A shepherd led his smallish flock down the side of a hill to a grassy valley. It was dusk, so he descended into shadows, but he knew the valley by heart. Low stone walls created several protected areas and folds for his animals. He stood between two gates in the wall, each leading into separate enclosures, and he called the flocks toward himself. As they approached, he turned the sheep through the gate on his right. The goats he nudged to the left. He counted them—carefully watching for signs of disease or any injury one might have received during the day’s pasturage.
The shepherd was a young man, thoughtful, with thin lips that compressed with his thinking. He wore leather sandals and a camel’s hair cloak. There were two leather bags attached to his belt, one bulky, one stoppered for water. When he had finished his count, he closed the rough wooden gates and sat down with his back against the right one. He drew from the larger bag some bread and cheese and began to eat. He allowed his eyes to rise to the stars, bright glittering sands on the shores of heaven. Absently, he lifted his right hand and blotted out ten thousand stars.
“Simon!”
He brought the hand down again and turned. Two other shepherds with two more flocks came over the ridge of the western hill. These flocks were much larger, pale in the starlight, a hundred white shadows floating down the dark slope toward him.
“Simon, are you there? Have you gathered brush yet? Where is the fire?
Why haven’t you made a fire for us? It’s going to be cold tonight.”
I think about that…and about what he might use—flint and steel to spark a nest of dead dry grass?
What might we use? A lighter? A Duraflame cheater log? A torch with MAP gas?
Maybe good old matches? You know the kind where…
The little box rattles like snakes. The lid slides open and the wooden slivers come all unstacked as your fingers fish out a new, fresh match. You strike the coarse side of the box—the side that feels like sandpaper or braille—or somehow both. The red phosphorus turns to white and triggers a reaction between sulfur and oxygen. The slivers of wood dipped in paraffin combust. It burns. Sucking up oxygen, a starving flame consuming wooden fibers. The darkened room is illuminated in a hot orange glow.
And yet…time is running out. The flame dances violently almost—a short burst of life struggling to survive. And so, before your fingers are burned or the match goes out…you place the dwindling matchstick to a candle’s wick. The braided cotton wick catches, and the flame rises. It steadies and calms. The wax melts, vaporizes, and adds carbon dioxide to the air to sustain a continual glow. Over time, the candle diminishes, yet the heat and light increase—as the flame inhales, consumes, metabolizes oxygen.
All beginning from a bit of friction, a reaction, and combustion—to glow, to shine, to provide light.
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Here and now, at the intersection of all that has gone before and all that is yet to come—I want you to know—there is something for which you were made.
It is the thing that seems to make you forget yourself even as you become more and more alive in it. Something rises up in you, and you get an inkling that maybe, just maybe, this is why you were born.
It is the oxygen that makes it possible for you to keep going.
It is joy. You are fortified by it. Joy. Joy is the oxygen.
And you were made to inhale, consume, metabolize joy.
According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary…to “metabolize”—is for your body to process various substances—for example: when your body takes in tacos, beans, and rice and all the calories with ‘em—it metabolizes them, putting them to good use.
And this chemical change produces energy for vital processes and activities.
I consume carne asada; my body metabolizes it and produces energy for me to do this…
I consume beans and rice; my body metabolizes it and produces energy for me to do that…
But what more vital activity is there—than to do what you were made to do? It’s why you are alive.
In the life of following Jesus, we learn to metabolize joy in order to make it through hard things:
Christmas shopping, the Trader Joe’s parking lot, Thanksgiving dinner, divorce, grief/loss/death/dying, anxiety, chronic pain.
For things when we can’t breathe…we learn to breathe in joy like the oxygen in the air—to make it through hard things.
“Joy is the oxygen for doing hard things.”
It’s a kind of process, I guess, where hard things become not only possible but sustainable when you find opportunities for joy. Because of joy.
Nehemiah (who I believed for years was the shortest guy in the Bible—because some fellow junior higher told me that at camp)…
Knee-high-miah speaks to people who found their lives turned upside down, their homeland turned to rubble
and as they rebuild and face extreme opposition—he says to them:
“Don’t be dejected and sad, for the joy of the Lord is your strength!” (Nehemiah 8:10b).
But how does that work?
First of all…What is joy? And then…What is the “joy of the Lord”?
And how does it become “strength”—producing energy for vital processes and activities?
And then how do we inhale, consume, metabolize this joy?
