THE JOY OF JESUS

"Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead

Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,

And the pale weaver, through his windows seen

In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited.

 

! met a preacher there I knew, and said:

‘I'll and o’erworked, how fare you in this scene?'

'Bravely,’ said he, ‘ for I of late have been

Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.’

 

O human soul! As long as thou canst so

Set up a mark of everlasting light,

Above the howling senses’ ebb and flow

To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam,

Not with lost toil, thou labourest through the night,

Thou mak’st the heaven thou hop’st indeed thy home."

                                                               Matthew Arnold.

"These things have I spoken unto you, that My joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full." — St. John xv. 11.

Jesus is the Man of Sorrows; the title is for ever His, like His Crown of Thorns. It expresses Him truly as the One who has borne the whole immense burden of sinning, suffering humanity. But it does not fully, nor even fundamentally, express Him. Instinctively we would shrink from describing Jesus as an unhappy person, as one who at any moment, or in any circumstance, existed miserably. Instinctively we feel that the ground-tone of His life, latent in its harshest discords, is joy. And as we think of what His mission was, of what He purposed and claimed to effect, we see that it could not be otherwise. No pessimist could be a saviour. "Such as we have give we unto thee." Unhappiness can never beget happiness, nor sickness health. Only he can "strengthen the wavering line," in whom joy is a force infectious and conquering, ringing in his voice, gleaming in his eyes. So was it that Jesus came. He came with glad tidings, came as the Divine Physician into the world’s vast hospital. His words are beatitudes. He lifts up His hands in benediction. The blessings of the Divine Kingdom He was bringing to men He could compare to nothing so much as to the festive joys of marriage (St. Mark ii. 19). Himself and His disciples were like a wedding-party. He was the bridegroom whose joy overflows into the hearts of his friends, and turns fasting into feasting. Even at the last, on the verge of Gethsemane and in sight of Calvary, He speaks not of His sorrows, but still of His joy. He is the Lord of joy, and His crowning desire for His servants is that they may enter into the joy of their Lord and have it fulfilled in them.

Yet Jesus is the Man of Sorrows; and it is because He is the Man of Sorrows that His joy is so precious a legacy, so strong an anchor to our souls. He is no "sky-blue" optimist. This Man of Joy has dwelt in the heart of blackest night. He has seen hell, here on earth, in men’s hearts, flaming in their eyes, triumphing in their deeds. Yet His joy is unconquered. No one has ever sounded the depths of reality, has ever penetrated to the ultimate core of life, as Jesus did; and what He finds there is not an abyss of evil, but an infinite of good. I desire then to speak of the joy of Jesus — of His joy rather than of His joys. There are joys which are transfigured sorrows, like the rainbow, which shines in the very substance of the lowering cloud. But the rainbow is the child of the sun. And I want to speak of that unfailing cause of joy which for Jesus transcended all causes of sorrow, which made the sunshine of His life, and which alone can make the sunshine of ours.

1. The Joy of Trust.

Now all deep, lasting joy must be rooted in faith, in our conviction regarding reality — the eternal reality that lies within and beyond the outward show that passes before our eyes moment by moment. What does life mean? What lies at the heart of it? Stevenson used to say in his half-humorous way that he had a tremendous belief in the "ultimate decency of things." And a biographer, speaking of the gaiety of John Wesley, says that it was such as could be seen only in one "who felt his religion to rest upon the whole nature of things, and who was at rest in his religion." And of this joyous faith, this firm confidence in an ultimate rightness and goodness in the whole nature of things, Jesus Christ is for ever the Author and Perfecter. In better words, He had absolute, invincible faith in God; and this was the root of His joy. "This is life eternal," He said, "to know Thee, the only true God." We seldom realize, and never adequately, what a stupendous thing it is just to believe in God, in a God who is really God, whose presence, thought, and power permeate all existence, whose eternal purpose disposes all events, overrules all wills, shapes all destinies. Such belief, if sincere and vital, must colour all life. God must be its strength and joy, or its terror and despair. And Jesus Christ believed in such a God as no other has believed. To no other has God been a reality at once so universal and so immediately near. He believed in God, not occasionally as we do, but all the time; not in the last resort, but as the first and last and supreme factor in every situation; not in the hours of crisis alone, on the mountain-top, but on the homely plain, in the daily, hourly process of events. God was the light in which He saw, the atmosphere He breathed.

