Sorrowful Yet Always Rejoicing 3

As Christians, our response to some sort of hardship or suffering is a complex thing. Part of it is personality. Are you a pessimist or optimist? Depressive or resilient? Eeyore or Tigger? Surely part of it too rests on spiritual maturity and one's understanding of and relationship with God. There are variables in one's own personal history, supportive relationships, and simply one's own ability to move through difficult processes. But these different responses--each of which have some sort of Biblical support--can produce a sort of friction when together in the same community.

When a common hardship comes along, one wants to grieve. Another might look on and make judgment calls, thinking he has lost all hope, that his grief shows a lack of spiritual maturity. And the road goes both ways, because the second wants to point to the sovereignty of God and the lessons we're learning. Meanwhile the first looks on and makes judgment calls, thinking this inability to mourn is unhealthy and his optimism is a sign of a shallow relationship with God. There is a skepticism that the truth they're sharing is simply a repertoire of clichés that aren't actually profoundly believed and experienced.

So who's right?
"Cheer up."
"I can't."
"God is good."
"You're in denial."
"He's faithful."
"It's not that easy."
Back and forth we go.

The first answer that comes to mind goes something like this: Yes, we can all agree it's OK to grieve, mourn, lament, as long as you don't stay there. At some point you have to move past it, get through it, and recover some sort of joy.

Somewhere in there I agree, but it raises a big question. How long do we allow? How soon do we arrive at hope? Will one night of crying do it? Two weeks? A year? How much is enough? How long is too much? When is pointing another towards hope appropriate and when is it too soon? When is staying in grief healthy and when is it too long? And in certain cases, for the example the death of the child, is it truly possible to really fully get over it?

And this idea also poses a problem for us melancholics, as it seems to assume the default mode of the Christian is happy-go-lucky with permission to just be sad for a couple of days here and there. (I'm skewing things by oversimplifying and exaggerating: in my honest moments I do wonder if there is some truth there...)

So if this idea of movement and arrival isn't exactly right, what is? I'm wondering if Paul's powerful description of being an apostle gives us some clues.

In 2 Corinthians 6, he starts by outlining some of the hardship they're facing, and again, it's worse than a bad day at work:
...afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger...

But this list is actually given in the middle of a list of qualities that can be seen in them through the help of the Holy Spirit. Despite the hardship, they are experiencing this--living this out--as well:

...by great endurance, by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, genuine love; by truthful speech, and the power of God...

OK, so happiness didn't make the list, but they aren't sitting back and feeling sorry for themselves either. It gives us reason to believe that they were probably experiencing their fair share of grief and lament, but it wasn't debilitating or paralyzing.

And then he enters into a beautiful litany of descriptions using seemingly opposite conditions:
We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.

I find these words so powerful next to one another.

Imagine a different list. "We're unknown, dying, punished, sorrowful, poor, and we have nothing." It would be justified considering their experiences, but pretty bleak, lacking hope.

Or another list, still. "We're known, alive, always rejoicing, making many rich, possessing everything!" Sure, it contains the final message of the gospel, but in the face of all sorts of hardship, it makes most all of us no matter what our disposition say, "Yeah, right!"

But no, our list as Christians includes both: unknown, yet well known, dying, yet alive, having nothing, yet possessing everything.

The point is this: both are true at the same time and neither are right all alone. The sad camp needs to admit and acknowledge the truth that brings hope. The happy camp needs to admit the real difficulties we face in this world and the way they can make us feel. Both are held together in perfect tension. Both inform and help one another. Both are more complete representation of who we are in this life.

We're not just sorrowful. We're not just rejoicing.

We are sorrowful yet always rejoicing in this already but not yet kingdom.

We may not always get over it, but we will find ways to rejoice even in the midst of our sorrow.

But that's not easy when we're left to ourselves and our own reactions. It's just one more reason we need each other, one more reason to empathize and encourage, one more way to bear with each another in love.