One of the true joys of Christmas – at least for me – has always been spending time with family.
When my own children were little, we had a Christmas day routine that might sound horrible but actually worked out quite well. We’d get up Christmas morning, open presents at our house, then load up and drive to Memphis for Christmas with my wife’s family. While you might think kids would be unhappy at just opening presents then being told to pack up and leave, you’d have to understand that my wife is one of 10 children, and my kids knew that going to Christmas in Memphis meant tons of presents plus the absolute fun that was the chaos of Christmas with the McGowan clan. And, when we came back home, all their presents were there and it was like Christmas all over again!
I was thinking about this the other day, and how when I was a child we’d load up the car and make the drive from my home in East Point, Ga., and go to see my grandparents in Phillipsburg, N.J., directly across the Delaware River from Easton, Pa.
This was in the days before the Interstate system was finished, which meant we had to take Highway 29 most of the way. Highway 29 was also Main Street in East Point, but it was a highway that ran from Pensacola, Fla., to near Baltimore, Md.
My father was a beast. I never appreciated it when he was alive, but now I marvel at his stamina and the sacrifices he made for his family. After my mother passed away, he came to live with me. Our first house had an attic that we decided to finish into two bedrooms. This attic had no heating or air conditioning, and I was working full time for a newspaper which meant I didn't have much time to work on this project. So my dad, who loved building, would be up there in that attic almost every day, in a closed space where the temperatures may have reached 100 degrees for all I know (I don’t know; it was always too hot for me!), hammering and sawing and putting up studs.
I supposed it reveals how self-absorbed I am, but it never occurred to me until years later that my father was in his 70s up there doing all this. I can’t imagine how hot it was, and physically draining it must have been. Perhaps it was just that trademark of the “Greatest Generation” to face the task at hand, no matter what it was, and tackle it head-on.
The routine for these trips to Phillipsburg were further evidence of that. He’d work a full day, come home, load up the car, and then start driving. His theory was, I guess, that the rest of us would sleep while he drove, lessoning the distractions to him. My mother did not share in the driving (a trait that I have picked up in that I do all the driving in my immediate family). I would say I don’t know how my dad did it, but I have found myself doing the same thing.
The internet says it’s an almost 13-hour drive from East Point to Phillipsburg today, using the Interstate system. I have no idea how much longer it took back then, staying on highways and going through towns and stoplights and twists and turns. I know this: we didn’t stop for the night. My parents could not afford a motel room along the way. Maybe we stopped for my Dad to take a quick nap, but if we did I don’t remember it. It seemed like we got into the car in my driveway at night, and something the next afternoon we’d be pulling in front of my grandparents’ house in New Jersey.
It could not have been an easy trip. There are turns even staying on Highway 29, and at some point you had to get off Highway 29 to continue the journey. We didn’t have GPS to tell us turn by turn. We had maps, but I doubt my father used them.
Here’s the thing:
I was completely confident that my Dad would get us where we were going. I never asked, “Dad, do you know where you’re going?” because he’d have said, “Yes, son, I’m going home, to my father’s house.”
I never asked, “Are you sure you know the way? I mean, there’s a lot of twists and turns, and we’ve got to cover a lot of miles” and he’d have said, “Yes, son, I know the way by heart.”
I never rode along with him, questioning his turns or timing. If I had, I’m sure he’d have said something like, “It’s OK, son. Here’s what you should do – look for these signs along the way that will let us know we’re on the right road. Sometimes we’ll go a long way without a sign, but they will be there when we need them. About the time you’ll think we’ve gotten lost, we’ll see a highway sign or something that lets us know we’re on the right path and haven’t lost our way.”
My Dad was a very patient man. One time, after my grandparents had both passed away, he and I made the trip by ourselves, to close down the house. We didn’t talk a lot, because I tend, even now, to get lost inside my head sometimes. I was older by then, in high school, and like most teenagers I’d had doubts about my father. We didn't talk a lot, but when I did start a conversation (and it had to be me starting it, because when my father would ask a question I'd usually give that teenager one word reply that kills further attempts at talking), I could tell he was grateful and we'd talk for awhile. Later he even told me how much he appreciated just riding with me, being with me, even in silence.
Whatever doubts I had about my father, I never doubted his ability to find his way to the house he grew up in, to his father’s house.
