life. When I need a boost of joy, I should worship.

Luke 24:36 tells us that the disciples “were startled and terrified” when Jesus appeared out of nowhere. Luke adds that “they… thought they were seeing a ghost.” And I don’t think I can really blame them. But then Jesus spoke again, asking them why they were so scared and offering His hands and feet and side as proof that it was really Him. He was no ghost.

No, Jesus was really alive. Again. And in a hearbeat, the whole of history was changed. But it all started with the eleven and others gathered there that night. And the transition was, indeed, profound.

Luke 24:41, just five verses after we’re told they were “startled and terrified,” we read, “they still were amazed and unbelieving because of their joy.” Startled became amazed. Terrified became astounded disbelief. And then there was joy.

The truth of Jesus’ resurrection should be, in and of itself, grounds for joy. It is the single greatest revolution in the history of the universe. In that instant, the problem of sin and the plight of man went from hopeless to hopeful. The grave and the plague could be conquered. Jesus did it, and so can I.

I have found myself drawn to this statement for the better part of a week now, and every time I revisit it, I keep coming back to a simple realization: I should not need stuff or money or people or anything else to have joy in my life. Simply embracing the truth of the gospel message – that Jesus has defeated death and offered me a chance to do the same simply by believing (and following) in Him – is more than enough reason for joy!

And what’s more, it’s not just a fantasy or fairy tale! A pipe dream could not have so radically impacted the eleven apostles and assorted others gathered in the upper room that night. No, this was – this is – real. And because of that, I should – indeed, must – rejoice.

Did you catch that? “We had to celebrate and rejoice…” As in, there wasn’t a choice in the matter. It was what needed to be done.

God and His have to celebrate when someone spiritually dead is brought to eternal life, someone eternally lost is finally found. And I need to, too.

Now, I admit that this doesn’t seem like a big deal. I mean, when was the last time I didn’t celebrate when someone was saved? I honestly can’t think of one time that I grumbled and complained as did the brother. But then again, I do remember moments when I didn’t really celebrate, either. Instead, the thought going through my mind was something along the lines of, “One more notch.” “Meh.” Or worse, “Yeah, right.”

I needed to be reminded today just how much God loves us. Indeed, He created us. We are His children. And He longs to have that Father-child relationship with us. But our sin was the same as us demanding our inheritance and running away. And so, since sin is a reality for every one of us, God celebrates when any of us returns. Without intending to excuse future sin, it doesn’t matter what may happen down the road. They might wander away from faith again tomorrow, next week, or next year. But for right now, if they’ve honestly, earnestly returned to the Lord, it’s time to celebrate.

I need to better celebrate spiritual breakthrough in me and the people around me.