That’s what we’re here to discover in this LIFE TOGETHER…
Not so that we’re a single matchstick aflame (we burn for a minute and then we’re extinguished forever)—but so that we’re an entire matchbook set to light more than a single candle—more like a fire that burns and shines for all to see—not merely us, but Jesus. Alive in us. Together.
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My wife, Tara, had an idea for a community (not a church, but a community) where we would gather around food and music and learning together—that there would be love and honor and respect—a place for the churched, unchurched, de-churched—and that we could somehow figure out how to do LIFE TOGETHER.
Much easier said than done.
Especially in a world polarized by every latest current event.
Especially in a western church dominated by a toxic brand of Christian individualism.
Where somehow, following Jesus is limited to the experience of your own personal salvation…
…or, your own individual forgiveness,
…or your own solitary grace and mercy and nothing more than “your own ticket to heaven.”
It becomes individualistic and hyper-personalized—with little to no regard for others or community.
It’s not a fire burning—it’s flimsy hotel matches torn from their cardboard packaging—trying to be the light of the world—alone.
But Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and theologian who wrote a tiny book in 1939 called—Life Together—he shares how Christianity is only understood in its relation to community.
And so, if by doing LIFE TOGETHER we could help the churches and people of our area to move from an idea of “going to church” to “being the church” together…to impact our world—
If we can help the local and global church to make disciples who make disciples by the power of the Holy Spirit—that’s what we want to do with this community we’re calling LIFE TOGETHER.
We want…
To experience what it means to live with Jesus today.
To learn to replace a culture of individual striving with the practice of communal support.
To pursue deeper relationships with God and others.
To value Scripture, Tradition, Reason, and Experience.
[and most of all…] To truly live like God is real and always near.
So, God…lead us in the paths of life together. We experience absolute joy in your presence, for you always give us sheer delight. Amen.
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Tonight, as we begin a study series: JOY IS THE OXYGEN—where we’re learning how to wait in joy—practice joy—and have joy in the bleak “realities”—we’re going to begin with —how to metabolize joy (how to be filled with joy).
But first, let’s start with some discussion:
What gives you joy?
What part of you is more alive because of it?
How does joy sustain you in doing hard things?
Maybe it’s: Spending time with your kids or getting in a rigorous exercise. Painting a mural or grabbing a latte or a pint with an old friend. Maybe it’s building a chicken coop or baking sourdough bread.
I read somewhere that there’s a difference between joy and happiness. I guess happiness is temporary, and joy is what stays even during the ups and downs. Or it’s that joy is not defined by circumstances.
On page one of the Bible, God says that this world is tov meod “very good.” And so naturally (in the biblical story), people find joy in the beautiful and good things of life—like growing flocks of sheep or an abundant harvest on the hills. The poet of Psalm 104 says a good bottle of wine is God’s gift “to bring joy to people’s hearts.” People find joy at a wedding or in their children. There’s even a Hebrew proverb that compares the joy that perfume brings to your nose with the joy a good friend brings to your heart (and I don’t even think it’s Chanel or Estée Lauder).
But human history isn’t just a joyfest. The biblical story shows how we live in a world that’s been corrupted by our own selfishness. It’s marked by death and loss, and this is where biblical faith offers a unique perspective on joy. Joy is an attitude that God’s people adopt/inhale/consume/metabolize—not because of happy circumstances but because of their hope in God’s love and promise.
I think I’m joyful. I really do. Sometimes, at least.
Maybe I’m not the world’s biggest optimist—I’m a realist—which I guess is just a pessimist on a good day.
But the good thing about it is that there’s a whole section in the Bible 150 chapters for the optimists, pessimists, and realists: The Psalms. The book of Psalms contains 150 psalms spanning the 15th to the 3rd century BC—“What are psalms?” They’re songs, poems, and prayers offered to God. Psalms are expressions of praise, faith, sorrow, and frustration—they range the whole span of human emotions. But the Psalms are all unified by this—they’re centered upon the one and only living God. This Creator God who is King of all the earth and a refuge to all who trust in him. The Psalms teach us that profound change always happens in the presence of God. And that people who pray are a people living in hope.
So, as we try to figure out how to metabolize joy (how to be filled with joy), let’s turn to Psalm 16
Psalm 16:1 Keep me safe, O God, for I have come to you for refuge.
So, immediately, we know—something’s up.
Some danger lurks, some life-threatening occasion is on the rise—
and in the middle of it all, the psalmist has come to God for refuge/shelter/protection—believing that God will do something about it.
There is this confidence right in the midst of fear and threat.