It occurs to me how much this is like what Jesus said when he said, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe in Me as well. In My Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and welcome you into My presence, so that you also may be where I am.…”
I started this journey with Jesus many years ago. I know where I am going – to Jesus’ Father’s house. The only part of the route that I know is to trust in Jesus, just as I trusted in that father knew how to get to his father’s house, just as my children know their way back to my house.
Sometimes along the way I feel lost, like I’ve made a wrong turn or this road can’t possibly be the right one. And sometimes I find I have taken a wrong turn. But inevitably, somewhere along the way and very often at just the right time, there will be a sign. Sometimes when I’m ready to give up and turn around or sit down, something happens to remind me of where I am going, and that I’m either on the right path or here’s the turn to get back on the right path.
I am thankful for the many lessons my father taught me – most of which I wasn’t aware of at the time.
Like this one. A son knows the way to the father. A son knows his way home.
Trust him, and he will get you there despite all the twists and turns and stoplights and slowdowns that occur along life’s road.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Monday, December 10, 2018
On just saying "No"
Maybe you’ve had this kind of conversation.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you want to ask me something.”
“I was going to, but you’re only going to say ‘no.’”
Maybe you’ve been on both sides of that dialogue. I know I have. Usually it’s between a parent and a child, with the child taking that tactic of “I was going to, but …” trying a kind of reverse psychology, putting you in a negative light in the hopes that to prove them wrong you’ll say “yes.”
We are a manipulative breed, aren’t we?
But that got me thinking about “no.”
It is only a selfish, unloving father who always says “yes” to his children. More than likely, he’s one of those fathers who is trying to be “friends” with his kids, so they’ll “like” him. Or maybe he’s trying to make up for some inadequacy he feels about himself.
Loving fathers don’t always say ‘yes’ to their children, because children’s desires are often immature and may ultimately be harmful.
Very often, the most loving thing a father can do is say, “No;” be willing to be the kill joy, the bad guy, take the tears and screams and scorn from that child that they love when it’s for that child’s protection or own good. A loving father is willing to take the pout or the anger or the tantrum in order for that child to be safe, learn, grow into a mature and wise adult.
If you’re over the age of 25, you probably know that. You know that if you had gotten everything you ever wanted, your life would be a disaster right now. And guess what? It doesn’t change as you get older – there are still times when I’m thankful I didn’t get what I thought I wanted (and times when I’m sorry that I got what I thought I really did).
Recently I spent a lot of time reading and praying what we call “the Lord’s Prayer’’ – you know, the “Our Father, who art in Heaven …” In this, Jesus tells us to pray for our “daily bread.” Our daily bread is not asking for God to give us everything we want, but to give us what we actually need.
And no matter how smart, how successful, how admired and respected you are, you are not smarter than God; particularly when it comes to what is best for you. You may think you know, and you may be able to see all kinds of ways that this thing you desire could work out for God’s glory as well as yours; how it may provide for your family or “just make sense.” To God, those kinds of arguments must be like a five-year-old trying to talk their father into getting them a pony. It’s cute. But it’s dumb.
Unless, maybe, you live on a farm or a ranch.
King Solomon, considered the wisest man to ever live, wrote this in Proverbs (30): “Two things I ask of you; deny them not to me before I die: remove far from me falsehood and lying.” Good request, right? But then Solomon goes on to say, “Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is needful for me, lest I be full and deny you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.”
Or, as Jesus said it so succinctly in the New Testament, “Give us this day our daily bread.”
As a kid, I wanted everything. My Christmas list would have been endless if I had actually made Christmas lists. I’d go through the Sears catalogue (pity that children today don’t know the joy of the Sears Christmas catalogue) and could pick out at least one thing on every page. In fact, that was a game I used to play: I’d tell myself I “had” to choose one thing on every page, now what would it be?
I’m long past the Sears catalogue, but I’m not beyond wanting at least one thing from every page.
But learning to not want everything is actually good for us.
The Apostle Paul, in 1 Corinthians 10:23, “I have the right to do anything’ - but not everything is beneficial. ‘I have the right to do anything’– but not everything is constructive.”
Truth be told, we’re not easily satisfied. We say, “Of, if I get this car I’ll never want another one” or “If I get this house, I’ll stay in it forever.” And then the new model car comes out with this feature or that feature; or you see a house with a better kitchen or yard or with a pool.