And to Jesus this was joy, perfect and ineffable; because God was to Him not only the Supreme Potentate — the Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent; He was all this, but He was the Father, who is Love and has bound Himself to us in our weakness, our ignorance, and even in our sinfulness, by ties that cannot be broken; who, because He is what He is, must care, must provide, must pardon, guide, deliver from evil, and carry us safely to the goal of eternal life. To conceive the joy of Jesus, we should have to know the Father as Jesus knew Him, to feel the emotion with which He lifted up His eyes to heaven and said "Father," to have His entrancing vision of the Father’s infinite goodness, His adoring vision of His glory, His glowing trust in His work of redeeming love, that responsiveness to all the Father is and wills of which all we can say is that it is to God what perfect sonship is to perfect fatherhood. That joy is reflected in the Gospels exactly as it must have been ordinarily present in His life. He does not pause in His work to speak of His joy. It does not so much appear in bursts of sudden splendour as it is the light that shines in the face of common day and colours all the landscape. Yet what it must have been to hear Jesus say, "Have faith in God," to see His face glow with an inner joy, and to hear the ring of gladness in His voice, when He spoke of doing the Father’s will and finishing His work! Joy in the absolute, all-embracing goodness, wisdom, and sovereign power of the Father, joy in imparting this joy to others — this was the joy of Jesus.

And it cannot be gainsaid that such trust in God is the only basis for joy that can sustain the burden of rational, thinking men. We are dependent beings. Our life is brief, and against the force of circumstances comparatively powerless — in the end wholly so. Only this pin-point of a present on which we stand is ours. To-morrow we cannot see; we know only that every to-morrow is a step nearer to the end of all things of which we seem to be a part. There is a Power, conceive it as we may, which holds us in the hollow of its hand, by which we are carried along "like flakes of foam upon a swollen river." Can we trust that Power, or can we not? Get to the centre of things, and there is no question to ask and to answer, if we can, but this — Can we trust, joyfully trust, that Power? And when men to-day urge strong and plausible reasons why we cannot, and tell us that the world of facts is soulless and conscienceless, a world of blind, relentless forces bearing no trace of Divine origin or purpose; and when we can see for ourselves so much that seems to bear this out, when we face the inexplicable inequalities of life, the long misery and degradation of the world, the gaping wounds of nature and humanity, let us remember that Jesus Christ saw all we see, and more; that for none has this world ever worn so godless a look as for Him who died by the unparalleled iniquity of the Cross, with the hideous taunt in His ears, "He trusted in God that He would deliver Him." He knew the absolute worst, and for a moment even He was almost overwhelmed. The world, with all its mustered forces of evil, was on one side; the solitary faith of the crucified Man on the other; but in that decisive conflict Faith won the day. It was decisive. Though the fight goes on still and will never cease while the world stands, the battle has been won. Jesus calls men, and not in vain, to repeat His victory.

To this He calls not alone by His example, but by the revelation of God which He has brought, or, to speak more truly, which He is. You and I are not Jesus Christ. There is a sense in which we cannot have His faith, His vision of God. His original, direct, sure gaze into the heart of the Divine Fatherhood. But He not only tells us what He has seen there, — nay, He could not do that; the vision was not given in words and cannot be communicated in words, — He holds Himself up as the living mirror in which we too may gaze upon it. "He that hath seen Me hath seen the Father." The character of Jesus is the character of Almighty God, the holiness of Jesus the holiness of God, the wrath of Jesus the wrath of God, the compassion of Jesus the compassion of God, the Cross of Jesus the revelation of the sorrow and self-sacrificing love with which the sin of man fills the heart of the Eternal.

