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Advent Joy
Greg Coles • Dec 13, 2023
Greg's Reflections on Joy
In 2021, we shared some reflections throughout Advent. We want to make these available on the blog and share them with you! We pray that you are blessed by them as you enter into the waiting of Advent.
The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.
You have enlarged the nation
and increased their joy;
they rejoice before you
as people rejoice at the harvest,
as warriors rejoice
when dividing the plunder.
Isaiah 9:2-3 (NIV)
In storytelling, there’s a rule that no individual moment means anything by itself. What matters is how each moment fits inside the larger story of which it is a part. What comes before it? What comes next? The way we answer these questions has the power to change the whole story’s meaning.
Imagine, for example, a woman sitting alone in her living room, glancing repeatedly at the front door. Maybe she’s expecting a visit from an old college roommate, and this is just the first scene in a heart-warming story about lifelong friendship. Maybe she’s in the middle of an action thriller, and she’s just gotten off the phone with a cryptic FBI agent who told her, “I’ll be over in five minutes.” Or maybe this is the final scene in a story of heartbreak: maybe her husband of fifteen years just walked out that door for the last time, and she’ll grieve his departure until the credits roll.
The moment by itself only has meaning once we understand the bigger story it fits into.
In Luke 2, we meet a group of shepherds watching their flocks in the night. In a world before electricity, without constant light pollution, the darkness is deep enough to display a vast expanse of stars. The shepherds rely on those stars—and whatever portion of moon is available—to see the sheep and fields around them. Their eyes are adjusted to the dark, their pupils dilated to make the most of what little light they have.
And then, without warning, a light brighter than the noonday sun shatters the darkness. An angel of the Lord, blazing with God’s own glory, announces that a Savior has been born. This Savior is nearby, close enough for the shepherds to go and see him for themselves.
Suddenly that one angel is joined by thousands more—a collection of light so overwhelming the very idea of darkness feels impossible. A heavenly choir praises the newborn King, singing, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (v. 14, NIV).
The shepherds immediately abandon their flocks to find this newborn Savior. Once they see him, they can’t help spreading the word about him to others. At last, after a busy night’s work, they return to their flocks. They’re still caught up in worship, “glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told” (v. 20, NIV). The angel choir might not be visible anymore, but the shepherds continue heaven’s song of glory and praise.
The fields look just like they did a few hours earlier. The deep starlit darkness has returned. The sheep are still bleating. To the outside observer, this moment is identical to the moment before the angels’ arrival.
But for the shepherds, everything has changed.
The countless nights they spent with those same flocks in the years before Christ’s birth—and the countless nights they will spend in the coming years—have suddenly become part of a much bigger story. Those fields that beheld the shepherds’ own worry and fear and boredom and anxiety have now beheld the declaration of the redemption of God’s people. In a glorious burst of light, the meaning of the darkness is transformed.
When the prophet Isaiah anticipates this moment, he describes the joy of God’s people by comparing it to the joy of harvest and the joy of warriors dividing plunder. In each case, a single moment of narrative fulfillment gives meaning and purpose to the preceding moments of struggle and hardship and uncertainty. When the harvest comes, every hour of backbreaking work to plow and plant and tend the crops is proved worthwhile. The farmer’s fears about droughts or pests ruining the crop are finally laid to rest. And when the warriors divide the plunder, their victory is a certainty written into the history books, not just a dream prayed for in the heat of battle.
Joy doesn’t just change one moment in the story. It changes the entire story, making even hardship and sorrow part of a much bigger story that is ultimately about redemption.
Maybe you’re in the middle of a story right now that feels heavy with grief and pain. Maybe you’re facing heartache or uncertainty, anger or shame or alienation. Maybe you’re deep in the darkness of night, surrounded by bleating sheep, and it feels impossible to imagine a choir of angels filling the empty sky.
The Advent invitation to joy is not an invitation to ignore our current circumstances. It is, instead, an invitation to see ourselves as part of a much grander story that God is telling. Joy calls us, even in the moments when the darkness feels deepest, to remember the victory already won on our behalf and the grandness of our promised happy ending. Joy makes us see our present moments differently, because we see them through the eyes of our past and future.
The light has come and conquered the darkness. One day, the light will finally make all things right. This story is our story, transforming our humble starlit darkness into a scene of unspeakable joy.
Some resources on the Atonement
Some thoughts on why we do things the way we do at RCB.
How do we walk when we feel attacked and alone?
Going through Lent, allowing God to tune our hearts to worship.
An invitation into knowing God's faithfulness through pain.
A review of Christianity and Critical Race Theory
On trying to follow Jesus in a consumerist culture.
Mario's reflections on Lent and privilege.
This is how I remember Lent as a kid: go to mass on Ash Wednesday (I have no memory of any sermon, lol), vow to give up something (that lasted as long as a New Year’s resolution), and eat Long John Silver’s fried fish on Fridays (their hushpuppies and crunchies…mmmm). We didn’t eat meat on Fridays (unless we forgot, but we prayed, so it was ok); it was something everyone in the church did, right? I knew it was leading up to Easter--other than that, I had no real understanding or connection to it. Lent was taught more like an obligation rather than an opportunity. An opportunity to reflect, rejoice, rest, repent (what other “r” words can we think of?) on Christ’s journey to the cross. The next 40 days is an opportunity, an invitation to draw closer to the Giver of Life. For some, this might look sacrificial (giving something up), for others it might be a genesis (starting something new), or it can be a combination of the two. “Your kingdom come, Your will be done, On earth, As it is in heaven” Our Lord doesn’t just teach us to pray, he embodies prayer. He inaugurates God’s kingdom on earth through his presence with us; through his faithful obedience, we get to see and experience heaven on earth. This does not come without temptation, and trials, and wandering astray at times—yet our loving God invites. He invites us to remember, to reengage with the One who creates and holds all things; He invites us to lay down our lives and pick up our crosses. We want to invite you to participate with RCB, as we journey with Christ to Calvary, praying for the strength to be obedient… Your kingdom come, Your will be done, On earth, As it is in heaven.
A book review of Peter Sung's excellent The Post-Church Church.