Years ago, I decided I would really simplify my life and would not need any clothes other than a pair of khaki pants and a blue oxford button-down collar shirt. It’s a combination I could wear to work, to play, to church. Then I realized I probably needed a tie and a navy-blue blazer to make it a bit more formal. And a white shirt would be good as well. And then tennis shoes for casual wear because I couldn’t wear dress shoes or loafers everywhere.
You get the picture.
There is nothing wrong with having a nice car, a house, multiple options for clothes. What I’m saying is that we’re never satisfied. It’s human nature. If I have the ability to get something more, chances are really good that I’ll take it.
So when I was reading the “Our Father who art in Heaven’’ and got to “Give us our daily bread,” which is another way of saying “Just give me what I need for today,” it reminded me that I have far more than I need, and the things that I don’t have that I really need (if there are such things) teach me to be thankful when I get through that day despite not having it, whatever “it” is.
Once, when I was in college, I decided to put God to the test. I had five dollars. I didn’t get paid until Friday (because I worked through college). So I decided to “test” God and say, “I know you’ll give me just enough money to get me through this week.” And on Monday I drove to class. I went to lunch. Someone didn’t want to finish their lunch and offered it to me, so I didn’t have to spend anything there. I drove home. There were leftovers in the fridge. The next day someone asked me to ride with them to class, because they were running late and needed to be dropped off because they didn’t have time to park, so we took their car. And I didn’t have time for anything at lunch except vending machine food, which back then was 50 cents for a Coke and 25 cents for a pack of peanut butter crackers.
Every day I prayed for that miracle, that check that showed up unexpectedly in the mail box or that debt that I’d forgotten about being repaid or whatever other miracle that I knew was coming because God was going to provide for me, take care of me, give me what I needed.
The next thing I knew it was Friday. I'd never gotten that unexpected windfall "blessing." But on Friday, I got my regular paycheck.
And it hit me – I had gone through the entire week and not even spent all of my five dollars. I had not missed a meal; I had not failed to get to class. Something unexpected always happened to get me exactly what I needed for that day. And I realized I was telling God what I thought He needed to do to take care of me, when in reality He was taking care of me in His way – and teaching me a lesson in the process.
These are good lessons, the lessons of “no.” We learn disappointment. We also learn we survive without the things or activities that we thought we couldn’t live without. In time, we discover that six months or a year or 10 years later we don’t even remember what it was we wanted so bad.
So never be afraid to be the “bad” guy, to say “no,” and put up with your kids saying you don’t love them or don’t care for them or you’re not as good a father as so-and-so. A loving Father is not afraid to be the ‘bad’ guy, because he knows sometimes ‘no’ is the most loving thing you can say.
Now, I’ve spent a lot of time talking about having the ability to say “no,’’ and that comes across as negative.
Here is the positive: remember what Jesus says in John 10:10? “The thief comes to kill, to steal, and to destroy, but I have come that you might have life and have it to the full."
Hear that? "To the full." That is not a “no.” That sounds incredible, doesn’t it? Jesus comes to give us life to the full – who doesn’t want that? Who is going to say, “Oh, I’ll just take three-quarters. I don’t want to be selfish, just give me half a share.” No, as I said before, we’re never satisfied and its human nature to always want more.
So if there's more joy to be had in my marriage because of Jesus, I want it. If there's more joy to be had as a parent, then I want it. If there is more joy to be had in my job, then I want it. If there is more joy to be had in continuing to learn about who Jesus is, I want it.
I want all the life there is to have. But not in some immature, ridiculous, "just give me the new car and house and supermodel Stepford wife” kind of joy. No, I want all the life there is to have. And Jesus said, “You want full life? I've come to give you full life. I’ve got it, and I’m offering it to you. Come to me for that full life."
It’s counterintuitive, but the truth is, we’re happier when we know the boundaries, when we know the limits. Psychologists have said that children are more creative when they have boundaries and can explore the area inside those boundaries more completely, when they are forced to use their brains to devise entertainment and excitement within the limits put around them. It’s when there are no boundaries that they become unfocused. They get easily bored and go on to the next thing, and the next thing, and nothing is ever enough.
Sometimes “no” is the best answer of all.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you want to ask me something.”
“I was going to, but you’re only going to say ‘no.’”
Maybe you’ve been on both sides of that dialogue. I know I have. Usually it’s between a parent and a child, with the child taking that tactic of “I was going to, but …” trying a kind of reverse psychology, putting you in a negative light in the hopes that to prove them wrong you’ll say “yes.”