Clearly, the psalmist has an intimate relationship with God and so they plead with God for protection:
I’ve run to you for dear life, God…and…
v.2 I said to the Lord, “You are my Master! Every good thing I have comes from you.”
And maybe just stop right there. Look over your life—take an honest inventory—not just of the stuff piling up in the garage or the type of car you drive.
But—Every. Good. Thing.
If you’re able to tuck in a healthy, peacefully sleeping child into a warm bed in a safe home—you’ve won the lottery of life.
If you live on more than $6.85 per day, you’re far richer than half the global population.
If your family income is $10K (a year), you are wealthier than 84% of our world.
If it’s $50K or more a year, you make more than 99% of the world—so maybe it’s time to come to terms with contentment.
I bet joy has more to do with contentment than wealth, fame, fortune, power, or control.
It’s whatever stays during the ups and downs, something not defined by circumstances or stock markets.
It’s rooted in this hope in God’s love and promise.
vv.3-4 The godly people in the land are my true heroes! I take pleasure in them! (and what a reason for joy—however…) 4 Troubles multiply for those who chase after other gods. (Baal, Amun Ra, Nabu, Tiamat, Marduk, Zeus, Aphrodite—Apple, Samsung, Tesla, Google, Amazon) I will not take part in their sacrifices of blood or even speak the names of their gods.
Let’s discuss this in groups—
What role does money have in filling you with joy?
What are you spending your life on?
What are you spending your life on—according to your bank account/Zelle/CashApp/Venmo?
How is this producing joy?
v.5a Lord, you alone are my inheritance, my cup of blessing.
Easy to breeze over that—What is an inheritance?
It’s what you receive from someone [usually after they die].
In the ancient world, what was an inheritance? What did it allow you to do? Survive, thrive, continue whatever you’re doing to maintain security and prosperity.
But the psalmist says, Lord, you alone are that—Lord, you alone are my inheritance—it highlights that God [alone] is the source of the psalmist’s security and prosperity.
vv.5b-8 You guard all that is mine. (and after all, isn’t anything of “mine” actually yours, God? To begin with and always?) 6 The land you have given me is a pleasant land. What a wonderful inheritance! (And in response…the action the psalmist takes is active…) 7 I will bless (i.e., “to proclaim as worthy of praise” with my lips and life—the Hebrew word barak essentially means “to kneel”—like before a master or king) the Lord who guides me; even at night my heart instructs me. 8 I know the Lord is always with me. I will not be shaken, for he is right beside me.
I love that—just look at the actions:
I will bless the Lord (vocal/auditory/social and physical)
I know the Lord is always with me (cognitive/reason/faith/trust/intellect)…so therefore:
I will not be shaken—(that involves attitude/outlook/perspective/emotions)—all because—he is right beside me.
I wonder if this might help us in figuring out how to metabolize joy (how to be filled with joy).
Maybe it’s blessing, knowing, and not being shaken—simply learning to believe and live like God is real and always near.
In 1939, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was in the United States for a brief time.
His friends here in the US urged him to remain—to use his gifts as a scholar and teacher in the service of the church in America. But he refused and boarded one of the last ships to return to a Germany led by a maniac. From then on, his life was devoted to the Confessing Church (a community resistant to Hitler’s influence and [under the penalty of death] speaking out against Hitler).
Bonhoeffer was prohibited from teaching, writing, or remaining in Berlin—so, he moved about the country, preaching and speaking to underground communities.
Then, on April 5, 1943, Bonhoeffer was arrested and incarcerated in Tegel, a military prison—where he remained until October 8, 1944.
During this time, the guards were surprisingly friendly to this pastor.
They secretly took him to the cells of despairing prisoners to minister to them.
They also preserved his papers, essays, and poems—and even established a complete courier service to his family and friends outside.
Bonhoeffer’s ties to the 1944 conspiracy to overthrow the Nazi regime and assassinate Hitler led to his being transferred from one prison to another—the Gestapo prisons in Berlin, Buchenwald, Schonberg, and finally Flossenburg—where all contact with the outside world was severed.
Bonhoeffer’s last weeks were spent with men and women of many nationalities—Russians, English, French, Italians, and Germans.
One of these, an English officer, wrote:
“Bonhoeffer always seemed to me to spread an atmosphere of happiness and joy over the least incident and profound gratitude for the mere fact that he was alive. He was one of the very few persons I have ever met for whom God was real and always near. On Sunday, April 8, 1945, Pastor Bonhoeffer conducted a little service of worship and spoke to us in a way that went to the heart of all of us. He found just the right words to express the spirit of our imprisonment, the thoughts and the resolutions it had brought us. He had hardly ended his last prayer when the door opened and two civilians entered. They said, ‘Prisoner Bonhoeffer, come with us.’ That had only one meaning for all prisoners—the gallows. We said goodbye to him. He took me aside and said: ‘This is the end, but for me it is the beginning of life.’”
