"So they read distinctly from the book, in the Law of God; and they gave the sense, and helped them to understand the reading.
“And Nehemiah, who was the governor, Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who taught the people said to all the people, "This day is holy to the LORD your God; do not mourn nor weep." For all the people wept, when they heard the words of the Law.
“Then he said to them, ‘Go your way, eat the fat, drink the sweet, and send portions to those for whom nothing is prepared; for this day is holy to our Lord. Do not sorrow, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.’ "
“So the Levites quieted all the people, saying, ‘Be still, for the day is holy; do not be grieved.’
“And all the people went their way to eat and drink, to send portions and rejoice greatly, because they understood the words that were declared to them.”
~Nehemiah 8:8-12
When Dad was stationed at Luke AFB, one of our favorite chaplains was a Lutheran, Chaplain Hermanson. What I can tell you about him generally is that he really cared about our family and the larger chapel family as a whole. But what I still remember about him specifically, besides the long black robe and the white collar, is how he always included the children.
When I was a sophomore, Chaplain Hermanson asked the Youth Group to handle the whole service: everything from the ushering to the sermon. First, he asked some of the kids to be in a band. My hand shot up like a rocket, but he picked some others. Singers? Oooh! Ooh! Nope – others. I was sorely disappointed, but he said he was saving me for something else.
Finally he came to the “something else” and that’s when he asked me if I would do the sermon. I was a little dumbfounded because I was pretty young, and I figured an older boy would get the job. It may have been that others had already turned him down. Or maybe he saw something in me that I didn’t. But I didn’t have any crippling inhibitions, and he was pretty sure I wouldn’t freeze up behind the pulpit – even if it was a bit tall for me.
I was actually glad to help out in that capacity because there was a sermon I had always wanted to see preached. I had always believed strongly in the admonition to be joyful – the joy of the Lord is our strength. Though I doubt that my sermon was theologically thick, I know it was earnest. I don’t know how many people remembered it afterwards, or how many became more joyful in their day-to-day experience, but it was good for me to get it off my chest. The gist of it was that Christians should never be sourpusses. We have Good News in Jesus Christ!
Here’s a song from my Jesus People days, Rattle Me, Shake Me by Nancy Honeytree, that summarizes my ideas at the time. You really have to hear it! At the same time, Eric was involved in Indiana with the creation of a Christian coffeehouse called “Natural High.”
So, is the Joy of the Lord synonymous with Being Happy or some feeling of exhilaration that rivals being on drugs? Does this have anything to do with the Pursuit of Happiness in the Declaration of Independence? Is this a fundamental human right?
If we believe the Joy of the Lord is only about a constantly blissful earthly existence, at some point, we are bound to be disappointed because, as Westley says, in The Princess Bride, “Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something.” This goes for both the Christian and the non-Christian alike. We might even be disappointed about the national election that happened today, whether or not it is decided before we turn in for the night. I’ve felt that disappointment, and it’s not pretty.
About 50 years later, I can look back at Younger Me and call to mind several memorable times in my life where I have wept in agonized disappointment. I have taken an informal survey of my life and concluded that far more often than not, if I’m crying, it’s because I feel sorry for myself. Here are a few events that triggered my tears: (Brace yourself – some of these are real tear-jerkers!)
My little brother called me “Smat.”
I had to take PE in my junior and senior years in California, even though Arizona hadn’t required it.
I had to take four semesters of Social Studies in my senior year!
My boyfriend left me.
I had to move to Hawaii!
A customer chewed me out.
And there were a few that were a little more serious:
I dropped off my son at the Indianapolis airport, hoping and praying he wouldn’t get lost on his way to Nicaragua on a solo missions trip.
I lost a baby.
Some of these, of course, are more plausible as tear starters than others. I know what you’re thinking – why is she crying because she had to move to Hawaii??
But it’s true – I did. I’ve also cried if I felt unloved or alone. And I cried when my mother died – a lot.