We are a manipulative breed, aren’t we?
But that got me thinking about “no.”
It is only a selfish, unloving father who always says “yes” to his children. More than likely, he’s one of those fathers who is trying to be “friends” with his kids, so they’ll “like” him. Or maybe he’s trying to make up for some inadequacy he feels about himself.
Loving fathers don’t always say ‘yes’ to their children, because children’s desires are often immature and may ultimately be harmful.
Very often, the most loving thing a father can do is say, “No;” be willing to be the kill joy, the bad guy, take the tears and screams and scorn from that child that they love when it’s for that child’s protection or own good. A loving father is willing to take the pout or the anger or the tantrum in order for that child to be safe, learn, grow into a mature and wise adult.
If you’re over the age of 25, you probably know that. You know that if you had gotten everything you ever wanted, your life would be a disaster right now. And guess what? It doesn’t change as you get older – there are still times when I’m thankful I didn’t get what I thought I wanted (and times when I’m sorry that I got what I thought I really did).
Recently I spent a lot of time reading and praying what we call “the Lord’s Prayer’’ – you know, the “Our Father, who art in Heaven …” In this, Jesus tells us to pray for our “daily bread.” Our daily bread is not asking for God to give us everything we want, but to give us what we actually need.
And no matter how smart, how successful, how admired and respected you are, you are not smarter than God; particularly when it comes to what is best for you. You may think you know, and you may be able to see all kinds of ways that this thing you desire could work out for God’s glory as well as yours; how it may provide for your family or “just make sense.” To God, those kinds of arguments must be like a five-year-old trying to talk their father into getting them a pony. It’s cute. But it’s dumb.
Unless, maybe, you live on a farm or a ranch.
King Solomon, considered the wisest man to ever live, wrote this in Proverbs (30): “Two things I ask of you; deny them not to me before I die: remove far from me falsehood and lying.” Good request, right? But then Solomon goes on to say, “Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is needful for me, lest I be full and deny you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.”
Or, as Jesus said it so succinctly in the New Testament, “Give us this day our daily bread.”
As a kid, I wanted everything. My Christmas list would have been endless if I had actually made Christmas lists. I’d go through the Sears catalogue (pity that children today don’t know the joy of the Sears Christmas catalogue) and could pick out at least one thing on every page. In fact, that was a game I used to play: I’d tell myself I “had” to choose one thing on every page, now what would it be?
I’m long past the Sears catalogue, but I’m not beyond wanting at least one thing from every page.
But learning to not want everything is actually good for us.
The Apostle Paul, in 1 Corinthians 10:23, “I have the right to do anything’ - but not everything is beneficial. ‘I have the right to do anything’– but not everything is constructive.”
Truth be told, we’re not easily satisfied. We say, “Of, if I get this car I’ll never want another one” or “If I get this house, I’ll stay in it forever.” And then the new model car comes out with this feature or that feature; or you see a house with a better kitchen or yard or with a pool.
Years ago, I decided I would really simplify my life and would not need any clothes other than a pair of khaki pants and a blue oxford button-down collar shirt. It’s a combination I could wear to work, to play, to church. Then I realized I probably needed a tie and a navy-blue blazer to make it a bit more formal. And a white shirt would be good as well. And then tennis shoes for casual wear because I couldn’t wear dress shoes or loafers everywhere.
You get the picture.
There is nothing wrong with having a nice car, a house, multiple options for clothes. What I’m saying is that we’re never satisfied. It’s human nature. If I have the ability to get something more, chances are really good that I’ll take it.
So when I was reading the “Our Father who art in Heaven’’ and got to “Give us our daily bread,” which is another way of saying “Just give me what I need for today,” it reminded me that I have far more than I need, and the things that I don’t have that I really need (if there are such things) teach me to be thankful when I get through that day despite not having it, whatever “it” is.
Once, when I was in college, I decided to put God to the test. I had five dollars. I didn’t get paid until Friday (because I worked through college). So I decided to “test” God and say, “I know you’ll give me just enough money to get me through this week.” And on Monday I drove to class. I went to lunch. Someone didn’t want to finish their lunch and offered it to me, so I didn’t have to spend anything there. I drove home. There were leftovers in the fridge. The next day someone asked me to ride with them to class, because they were running late and needed to be dropped off because they didn’t have time to park, so we took their car. And I didn’t have time for anything at lunch except vending machine food, which back then was 50 cents for a Coke and 25 cents for a pack of peanut butter crackers.
