When Paul wrote his letter to the Philippian church, they were being persecuted (Philippians 1:29-30). They were also worried about Paul, who was in prison. And they were worried even more because they had sent Epaphroditus, who was well loved in Philippi, to help Paul, and then had heard a report that he had fallen sick and was possibly dying. In the midst of these troubles, Paul told them:
Further, my brothers and sisters, rejoice in the Lord! It is no trouble for me to write the same things to you again, and it is a safeguard for you (Philippians 3:1).
He repeated this command again a little later in the same letter:
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice (Philippians 4:4).
God, who created us, certainly knows that we can’t feel on command. Human emotions just don’t work that way. And yet, this verse clearly is a command. The words, “rejoice in the Lord,” therefore, can’t be telling us what we must feel, but rather what we must do. Rejoicing is a form of worship, which is to say that it’s not about what I feel; it’s about speaking what is true. As hard as it might be to get my mind around, the fact is that rejoicing is something I can do, and that I am commanded by God to do, whether I feel like it or not. I am to celebrate the great things God has done, even if my feelings don’t line up.
We are strange creatures. I know very well how often my feelings follow my actions; I start doing something I know I should, and after a little while it starts feeling right as well. I’ve seen it happen thousands of times. But if I’m not careful, a short while later I’ll be back to letting my actions follow my feelings. When I get up every morning, and then multiple times throughout the day, I have to make a deliberate choice to rejoice in the Lord.
This is not an easy devotion for me right now. Less than two weeks ago, as I write this, a dear friend went home to the Lord. Although I am confident that I will see her again, I am still grieving. Her husband and daughter far more so. And when I look at the world around me I see more death. And I see violence, and hatred and disease. Even in the church I see division and hostility. I’m part of my church’s safety team because I can see that there are people who want to do evil, and who will do it if they can. How, then, can I tell anyone to rejoice? How can I tell myself? Not by denying the reality I see, but by recognizing that there is another reality I don’t see.
Scripture tells us:
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Corinthians 4:18).
Paul did not tell the Philippians to rejoice in what was happening around them. He told them, and us, to “rejoice in the Lord.” To believe that Christ rose from the grave. To trust that he is coming back for his people, and that he will raise us as well. And in that trust, I can rejoice, knowing that the part I don’t yet see is greater than the part I do. I don’t always feel it, but it’s always true.
And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith (Hebrews 12:1-2).
I can see this world, fallen and corrupt as it is. But I can also look beyond this world, to the God who created it and redeemed it. And in the part of reality that I don’t yet see, I can rejoice.