Joy’s Light in Mordor
If we’re honest, it’s easy to confuse the ‘Joy of the Lord with the ‘Holiday Spirit.’ One is a mood that often crashes by the end of December, while the other is, as Nehemiah described, a fortress. We often approach Advent carrying the weight of everyone's expectations, exhausting ourselves to manufacture a sense of wonder we sometimes might not feel. This kind of happiness can be fragile, easily shattered by a late package, a strained conversation, or the exhaustion from all of our todo lists. True Joy is not a feeling we have to work up within ourselves, it is a spiritual strength that comes directly from the Lord. It is an anchor that holds us steady, not because we are strong, but because He is. Joy doesn’t require us to fake a smile or deny our burdens. Instead it is that quiet, stubborn, assurance that carries us through the season, even when we feel we can't take another step.
Accessing this strength is realizing that joy doesn't begin with us, it begins with God. Zephaniah 3:17 paints the stunning picture of a God who "exults over you with loud singing." This Advent, while the world blasts carols in every store, the most important sound is the one we often miss: the Father singing over His children. Listening to this song is like the moment Samwise looked up from the desolate, dark land of Mordor and saw a single white star twinkling through the clouds. The beauty of it smote his heart, and he realized that "the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach." When we fix our eyes on that Star, we remember that the darkness of this world is passing, but our God’s delight is eternal.
We see this strength most clearly in Mary, whose joy was rooted in genuine vulnerability rather than safety. When the angel appeared, Mary did not ask for a guarantee of security or for anyone's approval; she just simply offered her "yes" to a path that would pierce her own soul. In our modern lives, we often build walls to protect ourselves from pain, believing that invulnerability is the key to happiness. Mary’s song, the Magnificat, teaches us that true joy only springs from an unguarded heart. She rejoiced not because her circumstances were easy, but because she allowed herself to be completely known and used by God. Her life reminds us that we do not need to be "put together" to partake in the joy of the Lord, we only need to be open.
This joy is not meant to be hoarded; it is meant to be shared. In the very same breath that Nehemiah declared joy to be our strength, he commanded the people to "send portions to those for whom nothing is prepared." When we open our hearts to the displaced, the homeless, the lonely, and the imprisoned, we are doing more than charity; we are echoing the Father's song in the darkest corners of our community. The miracle of the Incarnation is that God made His home among the displaced; therefore, we find Him most clearly when we serve the outcast. Let the strength and joy of our Lord overflow this season, turning your table into a place of welcome and your strength into a shelter for those who have none.