Every day I prayed for that miracle, that check that showed up unexpectedly in the mail box or that debt that I’d forgotten about being repaid or whatever other miracle that I knew was coming because God was going to provide for me, take care of me, give me what I needed.
The next thing I knew it was Friday. I'd never gotten that unexpected windfall "blessing." But on Friday, I got my regular paycheck.
And it hit me – I had gone through the entire week and not even spent all of my five dollars. I had not missed a meal; I had not failed to get to class. Something unexpected always happened to get me exactly what I needed for that day. And I realized I was telling God what I thought He needed to do to take care of me, when in reality He was taking care of me in His way – and teaching me a lesson in the process.
These are good lessons, the lessons of “no.” We learn disappointment. We also learn we survive without the things or activities that we thought we couldn’t live without. In time, we discover that six months or a year or 10 years later we don’t even remember what it was we wanted so bad.
So never be afraid to be the “bad” guy, to say “no,” and put up with your kids saying you don’t love them or don’t care for them or you’re not as good a father as so-and-so. A loving Father is not afraid to be the ‘bad’ guy, because he knows sometimes ‘no’ is the most loving thing you can say.
Now, I’ve spent a lot of time talking about having the ability to say “no,’’ and that comes across as negative.
Here is the positive: remember what Jesus says in John 10:10? “The thief comes to kill, to steal, and to destroy, but I have come that you might have life and have it to the full."
Hear that? "To the full." That is not a “no.” That sounds incredible, doesn’t it? Jesus comes to give us life to the full – who doesn’t want that? Who is going to say, “Oh, I’ll just take three-quarters. I don’t want to be selfish, just give me half a share.” No, as I said before, we’re never satisfied and its human nature to always want more.
So if there's more joy to be had in my marriage because of Jesus, I want it. If there's more joy to be had as a parent, then I want it. If there is more joy to be had in my job, then I want it. If there is more joy to be had in continuing to learn about who Jesus is, I want it.
I want all the life there is to have. But not in some immature, ridiculous, "just give me the new car and house and supermodel Stepford wife” kind of joy. No, I want all the life there is to have. And Jesus said, “You want full life? I've come to give you full life. I’ve got it, and I’m offering it to you. Come to me for that full life."
It’s counterintuitive, but the truth is, we’re happier when we know the boundaries, when we know the limits. Psychologists have said that children are more creative when they have boundaries and can explore the area inside those boundaries more completely, when they are forced to use their brains to devise entertainment and excitement within the limits put around them. It’s when there are no boundaries that they become unfocused. They get easily bored and go on to the next thing, and the next thing, and nothing is ever enough.
Sometimes “no” is the best answer of all.
Friday, December 7, 2018
"Joy" to the world
We all want to be happy.
It’s part of our DNA as Americans, right? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? And boy, we have taken to that pursuit like dogs to a meat bone, like pigs to slop, like me to a chocolate chip cookie.
When I was a kid, all I wanted to do was play ball. I was happy playing football or basketball, and when those options weren’t available it was any other kind of competition we could find or create: basement basketball with tennis balls and trash cans on rainy days when we couldn’t go outside; whiffle ball with some of the most elaborate rules created to accommodate the back yard that a Yale lawyer might have trouble deciphering; choosing sides and going to war with a variety of weapons after discovering “bang bang, you’re dead” didn’t work (so we found berries that could leave a stain to prove you’d been hit; to golf-ball sized hickory nuts that increased the range of your firepower, to a misguided use of b-b guns – classic escalation theory that has put the world on edge many times over).
Then it became cars, music, movies, books, girls, concerts, clothes, tennis shoes, sporting events, houses, neighborhoods, bigger paychecks, vacations that went from off-season trips (mountains in the summer, the beach in the winter when rates were lower) to the Caribbean in winter.
Opening presents on Christmas morning. Recognition and increased demand for my work. Season tickets to sports and plays. Enough books for a small library.
But always, the games ended, the season passed, I returned home from the vacation, the curtain went down on the play, the book ended, the Christmas tree was taken down and thrown out along with the boxes and wrapping paper that, for weeks, had been so enticing.
My guess is, even if the details differ, this sounds like your life, too.
