In order to talk about joy, I have to talk about food poisoning in Costa Rica. I was there about six years ago working in a small village in the mountains near San Jose. Each morning the "village mom" would gather all of us together in the cocina, and she would spread out bowls of rice, beans, and eggs. This is mostly what we ate in our time there, so it was no surprise. It was toward the end of the trip, and we were planning on spending the last four days on the beach of Playa Hermosa. The night before we left though, I spent half the time kneeling at the toilet and the other half sitting on it. I had some bad eggs.
I couldn't keep anything down. The ride to the beach, which lasted about three hours, was miserable. We were driving through thick rain forests and crossing over bridges that went over crocodile-filled waters, and I was in the back seat anxiously waiting for the ride to end. My condition kept me from experiencing the scenery and the new world around me.
When we finally arrived to our destination, went straight to the bed. We were staying in a small bungalow, and I literally laid in bed for the first three days, leaving one day to actually enjoy the beach we were at.
When my sickness went away, I couldn't wait to get outside. What I saw was breathtaking. There were lazy iguanas crawling everywhere. There were parrots flying overhead. The sand on the beaches was black. The waves were incredibly powerful. The temperature was about 75 degrees. The joy I felt when I stepped from the darkness of the bungalow into the sunshine and scenery outside was indescribable. No one could have robbed the joy that occurred right then.
Then, there's this other kind of joy. It's like the pounding, intimidating waves on that beach in Costa Rica.
As an alcoholic, there's always the possibility that I could take another drink, and another one, and another one. This "illness" is part of me. There's always this part of me that's susceptible to possibility that if I don't take care of myself, the alcohol will take care of me. What once led me to stints in jail, broken relationships, peeing on furniture, and self-hatred, has been quieted and treated. But, there is no cure. That's the problem and the solution. While the alcoholism is still there, it hasn't manifested itself through the physical act of taking a drink in the last three years. However, it is always waiting and watching.
So, there are measures I have to take to prevent myself from getting into "stinking thinking." I pray, spend time with God, make amends when I harm other people, and pay attention to when I'm resentful, selfish, dishonest, and self-seeking. The treatment for my alcoholism is solely dependent on a power greater than myself giving me the strength to keep, going, on. Every day is a routine of waking up, doing this, praying, looking over yesterday and highlighting any areas of my day that I need to improve on today, trying my best to keep my eyes open for opportunities to be of service to the people around me, making amends quickly if I cause any harm, and working with other alcoholics.
While the threat of alcohol is the same as it's ever been, there is a deep, flowing river inside of me called joy. Although my mind is constantly trying to get away with murder, my heart is constantly trying to run the show, there is a joy deep inside that comes from a source of life outside of me.
Sometimes joy looks like a balloon filled sky, and other times it looks like a twelve foot storm surge. What Jesus says in the passage today is that he's going to leave, and the disciples are going to be really depressed. Then he says he'll come back, and they'll be full of joy. The problem is, they've been walking with him all this time, and they are just now believing what he is saying about his relationship with God. Sixteen chapters into the book of John, and they are just now believing.
Jesus tells them to fix their minds on this: pray to the Father in relation to what Jesus revealed to them in his life. Then, everything they ask for will be given to them. A little later, the disciples say, "We finally believe!" But Jesus responds, "Do you? The fact is that in a little while you will make a run for it to save your own skin and abandon me."
I believe that the disciples weren't experiencing the joy that Jesus talks about in this passage. It would come later. Jesus is talking about a joy that pervades circumstance. It's a deep, acknowledged feeling that no matter what's going on around me, no matter how tragic, hard, or unbelievable it is, everything is okay. He says that no one can rob this kind of joy.
When we tap into the source of power that we call Jesus, and believe that it can and will do things for us that we can't do for ourselves, and it happens, we start experiencing this new sensation comparative of both rushing water and lasting peace. We have this inner understanding that we can't actually control the situations around us or the people, but at the same time are willing to do whatever our own parts look like in the process. We are willing to do things we've never done before, like soaring in a swing one thousand feet over the Royal Gorge.
We're willing to love people with problems we have no idea how to solve. We're willing to answer phone calls that don't go anywhere, and have coffee with people who tell us we're wrong. We're willing to wake up and show up to the job that just doesn't seem to fit our passions, and find a purpose still. We're able to give money to the homeless and needy, knowing that mathematically it looks pretty foolish. We're able to step outside and pray when inside is full of chaos. We're able to step back inside and not be swept away by the chaos, but be perfectly at peace.
We're able to look in the eye of someone who is at the end of their rope, knowing that our next couple words could make or break this person's life, and tell the truth even if it makes them want to kill themselves. We're able to make friends out of anybody including our enemies. We're able to advocate for people who have no voice, and ask for help when we have no voice of our own. We're able to spend time with our ailing friends and family members, knowing that although there's nothing we can do, there is a source of power who can, and is, and will.
When we tap into this source of power we call Jesus, we are swept away with a new perspective on pain, suffering, and things that used to make no sense at all. We find that we were loved all along. We find we were forgiven all along. We find that we were worth it all along. We find that nothing is impossible with this power called Jesus.
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