This is the Christian faith. And is it not a joyous faith? Is it not joy deeper than all sorrow to know that He who holds the helm of my life, who holds the helm of the great universe, is One whose character is the character of Jesus? This includes everything. Such a God claims from us absolute trust. We cannot trust Him at one point and not trust Him at every other point. We cannot trust Him for ourselves and not for every other being; for to-morrow and not for all eternity. Jesus is the Image of the Invisible God, the Son of His Love. God is what Jesus is. That excludes all fear that ultimate victory can anywhere rest with evil, forbids all acquiescence in imperfection, assures us that every purpose of righteousness and love shall reach its goal. If this faith is ours, our religion is a religion that rests upon the whole nature of things, one in which we can rest; and it ought to fill our lives with joy, much more than it does. Though clouds and darkness may trouble the circumference of life, at the centre is that Eternal Light the radiance of which beheld is joy and strength.

2. The Joy of Obedience.

In bringing to men a new conception of God, Jesus revealed also a new obedience, new not in its perfection only, but a new type, free, reasonable, spiritual, springing from community of spirit and purpose, responding to the will of God as a son’s to a father’s; and therefore joyful.

Obedience is not in itself a joy. It is not to the drudge, to the slave under the taskmaster’s whip. It was not in the hard, legalized Judaism of our Lord’s time. The Pharisees were scrupulous in their obedience; it might even be said that their delight was in the Law of the Lord. But to them the Law did not represent a really moral ideal to be embraced with all one’s heart and soul and strength; it was not the expression of the character and will of God as intrinsically loving and righteous. God was very much a supreme dictator issuing arbitrary decrees to test the obedience of His subjects; His Law a statutory requirement, the chief use of which was to enable men to pile up merit in the eyes of the Divine Potentate. One of the deep joys of Jesus was to be Himself free, and to emancipate others, from this merely external, mechanical, servile relation to the Will of God. He toiled at the Father’s work as no Pharisee of the Pharisees ever did. But the idea of merit has no place in the spirit of Jesus; it belongs to a quite other plane. He obeys because He loves the things the Father loves, and hates those the Father hates, and wills all the Father wills, as most holy, wise, and good; and unites Himself in spirit and truth with the Father’s purpose. This, Jesus Himself declares, was His joy. Daily, hourly, to respond to every intimation of the Father’s will, to take up and finish another portion of the Father’s work, to make Himself the channel of the Father’s pitying, patient, mighty love to men — this was in life and death His ruling passion, His "meat" that so satisfied and regaled His whole nature as to make Him forget weariness, hunger, and thirst. For this He went to the wilderness, to the crowded city, to the cross and the grave.

It is true that this is a joy which is won only through the birth-pangs of pain. There must be a saying "no" to self, that we may say "yes" to God. And it was so for our Lord Himself. He was tempted in all points like as we are — tempted, really tempted, to take the short way and the easy way rather than God’s long and toilsome way. Once at least, as we read, there was a "but" between His will and the Father’s; once it was not "Thy will and Mine," it was "Not My will, but Thine be done." And that "but" was crimsoned with the blood of Christ’s soul. It marks the uttermost triumph over self, the point beyond which self-surrender absolutely cannot go — only so could He exhaust the possibilities of obedience, and His victory become potential victory for every man. Yet even here, not to mark the prevalence of joy would be to misconceive entirely the spirit of Jesus. Could we have heard that "Thy will be done," we should have heard no groan of reluctant submission, no sob of acquiescence wrung from an exhausted will; no, nor any robustious shout of triumph. It was the low yet glad and loving "yes" which in that last struggle Jesus whispered into the Father’s ear, not the nay-saying but the final yea-saying of life, its attainment to the supreme joy in self- surrender to the Divine purpose of life through death.

