This year taught me a new definition of joy. It’s been a bad one, I can’t talk my way around that. Yet, there is cause for joy above and beyond a fluffy, Christian platitude that ignores suffering.
I have come to see joy as deep confidence in the end of all things, namely, Jesus. Ezekiel 18 traces in very clear language a 1-to-1 ratio of righteous action equals salvation, unrighteous action equals death. In other words, justice equals life and injustice equals death. There is an account of individuals being judged for their own actions, rather than those of generations before. In a pre-Christ economy, this is good news. All that’s required of you is to never make a mistake and you stand before God and free of condemnation. But we’ve all seen the end of this movie. We can’t manage that, not even those who claim to be the church. As someone deeply invested in social justice, I can honestly say my more anxiety-wrecked moments are those when I dwell on my role in fighting injustice or complicity in it. I feel crushed by the weight of the task and all the ground to be covered. We, I, need a better way.
Christ enters the picture and offers it. He gives perfect, unconditional grace and access to life once and for all based on his merit and his merit alone. Nothing contingent on us or the generations before us. This is where joy enters. Now, if anyone hears in this an excuse to dismiss justice and sit comfortably on the sidelines, pause and read Romans 6:1-4.
Zoom in on verse 4,
“We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in the newness of life.”
If our response to knowing that our slate was eternally cleared by the death and resurrection of God’s only son is to carry on, counting on our cosmic fire insurance when things get rough, we’ve missed the point of Jesus. At the same time, we’ve missed him if we still walk in a transactional kind of expectation that the more justly we behave, the more God will love us. Joy is not pursuing justice to be loved but because I am loved. Joy is catching a glimpse of the prince of righteousness and peace, the priest ordained perfectly and eternally, who now sits on the throne and advocates for all humanity, and living in that reality. I’m free from the consequences of my actions, and not to do whatever I want, but whatever God wants. “And what does God [want] but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8). This is joy.
Christ endured the ultimate injustice freeing us to pursue justice for the rest of our lives, knowing the one who has borne all sins and said, “it is finished”. This isn’t a joy too fragile to bear the weight of evil in this world. Rather, it looks at it head-on and walks right into the fray. Joy offers tenderness and empathy to the wronged and unwavering conviction toward the wrongdoer. It allows us to engage in the messiness of life and injustice knowing who ultimately holds the scales, trusting he keeps them in perfect balance. Joy is claiming the contradiction of Christ’s life and living beautifully in an ugly world. In the same way that we are no longer bound to the binary of good or bad actions, joy is not a good or bad feeling. It’s a filter that colors all of life. As this advent season is fraught more than most, let’s live with joy. We know fully what has happened this year. Still, joy says even here, however deep your depths, Christ is with us and the best is yet to come.
–
Writer Bio:
Alyssa Tan is biracial, Chinese and White, and was raised in Taiwan, China, and the Philippines. Currently, South East Los Angeles is home and she has loved living in these vibrant cities for the past four years. She is a recent college graduate with a degree in Cultural Anthropology who is passionate about culture, social justice, and her faith. She loves any opportunity to explore these intersections. Ask her at any time what book she's reading to receive completely unrelated recommendations or uncensored criticism.
Photo by Maksim Goncharenok on Pexels.