+ John 3: 29: He who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. For this reason my joy has been fulfilled.
+ John 16: 21: When a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world.
+ John 16: 24: Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete.
+ John 17:13: But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves.
+ I John 1:4: We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete
+ II John 1: 12: Although I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink; instead I hope to come to you and talk with you face to face, so that our joy may be complete.
+ II John 1: 12: Although I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink; instead I hope to come to you and talk with you face to face, so that our joy may be complete.
Growing up in Protestant New England, I never heard much about joy. Or grace. I was taught that Jesus came to die for our sins. The doctrine of substitutionary atonement was never sufficiently explained to me as a child or confirmand, but I trusted that at some point the veil would be lifted and I would understand. That day never came. But when I learned - and experienced within - that grace was at the heart of Christ's ministry so that my joy might be full, I was energized.
This joy, you see, is a living encounter with grace (charis - χάρις). Both joy in this text (chara - χαρά) and rejoice in others (chairó - χαίρω) are cognates of charis. What the core of St. John's gospel teaches about the life, death and resurrection of Jesus is much more about encountering and trusting an God's loving heart in an intimate manner much more than punishment for abstract sin. It is about a way of being in the world that is saturated and nourished by joy. Grace. Delight. Small wonder the early church called the breaking of bread and the sharing of wine eucharista: communion with the essence of gratitude and grace.
Over time, this renewal born of joy became flesh for me in two important ways: how I experienced Jesus in our celebrations of Holy Communion; and, how I looked for the presence of Jesus in my ordinary life. Fr. Richard Rohr notes that putting on the mind of Jesus is not about being brain washed by abstract dogma
but rather learning to look for signs of the holy in our ordinary experiences.
For me, that makes every day an adventure in joy and compassion. It also helps me know when I am out of balance, too. If I cannot delight in the sounds of children laughing with loved ones, then something's wrong. If my heart is not opened in tenderness when the old woman in a wheel chair asks me to reach for a jar on a shelf at Wal-Mart that she can't quite grasp, I need to regroup. If my soul is not assaulted in solidarity when sisters or brothers are attacked because of who they love, I am not allied with Jesus. If my creative mind cannot search out the hidden clues of the sacred in TV programs like "Breaking Bad" or "The Sopranos" then I need more quiet prayer. And if my ears are unable to hear the words of the prophets in songs by Springsteen, Carrie Newcomer or Pharrell, then I am a drag and too full of myself.
I think the wild man, St. Francis, got it right: "Always look for signs of Christ's cross as you walk about each day. They are everywhere for those with eyes to see." Here's one of my favorites...
but rather learning to look for signs of the holy in our ordinary experiences.
For me, that makes every day an adventure in joy and compassion. It also helps me know when I am out of balance, too. If I cannot delight in the sounds of children laughing with loved ones, then something's wrong. If my heart is not opened in tenderness when the old woman in a wheel chair asks me to reach for a jar on a shelf at Wal-Mart that she can't quite grasp, I need to regroup. If my soul is not assaulted in solidarity when sisters or brothers are attacked because of who they love, I am not allied with Jesus. If my creative mind cannot search out the hidden clues of the sacred in TV programs like "Breaking Bad" or "The Sopranos" then I need more quiet prayer. And if my ears are unable to hear the words of the prophets in songs by Springsteen, Carrie Newcomer or Pharrell, then I am a drag and too full of myself.
I think the wild man, St. Francis, got it right: "Always look for signs of Christ's cross as you walk about each day. They are everywhere for those with eyes to see." Here's one of my favorites...
"I have come so that my joy may be in you, and your joy may be full." Full in this text might better be translated from Greek as complete (pléroó /ληρόω). My experience is that Jesus embraces us so that we might ripen and mature in God's grace and become complete people of joy in the world. In this, a poem I just read by Mary Howe sounds like a word of encouragement from the heart of creation: My Dead Friends.
I have begun,when I'm weary and can't decide an answer to a bewildering question
to ask my dead friends for their opinion
and the answer is often immediate and clear.
Should I take the job? Move to the city? Should I try to conceive a child
in my middle age?
They stand in unison shaking their heads and smiling—whatever leads
to joy, they always answer,
to more life and less worry. I look into the vase where Billy's ashes were —
it's green in there, a green vase,
and I ask Billy if I should return the difficult phone call, and he says, yes.
Billy's already gone through the frightening door,
whatever he says I'll do.
I have begun,when I'm weary and can't decide an answer to a bewildering question
to ask my dead friends for their opinion
and the answer is often immediate and clear.
Should I take the job? Move to the city? Should I try to conceive a child
in my middle age?
They stand in unison shaking their heads and smiling—whatever leads
to joy, they always answer,
to more life and less worry. I look into the vase where Billy's ashes were —
it's green in there, a green vase,
and I ask Billy if I should return the difficult phone call, and he says, yes.
Billy's already gone through the frightening door,
whatever he says I'll do.
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