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I wonder if this might help us in figuring out how to metabolize joy (how to be filled with joy).
Maybe it’s blessing, knowing, and not being shaken—simply learning to believe and live like God is real and always near.
Maybe that’s the process of breathing in joy (like oxygen) to face all the hard things?
And in this metabolic process, we discover that—
—our character grows and we are guided,
—we gain understanding and we become sensitive to God’s nearness and presence,
—we learn to trust in God’s protection and most of all,—we know full well that we are loved.
vv.9-11 No wonder my heart is glad, and I rejoice. My body rests in safety.
10 For you will not leave my soul among the dead or allow your holy one to rot in the grave.
11 You will show me (or you could translate that “You will lead me in” or “cause me to know” or “cause me to experience”) the way of life, granting me the joy of your presence and the pleasures of living with you forever.
The ending verses here declare trust in the God who delivers.
The psalmist hopes and trusts that God will preserve their life from Sheol or the Pit, the realm of the dead, the underworld characterized by separation from the life-giving God and from the worshipping community.
This trust and hope is occasion for joy.
Joy is an attitude that God’s people adopt/inhale/consume/metabolize—not because of happy circumstances but because of their hope in God’s love and promise.
So, how do we metabolize it?
How do we metabolize joy? How are we filled with joy to face all the hard things?
We metabolize joy by metabolizing God—as Knee-high-miah put it—
—the joy of the Lord is your strength!
The joy of the Lord—is God himself. God in us, with us, right beside us, behind us, before us.
The joy of the Lord—is God himself and all the goodness that good can bring—Every. Good. Thing.
We metabolize joy by metabolizing God—not for the sake of using God as a means to an end, but by living in the full awareness that we are in relation (a deeply spiritual/physical/emotional/psychological relation) to the God who made us. On purpose. For purpose.
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By midnight, the fire of the three shepherds had collapsed into sparks and red embers.
Simon and the two others who joined their flocks and shared the long night watch—had also fallen into silence.
One sent soft snores toward heaven—a tough old man, his leathered face content.
One sat wakeful upon the stone wall, slapping it sometimes with the flat of his rod to ward off predators.
Simon had gone to lie among the sheep for warmth, but he wasn’t sleeping.
He was gazing upward and enjoying the periodic huffings and sighs of the larger sheep.
All at once, the stars began to explode.
Simon leaped to his feet.
The sheep stumbled up, bleating and running back to the stone walls.
The stars—in tens, and then tens of thousands—were flashing like white fires in the black sky!
They began to move.
Like burning bees, like a great whirling swarm, the stars crossed heaven from the east to the west.
Simon stood immobilized. Even the sheep were fixed in fear.
Between the glorious motion of heaven and the dark earth below, there now appeared a single, endless pillar of pure white fire.
And the fire spoke, and Simon understood what it said.
The fire cried, “Don’t be afraid!”
No, not the fire—but a figure with in the fire!
The brilliant form of a human, smooth and huge and very beautiful, his feet upon the mountains.
An angel of the Lord!
The angel said, “I bring good news of great joy which shall come to all the people. For to you is born this night in the city of David a Savior who is Christ the Lord! And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger—”
Suddenly, that swarm of the fiery heavenly host swooped down and filled the lower skies, praising God and singing: Glory to God in the highest! And on earth, peace to the people with whom he is pleased!
How long the enormous chorus lasted, Simon did not know. The air itself was the music of these angels. The oxygen.
When they withdrew again to heaven, and the night was dark, Simon thought he could hear nothing but what he had heard, Gloria, still ringing in his ears, and he thought he was blinded to the common things around him—stone and sheep, his companions—his own hands.
But the older man that had been snoring whispered,
“Simon?”—and Simon heard that very well.
“Simon,” said the old shepherd, “did you see that, too?”
Simon gazed sincerely at his friend and nodded.
The third shepherd joined them.
The old man gaped at them and whispered,
“And did you hear what the angel said to us?”
Simon nodded.
“It was the Lord,” the old man said. “It was the Lord who made these things known to us.”
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I bring good news of great joy which shall come to all the people.
So, breathe in. And breathe out. We are here. Here to breathe it all in.
Joy. The oxygen for doing all that awaits.
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