Not that I’m complaining. I’ve had a life far beyond anything I deserved. I’m happy, through the ups and downs. I’ve got great memories, and still have great expectations.
Has it been everything I dreamed? Not hardly. I had some pretty big dreams; some impossible dreams. I wanted to play in the NBA, to pitch in the major leagues, to quarterback the Atlanta Falcons to a Super Bowl title. I wanted to write books that generations would cherish. I wanted enough money to never have to worry. I wanted … more.
But even in those dreams, reality assures me that had I achieved any or all of those dreams, they’d have been fleeting, too. Eventually, athletes can no longer play the game. Having made a living as a writer, I know the pressure is always there to follow up one award-winning piece with another, to prove it wasn’t a fluke. And money – the old saying goes, “how much money is enough? One more dollar than I have.”
I also know I’m hardly alone. Wanting more is as old as Adam and Eve (“You shall be like gods”). Solomon summed it up in his work, Ecclesiastes, when he wrote, “All is vanity, a chasing after the wind.”
Philosopher after philosopher reminds us that all of us seek happiness, without exception. Some seek it through excess, some by self-denial; some seek it through danger, others by self-preservation. Even those who are so miserable they commit suicide are looking for a way out, a peace they can’t seem to find in this life.
Because down deep, we all carry the uncomfortable idea that somewhere out there, there is more.
In the end, what we’re all looking for is not happiness, but joy.
They are not the same thing. Happiness, as we know, never seems to last. But joy is a state of mind that carries you through all the anticipations and disappointments of the pursuit of happiness.
For me, that joy comes in my relationship with something outside myself. It comes from something I have never physically seen or touched or heard. It comes from something that many find so abstract as to be considered absurd.
It comes from a pursuit of God.
The Bible tells us in story after story how when we abandon ourselves, we find peace. When we die to ourselves and our wants and desires, we find satisfaction. When we turn our guilt over the wrongs we’ve done to someone else who can forgive us, we can forgive ourselves.
I may be theologically way off base, but I believe that the fall of Adam and Eve was not that they ate a fruit that gave them some supernatural knowledge of good and evil, but rather that the act of taking that fruit that God had commanded they not take gave them self-awareness, which led to self-centeredness, which led to the longing to make oneself happy.
The focus left God and centered on “self.”
Before what we call “the fall,” I imagine the first people (Adam and Eve) walked with God. They lived for those moments of his presence. They went about the responsibilities to care for the earth and the animals and each other the way God has prescribed, but it was totally with a sense of being God-focused. God loves me. God is coming to talk to me. I do this because it makes God happy. Isn’t it wonderful that God gave us nature, the animals, laughter, adventure, companionship …
And then one day, Eve and then Adam realized they could make their own choice. It was not about God anymore; it was about me and what I wanted and what I thought would make me happy.
If you remember the story in Genesis, no one told Adam and Eve they were naked. No one told them to be ashamed. But with one simple act of “self” they suddenly became aware of their own nakedness, their own faults and flaws, and became ashamed.
I always wonder, did they ask God for forgiveness? I don’t see it anywhere in the story. I doubt they even knew the concept of forgiveness because it had never been part of their consciousness before. They had never done anything to offend God. They may have never even realized forgiveness might have been possible.
But God did. And in doing so set in motion the act of ultimate forgiveness that millions of us depend on for our eternal destiny.
One thing I have learned about the pursuit of happiness – I am happiest when I’m not thinking about it. It’s like the old saying about no longer being humble once you realize how humble you are; I’m not sure happiness doesn’t start to fade the moment you realize “I’m really happy.”
Happiness is a constant pursuit. Joy, on the other hand, is defined (in at least one primary definition) as “the emotion evoked by … the prospect of possessing what one desires.” Joy is “an emotion that’s acquired by the anticipation, acquisition or even the expectation of something great or wonderful.”
C.S. Lewis once wondered “whether all pleasures are a substitute for joy.” In his book, “Surprised by Joy,” he wrote “I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again... I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and Pleasure often is.”
James wrote (1:2) “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds.” This helped Jesus endure the cross “who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Heb 12:2).
Paul writes to the Philippians “complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind” and considered this church his “joy and crown” even though he was not with them, not physically in their presence.
In the Old Testament, Nehemiah wrote (8:10) “the joy of the LORD is your strength.” The Psalms are full of joy-phrases, like “all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy” (Psalm 5:11), and that God “put more joy in my heart” (Psalm 4:7) and in God’s “presence there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11).
