Let us behold... and, beholding, become like Christ.

I’ve read Seeing and Savoring Jesus Christ, a Piper book, two or three times through. And I keep rereading certain sections lately, as I keep losing my place in the book. The problem is, I have a picture of Ellen as a bookmark. Sometimes I just pull it out and stare dreamily at it and forget to keep my thumb in the page. So, what I’m saying is—I’ve read this book (or sections of it) lots of times.

It challenges me, though, each time. That probably has a lot to do with the fact that it’s saturated with Scripture and all about God’s glory in the character and person of Jesus Christ. And I love God’s glory.

Recently, though, I’m specifically challenged to glorify God in my joy. My view of joy—though I feel like this is a mountain I’ve been around a lot of times, a well-trod lesson topic, especially in Sudan—has been stretched, yet again.

Jesus has gladness above his companions.

Moreover, He’s indestructibly happy.

Moreover-over (not even a word), He’s got the infinite, holy, indomitable mirth of his Father.

And, I was reminded, that’s available to me.

Because I’m in Christ, He gives me not just my own joy increased to its final limit, leaving me short of his.  No, no. That’s not quite sweet enough.

“My capacities for joy are very confined. So Christ not only offers himself as the divine object of my joy [(that is, that I may find all my joy in him)], but pours his capacity for joy into me, so that I can enjoy him with the very joy of God.”

Now, honestly, how amazing is that? The very joy of God. Imagine!

(“Imagine!” is often what I say when I simply can’t imagine.)

And it’s not gloomy joy. “Salvation is not mainly the forgiveness of sins, but mainly the fellowship of Jesus (1 Cor 1:9). If this fellowship is not all-satisfying, there is no great salvation. If Christ is gloomy, or even calmly stoical, eternity will be a long, long sigh.”

But, perhaps more important for me, it’s not glib joy. This hit me. If it’s not glorious to be gloomy, neither is it glorious to be glib. I often forget that. A plastered-on smile isn’t glorifying to God. Shallow joy, fake joy—not glorifying to God.

I actually wonder if being real in my joylessness is better—more honest, at least. Raw. And if I dare to try to be joyless—if I neglect my great salvation in such a way—then perhaps I’ll realize how impossible joylessness really is, in Christ.

In the face of the gladness—the infinite, holy indomitable mirth—the indestructible joy of my Savior and my King, my Abba Father and my Helper… how dare I be glib.

And that alone… Well, it makes me just plain joyful.