50 Days of Joy: An Invitation

Preparing to Embrace Eastertide Beyond Easter Sunday

We are people of resurrection.

May we never forget: this is not a tame worldview. It defies what we might consider to be “normal.” Because in God’s economy dead stuff comes back to life. After three days in the tomb: Jesus took a breath, then another, and forevermore. Christ is risen! Hallelujah! Death was tidily defeated—which is why Jesus neatly folded his burial linens. Then the mischievous laugh of Easter was unleashed forever. We are not living in a tragedy but a comedy: the good news of great joy.

The Season of Eastertide

The church calendar trains us to celebrate the resurrection from Easter Sunday through Pentecost. The emotional heartbeat and language of this season is joy—death-defying joy. Over the past eight years, I have issued a challenge to myself. I try to embrace Easter as a full season. I fan into flame my longing for the bright and radiant joy of Easter Sunday to spill over and colour each moment and day of the season. No matter what I’m going through, even in difficult times, I commit to pray for joy to sneak up on me, to surprise me, to unveil the goodness and beauty of life, to even sit shiva with me.

In the Upper Room, on the evening before his crucifixion, Jesus had much to say to his disciples about resurrection joy. For example:

I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.

Very truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.

Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete.

I am coming to you now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them.

Passages: John 15.11, 16.20-22, 16.24, 17.13

Did you know we live as people with the promise of complete joy?

This is a joy that no one can take away.

It’s a promise almost too good to be true. Because the promise isn’t that our own joy will grow and grow and grow. Rather, our joy will be completed by Christ’s very own joy dwelling in us.

Stop and think about that.

The joy in him — in us.

This is why this joy is akin to the joy a mother feels with her newborn. All the internal movements of joy now root, suckle and rest upon her skin.

So it is with our joy.

Joy always comes to us like a gift—a longing that births life. When we feel joy, we want the emotion to last, to stay, to linger a little while longer. Because joy infuses our world with truth, meaning, and beauty. This is why C.S. Lewis says that joy comes with a “pang.” It connects us to an ache, a sense of incompleteness. The reason for this is because our own joy nudges us toward our complete joy in Christ. When these joys intermingle, like holding hands, we start to taste the completeness of joy.

This is not to say that the only joy that matters is the spiritual joy of Jesus. Instead I’m saying something far better: when we are in Christ, his joy illuminates and amplifies all of our joys. Every little and big joy can be received as a gift of grace, an invitation into the fullness of life, an onramp into thanksgiving, an opportunity to rejoice in the God who is joy.

An Invitation into 50 Days of Joy

The resurrection gives us a joy that no one can take away. While true, I know firsthand that it’s easy to fall back into the throes of disenchantment: despair and cynicism easily take ahold of my heart and I find myself adrift in a seas of joylessness. Do you know this tension? We can fall back to the default of living as if dead stuff stays dead.

This is why the season of Eastertide invites us to intentionally cultivate our lives for joy. We are people on the brink of wearing crowns of everlasting joy. No one can take this promise or the surety of this future from us.

Since 2018, I’ve challenged myself to celebrate 50 Days of Joy. Basically, it’s a habit of reflection. Each day, I ask God to surprise me with joy. At some point in the day, I look backward. I scour the minutes and hours for moments of goodness and beauty. Sometimes it takes no time at all: I know exactly what moment gave me joy. Other times, it takes a bit of effort. Then, I write a short reflection with a photo. I share most of them publicly on Instagram with the hashtag #50daysofjoy.

Here’s an example:

When it comes to having children, someone once said, “You’ll have less fun but more joy.” I’m not sure I agree with the former but I wholeheartedly agree with the latter—being a father has amplified my joy. Indeed, it is among my greatest joys.

My eldest fractured her wrist yesterday. And today, we figured that out. Oops. It’s a relatively minor fracture (compared to her broken arm five years ago). She’s casted up and ready to go. I can’t say it was fun to be in the Emergency Room for hours on end. But there was nowhere else I’d rather be than by her side … even though she was mostly engrossed in a movie or book.

On my run this afternoon (my ankles are getting stronger, Thanks be to God), I came across an intriguing bench. A rather idyllic path leads to it. The plaque reads: “A place to rest, reflect, and remember in loving memory of our grandmother, mother, sister, and daughter.” But when you sit on the bench, the view is rather, well, uninspired. A beautiful lake resides just around the bend, but this bench is positioned to look at … bushes.

But should you sit, rest, and reflect: you will see more than bushes. You will see the beauty of the ordinary. The unremarkable transfigured into glory. I won’t pretend to be able to name all the species of plants and trees. As I stood there, no longer perplexed by the position of the bench, I was enamoured by the gift it offers: the beautiful ordinary.

Back to being a father: most days are ordinary. And if I’m careless, they can even feel unremarkable—a compilation of repetitions. But then moments poke holes in the veneer of banality, like hospital waiting rooms for relatively minor injuries. You look at life with a renewed thankfulness and your heart becomes a little more sensitive too. When I sit, rest, and reflect I find that joy often abides somewhere between thankfulness and a sensitive heart.

Would it have been more fun to play hooky from school and go on a walk in the woods with my daughter rather than wait, and wait, and wait among the injured and sick? Of course. Nevertheless, joy sat quietly with us as we waited.

The joy of fatherhood, and, the joy of Karen Delsey’s bench.

Since I’ve repeated the challenge many times now, I’ve discovered that Howard Thurman knew exactly what he was talking about when he wrote, “Whatever may be the tensions and the stresses of a particular day, there is always lurking close at hand the trailing beauty of forgotten joy.” Sometimes I am present to joy apprehending my heart. Sometimes I miss out on the joy that was already present in my day. But through intentional reflection, gratitude, and giving thanks, guess what?

Joy rises like the dawn.

Because our gratitude builds an onramp to joy as we give thanks to God.

In the season of Eastertide, I refuse to make a distinction between “earthly” and “heavenly” joys or “natural” and “spiritual” joys. Instead, I embrace that the Spirit speaks in the emotion of joy and that every joy is a gift from God that can draw us ever closer to his joyful heart. Because God is joyful.

In the Upper Room, Jesus tells us that through prayer, we tap into his complete joy. He even prays for us to know the full measure of his joy. So, what if we open ourselves up to this possibility? The sure possibility that if Jesus asks for something he receives it, and if he makes a promise, he keeps it—because he said he would rise from the dead and he did. Hallelujah!

Friends, I invite you to join me in this Eastertide practice.

The equation is basically this:

• Pray for joy

• Look for joy

• Share your joy

Years past, I aim to share a reflection on social media each day. Inevitably I miss a few. It doesn’t need to be a daily practice. Perhaps you share a reflection a couple times a week or once a week. Maybe you share it around the dinner table. However you do it, the reason that I share my little moments of joy is because joy is contagious—and a little bit of joy goes a long way.

Since I’m taking a break from most social media platforms at the moment, I plan to keep daily reflections and share them in a weekly article that tries to find a thread that holds them together.

If you choose to accept this invitation, would you let me know? Make a comment or shoot me a note. I’d love to pray for you throughout this season.

May we know the fullness of complete joy.

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Given we are entering a season of joy, if you’d like to read a book about joy, I can’t resist encouraging you to read Longing for Joy: An Invitation into the Goodness and Beauty of Life.