None of this “joy” has to do with present circumstances, but in the confidence that there is purpose, and that the end of the matter has been settled.
It’s not an easy concept. Jesus says as much in Luke (9:23) when he says, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? …”
Denying yourself is not easy. Easy is going after all the stuff that we’re told will make us happy. But we also know there is no end to seeking happiness. On the other hand, knowing how it ends gives us the peace – and joy - to live with whatever condition we find ourselves in at any given moment.
My brother tells the story of when he was a student in seminary. He and some of his friends were playing basketball late one night, and the janitor came in to lock up but let them finish their game. While they played, he sat in the bleachers reading his Bible.
When the game was over, the seminary students came over to thank the old man for letting them finish, and asked, “What are you reading?’’
The old man said, “The book of Revelation.”
The seminary students said, “That’s a pretty involved book, what with all these signs and dragons and lamp stands and blood and imagery and allegory. Do you understand what you’re reading?”
The old man answered that he did, and of course the seminary students said (with, I’m sure, a bit of doubt in their voices), “tell us what it means” (as if this old janitor could explain a book like Revelation to these best and brightest seminary students).
“It means,’’ the old man said, “that in the end, Jesus wins.”
And that is where joy comes from, knowing that no matter what we endure today, what we’ve endured yesterday or may endure tomorrow, in the end, Jesus wins.
It’s part of our DNA as Americans, right? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? And boy, we have taken to that pursuit like dogs to a meat bone, like pigs to slop, like me to a chocolate chip cookie.
When I was a kid, all I wanted to do was play ball. I was happy playing football or basketball, and when those options weren’t available it was any other kind of competition we could find or create: basement basketball with tennis balls and trash cans on rainy days when we couldn’t go outside; whiffle ball with some of the most elaborate rules created to accommodate the back yard that a Yale lawyer might have trouble deciphering; choosing sides and going to war with a variety of weapons after discovering “bang bang, you’re dead” didn’t work (so we found berries that could leave a stain to prove you’d been hit; to golf-ball sized hickory nuts that increased the range of your firepower, to a misguided use of b-b guns – classic escalation theory that has put the world on edge many times over).
Then it became cars, music, movies, books, girls, concerts, clothes, tennis shoes, sporting events, houses, neighborhoods, bigger paychecks, vacations that went from off-season trips (mountains in the summer, the beach in the winter when rates were lower) to the Caribbean in winter.
Opening presents on Christmas morning. Recognition and increased demand for my work. Season tickets to sports and plays. Enough books for a small library.
But always, the games ended, the season passed, I returned home from the vacation, the curtain went down on the play, the book ended, the Christmas tree was taken down and thrown out along with the boxes and wrapping paper that, for weeks, had been so enticing.
My guess is, even if the details differ, this sounds like your life, too.
Not that I’m complaining. I’ve had a life far beyond anything I deserved. I’m happy, through the ups and downs. I’ve got great memories, and still have great expectations.
Has it been everything I dreamed? Not hardly. I had some pretty big dreams; some impossible dreams. I wanted to play in the NBA, to pitch in the major leagues, to quarterback the Atlanta Falcons to a Super Bowl title. I wanted to write books that generations would cherish. I wanted enough money to never have to worry. I wanted … more.
But even in those dreams, reality assures me that had I achieved any or all of those dreams, they’d have been fleeting, too. Eventually, athletes can no longer play the game. Having made a living as a writer, I know the pressure is always there to follow up one award-winning piece with another, to prove it wasn’t a fluke. And money – the old saying goes, “how much money is enough? One more dollar than I have.”
I also know I’m hardly alone. Wanting more is as old as Adam and Eve (“You shall be like gods”). Solomon summed it up in his work, Ecclesiastes, when he wrote, “All is vanity, a chasing after the wind.”
Philosopher after philosopher reminds us that all of us seek happiness, without exception. Some seek it through excess, some by self-denial; some seek it through danger, others by self-preservation. Even those who are so miserable they commit suicide are looking for a way out, a peace they can’t seem to find in this life.
Because down deep, we all carry the uncomfortable idea that somewhere out there, there is more.
In the end, what we’re all looking for is not happiness, but joy.
