“Jesus, the Son of God, is the man of sorrows, but also the man of complete joy.” (Henri Nouwen, "The Return of the Prodigal)
Just this morning my wife asked me, "How did you sleep?" I'm supposed to answer, good or bad. If I woke up for an hour, then it was bad even though I may have slept a solid six hours before I woke up.
We often feel that way about joy and sorrow. We're like the kid in the ice cream shop faced with vanilla or chocolate, orange or grape sherbet. You can have one but not both.
We have good days and bad days. We say, "When will life be normal? Can't I have just one fun day with no problems?"
I find myself feeling that way during sabbath. I'm not religious about it, but I practice a discipline of ceasing from normal work one 24-hour period every week. I have an agenda in my head to do all the things that fill my tank: reading, piddling in the garage, gardening, a nap, even splitting wood.
But sometimes, emergencies happen. My loose "agenda" for fun and rest changes abruptly. And I can get frustrated, even to the point of anger. "Well, there goes my sabbath."
In "The Return of the Prodigal," Henri Nouwen writes how all the sorrow in the world doesn't cancel God's joy. God sees it all: rape, war, child abuse, murder and grief. At the same time, He hears a child's laughter, a choir singing, and a prodigal's prayer. And yet, for Him, one doesn't cancel the other. Jesus, the image of the invisible God, was a man of sorrows and a God of unspeakable joy. He is the widow who finds her one lost coin, the shepherd who finds his one lost sheep and the Father who runs to meet his wayward son. And there is joy in heaven over the one, He says. (see Luke 15)
For us, sadness cancels happiness. Bad news cancels good news. Happy times are here or they're gone. Suffering cancels joy.
For the last many years, we have held a Good Friday service. We reflect on the cross, and His suffering. We often have sensory stations where you can smell the sour wine, feel the nails, see a crown of thorns. The lighting is low. The songs are more reflective and provoking. We still call it "Good Friday." But the joy is tinged with sorrow and the goodness is bittersweet.
For many of us, it makes Resurrection Day, even more glorious.
It reminds me that suffering cannot cancel joy. Sadness cannot snuff out the flicker of happiness. An emergency can't ruin a sabbath. The sound of tanks rolling into Ukraine can't drown out the singing of heaven. A funeral dirge can't eliminate the feeling of sunshine on your face. A cloudy day can't ruin the wonder of a field of red tulips.
The suffering of this temporary world can't cancel true joy.