All the masters of the spiritual life declare with one consent that only in such union with the Will of God is the perfect joy. My revered teacher, Principal Cairns, from his death-bed sent the message to his students: "Tell them that the chief thing is to forget self utterly in the service of the great cause." The secret of life, says another, is "freedom from pride, prejudice, and self; absolute simplicity of truth; resignation to the order of the world and to the Divine Will, and not resignation only, but active co-operation with them, according to our means and strength, in bringing good out of evil and truth out of falsehood. He whose mind is absorbed in these thoughts has already found life eternal. He may be a cripple or blind or deaf. His home may be a straw-built hovel; but he has learned to see and hear with another sense, and is already living in the house not made with hands." Herein lies the true joy of life. Without this a man may be various things. He may be a drudge, a hewer of wood and drawer of water, an animated tool to be thrown on the scrap-heap when it is broken or blunted. He may be an egotist, who sets himself on a pedestal and wonders why men do not see his greatness: "a selfish, feverish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world does not devote itself to making him happy." But the only way to joy is to rise above self; and the only real way to rise above self is by getting to God, uniting ourselves to the Infinite Good, for which we are made. This is the joy of Jesus; and it is a joy — the one joy — we may all possess. It is a joy which may shine for us in the humblest details of daily duty. You can unite yourself with the Infinite, live the Eternal Life, by doing the most transient task in the spirit of Christ. At one time I knew an old labourer, a member of my congregation, whose task, year in year out, was to trundle a wheelbarrow. After his death, some of his fellow-workmen told that when at his work he had a habit of talking to himself; and when they listened they would sometimes hear this — "The chief end of man is to glorify God, and to enjoy him for ever." Was it not sublime? — a man thinking of the chief end of man and the glory of God between the shafts of a wheelbarrow. He found the Infinite, found Life Eternal, in his poor daily employment. So may you. Yet none of us is limited to "the trivial round, the common task." We have all a larger part to take in the building up of the Kingdom of God. We are solicited and called in many directions to lay our lives alongside of God’s great work in this world, in the work of the Church, in its missionary enterprises at home and abroad, in all that makes for social, civic, political, and industrial progress. We have to create a community without slums for the poor and unnecessary perils for the weak, without conditions that make virtue gratuitously difficult, vice easy and certain; a community of truth and holiness and love, a city of God. We have to labour on to bring in the "Christ that is to be." And this is joy — the service of duty in the spirit of love, the service of God and of man in the spirit of Jesus. This is life, this alone satisfies. And of this we may have as much as we please; it is the only thing of which we may have as much as we please. Be sure that if we are not getting what we want out of life, it is because we do not want the best. The best is unlimited. "These words have I spoken unto you, that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be filled full."

3. The Joy of Hope.

The third and completing element in the joy of Jesus was that of Hope. As to Jesus God was that present reality which embraces and transcends all else, and the will of God the Infinite Good, so the one glorious vision the future held for Him was the Kingdom of God. Already He beheld Satan hurled from his throne. God would arise; righteousness, peace, and joy would triumph. He foresaw all difficulties, discounted all disappointments; but, despite all obstacles, God’s fatherly rule would find its way into men’s hearts. Not even in the darkest hour of His and the world’s history, when injustice, hypocrisy, and hate were at the height of their power, did He doubt that "clouds would break," or fear that though "right were worsted, wrong would triumph." He Himself was the seed of the Kingdom, that must fall into the ground and die. His life was the price of victory, the ransom for many. For this joy set before Him, He endured the Cross.

And this joy of hope should fill our lives too. We cannot hope too greatly if our hope is based upon God, upon God’s character and purpose. Nothing can be too good to be true; the only possibility is that what we think good, and very good, may not be good enough for God. We cannot take too bright a view of the future, our own future, our country’s future, the Church’s and the world’s future, if in the centre of that view we set Jesus Christ, crucified, risen, and enthroned.

Such was the joy of our Master. It may be ours in ever-growing measure; and it will, if we have but the courage to venture ourselves upon His God and our God, to surrender ourselves loyally to live for God’s ends, and still to trust in Him when we cannot see, and hope in Him when all seems doubtful. Lift up your hearts. Go into the New Year1 without fear. Go not seeking joy, but with a fresh resolve to live for the highest; and the joy of Jesus will be more and more fulfilled in you. For joy is given never to them that seek joy, but always to them that seek first the Kingdom of God.

1 This discourse was delivered on the first Sunday of the year.