They are not the same thing. Happiness, as we know, never seems to last. But joy is a state of mind that carries you through all the anticipations and disappointments of the pursuit of happiness.
For me, that joy comes in my relationship with something outside myself. It comes from something I have never physically seen or touched or heard. It comes from something that many find so abstract as to be considered absurd.
It comes from a pursuit of God.
The Bible tells us in story after story how when we abandon ourselves, we find peace. When we die to ourselves and our wants and desires, we find satisfaction. When we turn our guilt over the wrongs we’ve done to someone else who can forgive us, we can forgive ourselves.
I may be theologically way off base, but I believe that the fall of Adam and Eve was not that they ate a fruit that gave them some supernatural knowledge of good and evil, but rather that the act of taking that fruit that God had commanded they not take gave them self-awareness, which led to self-centeredness, which led to the longing to make oneself happy.
The focus left God and centered on “self.”
Before what we call “the fall,” I imagine the first people (Adam and Eve) walked with God. They lived for those moments of his presence. They went about the responsibilities to care for the earth and the animals and each other the way God has prescribed, but it was totally with a sense of being God-focused. God loves me. God is coming to talk to me. I do this because it makes God happy. Isn’t it wonderful that God gave us nature, the animals, laughter, adventure, companionship …
And then one day, Eve and then Adam realized they could make their own choice. It was not about God anymore; it was about me and what I wanted and what I thought would make me happy.
If you remember the story in Genesis, no one told Adam and Eve they were naked. No one told them to be ashamed. But with one simple act of “self” they suddenly became aware of their own nakedness, their own faults and flaws, and became ashamed.
I always wonder, did they ask God for forgiveness? I don’t see it anywhere in the story. I doubt they even knew the concept of forgiveness because it had never been part of their consciousness before. They had never done anything to offend God. They may have never even realized forgiveness might have been possible.
But God did. And in doing so set in motion the act of ultimate forgiveness that millions of us depend on for our eternal destiny.
One thing I have learned about the pursuit of happiness – I am happiest when I’m not thinking about it. It’s like the old saying about no longer being humble once you realize how humble you are; I’m not sure happiness doesn’t start to fade the moment you realize “I’m really happy.”
Happiness is a constant pursuit. Joy, on the other hand, is defined (in at least one primary definition) as “the emotion evoked by … the prospect of possessing what one desires.” Joy is “an emotion that’s acquired by the anticipation, acquisition or even the expectation of something great or wonderful.”
C.S. Lewis once wondered “whether all pleasures are a substitute for joy.” In his book, “Surprised by Joy,” he wrote “I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again... I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and Pleasure often is.”
James wrote (1:2) “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds.” This helped Jesus endure the cross “who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Heb 12:2).
Paul writes to the Philippians “complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind” and considered this church his “joy and crown” even though he was not with them, not physically in their presence.
In the Old Testament, Nehemiah wrote (8:10) “the joy of the LORD is your strength.” The Psalms are full of joy-phrases, like “all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy” (Psalm 5:11), and that God “put more joy in my heart” (Psalm 4:7) and in God’s “presence there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11).
None of this “joy” has to do with present circumstances, but in the confidence that there is purpose, and that the end of the matter has been settled.
It’s not an easy concept. Jesus says as much in Luke (9:23) when he says, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? …”
Denying yourself is not easy. Easy is going after all the stuff that we’re told will make us happy. But we also know there is no end to seeking happiness. On the other hand, knowing how it ends gives us the peace – and joy - to live with whatever condition we find ourselves in at any given moment.
My brother tells the story of when he was a student in seminary. He and some of his friends were playing basketball late one night, and the janitor came in to lock up but let them finish their game. While they played, he sat in the bleachers reading his Bible.
When the game was over, the seminary students came over to thank the old man for letting them finish, and asked, “What are you reading?’’
The old man said, “The book of Revelation.”
The seminary students said, “That’s a pretty involved book, what with all these signs and dragons and lamp stands and blood and imagery and allegory. Do you understand what you’re reading?”
The old man answered that he did, and of course the seminary students said (with, I’m sure, a bit of doubt in their voices), “tell us what it means” (as if this old janitor could explain a book like Revelation to these best and brightest seminary students).
“It means,’’ the old man said, “that in the end, Jesus wins.”
And that is where joy comes from, knowing that no matter what we endure today, what we’ve endured yesterday or may endure tomorrow, in the end, Jesus wins.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)