Crying is part of the human condition. Once, we were studying eyes in our home school, and I asked one of our daughters to cry so the other could see where the tears emerged from the tear ducts.
“I can’t cry on demand!” she protested.
“Sure you can! Oh, and by the way, we won’t be able to see your friends this afternoon after all – we don’t have time to do that. We have to get home.”
“WHAT??”
“Okay, quick! Take a look at her eyes and see where the tears are coming out. Those are the tear ducts.”
“MOM!!!”
But no, the Christian life is not perpetual happiness. There are many instances of disappointment, shame, pain, anger, and sorrow that cause the emotions to rise and produce tears. But looking back … well, let’s look back together.
If my biological brother had not made my life so miserable, I would have been too comfortable with the idea of staying in California after high school graduation, and I would never have enlisted in the Air Force and met Eric.
If I had not been required to take PE in my California high school (and I literally cried in my counselor’s office), I would have been too fat and out of shape to be in the Air Force. And I would not have met Eric.
If I hadn’t taken all that Social Studies my senior year, I would not have met Joe in Anthropology, would not have been challenged in my faith, would not have my King James Bible, and I would never have set foot in an Assembly of God church or Calvary Chapel. And then, I would never have met Eric. Huh!
If Joe had not called it quits while I was in Basic Training, Eric could not have moved in to fill the void he left. But Eric comforted me in my sorrow and he became the best thing that ever happened to me – aside from salvation in Jesus, of course.
Okay, so truthfully, I didn’t want to move to Hawaii because we had formed a singing group with some friends called “Under the Son,” in Maryland. We didn’t know how we could afford to cut a record, but we had the dramatic album cover pictures and several songs. However, the orders came for Hickam AFB, Hawaii, and there was no getting out of it. No one could trade places with me because they had more rank than I had, and they didn’t have the top secret clearance I had.
In the end, we found a very nice church in Hawaii, where I directed my first children’s musical, the story of Elijah's face-off with the Prophets of Baal:
Eric and I have some very good memories of bobbing up and down on the ocean together and planning our future at a beautiful beach reserved for the military, Bellows Field Beach Park. And when Eric’s older brother Greg saw pictures of us soaking up sunbeams, he decided to join the Air Force too, only he retired as a Chief Master Sergeant.
When a customer chews me out, it makes me feel “beat up,” but it forces me to find out if there was something we did wrong. If we can fix that problem so that it doesn’t happen again, our business is better off.
When I dropped off my young son (Chris, 14) at the airport alone, I had done all I could do myself, instructing him in the way that he should go with pictures and quizzes, and making sure he had been paying attention. He had to change planes in Miami and meet the missionaries when he got to Managua, where there would be few signs in English. I was very worried that something terrible might happen to him.
It is very hard to let go of your children, and the tears that flowed so freely on the way home partially blinded me and almost made me miss my turn on the interstate. But this was how God was teaching me to trust Him. It was up to Him now. In the future, God would always be there for my son when I couldn’t be.
Here’s one of the murals Chris painted for the Christian school in Managua. Good things happened there, heightening Chris’s zeal for the Kingdom of God.
When my baby died just a few months after conception (about 12 weeks), I didn’t cry right away. I think I was too numb. After the miscarriage, when I had been through the painful labor at home, only to deliver a hand-sized, egg-shaped crimson mass, I had to be strong, because this baby’s older siblings were crying all around me.
The midwife had been suspecting something was wrong when she had been unable to hear a heartbeat at my last appointment, so she told me that the crimson egg was probably a “blighted ovum” and I could open it if I wanted to, or not open it, but if there was a baby inside, it would likely be deformed.
I decided not to look, and I left the egg intact and the contents undisturbed. I named the baby “Sami,” and our family solemnly buried him or her in a small box, under the pine tree next to the barn.
“And all the people went their way to eat and drink, to send portions and rejoice greatly, because they understood the words that were declared to them.”
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