Joy Cometh in the Morning

by Joanne Blum, Ph.D.

Gentle me,

Holy One,

into an unclenched moment,

a deep breath,

a letting go

of heavy experiences,

of shriveling anxieties,

of dead certainties,

that, softened by the silence,

surrounded by the light,

and open to the mystery,

I may be found by wholeness,

upheld by the unfathomable,

entranced by the simple,

and filled with the joy

that is you.

—Ted Loder

I know of no better expression of the great innerness of joy, of where it truly comes from and how it finds us, than in this poem. Too often we think of joy, as we do of happiness, as tied to external events and conditions. We believe that our experience of joy hinges upon the presence or absence of certain things in our lives, whether of family, money, social position, or employment. Joy, though, like all spiritual faculties, is an inner quality. It comes from the region of Spirit in which we all dwell at our core—the “kingdom of heaven,” Jesus called it—and is therefore possible for us at all times, regardless of circumstance.

“Weeping may endure for a night,” wrote the psalmist, “but joy cometh in the morning” (Psa. 30). In my own life, I have learned how true these words are. Yes, joy “comes” to us. Like all gifts of the Spirit, joy comes freely to those able to receive it. It cannot be forced. We do not earn it or create it. We simply receive it. We let it come to us. And yes, joy can come even in the midst of sorrow. At the difficult junctures of our lives, when pain, or grief, or fatigue overtakes us, joy can come as a healing balm on the wounds of our hearts and minds. It comes to soothe, comfort, and encourage us.

Sometimes, joy comes most unexpectedly. Shortly after my father’s death, I had such an experience of joy, a time I have remembered and reflected upon often. In the summer of 1989, my father died suddenly of heart failure, the result of a mild heart attack he had suffered a few days before. We had visited him at the hospital the previous evening and had found him feeling much better, comfortable, even talkative. We went home heartened to see him so much improved. And so the call from the hospital telling us of his death during the night came as a terrible surprise.

The following days were a blur of activity—filling out hospital documents, making memorial arrangements, writing the obituary, calling relatives, contacting banks and insurance companies. Everyone who has experienced the death of a family member knows well the many details that must be taken care of, seemingly all at once.

After sunset on the evening of the third day, someone spontaneously suggested that we go for a swim in the condo unit’s pool. Summer days in Florida are hot and the day had been long and energy-sapping. A protracted search for swimsuits ensued, then a desultory walk to the pool. Suddenly, as we were getting into the water, a different energy came over us. There was teasing, of my sister’s ill-fitting, borrowed suit, and of my mother’s tentative, toe-dipping into the pool. My brother and I engaged in a swimming race for which my mother served as starter and judge. For perhaps half an hour, we laughed and swam under the starlit sky. I had a sense of my father’s spirit being with us, and of an overall feeling of well-being. We were all amazed at our jocularity, as if someone had slipped us a mickey or filled the air with nitrous oxide. Where did it come from, this atmosphere of joy in which my dad’s playful spirit was somehow mysteriously intermingled?

I believe now that this joyful respite in the midst of many sad, emotional days was a gift of comfort and healing from the level of Spirit within us, and that it came to us simply because, consciously or not, we were temporarily open to it. Tired out by grief and over-exertion, we had finally given up our thinking, our weeping, and our doing and were simply resting in that state of receptivity that is most conducive to the experience of joy. We did nothing to create such an experience of joy. Indeed, we wouldn’t even have believed joy was possible for us under the circumstances. And yet it came, as a gift of grace.

Since my own experience of unfathomable joy, I have heard similar stories from others, about spontaneous gifts of comfort and joy from a loving universe at the unlikeliest of times. I find them less and less surprising. Joy can come to us in a wide variety of ways, and at almost any time. A man I know recalls moments of exquisite joy from among his wartime experiences. Another recalls the months he spent caring for his terminally ill wife as some of the most joyful of his life. A woman I know remembers her impoverished Depression-era childhood as a time of great joy and love. She recalls vividly the impromptu musical concerts she and her siblings staged for family and friends. She remembers the warm feeling of the bed she shared with her younger sister. There is no doubt about it. People manage to experience joy in the midst of poverty, grief, hardship, and every form of lack we can imagine. They take our breath away, such reminiscences of joy. Sometimes we even feel ashamed of such moments, thinking our expressions of joy inappropriate and insensitive. How wrong we are to condemn ourselves for receiving the gifts of Spirit, the healing energies of humor, laughter, and delight that come to us from the generous universe in which we live.

Of course such experiences of joy cause us to reflect and inquire. How is it possible that one can be joyful in poverty, sickness, or war? Why does joy come, even when we are grieving, frightened, or alone? There is only one possible explanation. Joy is of spiritual origins. It comes from our own inner spiritual resources, and is therefore independent of outer conditions. Joy isn’t caused by anything that happens to us or by anyone around us. Joy comes as a result of our receptivity to the Spirit within and around us. Indeed, joy is an excellent barometer of spiritual authenticity. Where God is being experienced and expressed, joy is always present. It is a natural out-growth of our spiritual life, coming to comfort, encourage, and heal us. What is more healing than an experience of joy, gratitude, and delight? The crisis, the loss, the fear may still be present, but their impact is lessened. We can breathe a little more freely. We begin to feel we can go on after all. Joy comes to strengthen and inspire us.

If our experience of joy is tied to our spiritual receptivity, can such a state be cultivated and sustained—and our experience of joy made more frequent and full? I believe that we can, though not in the usual, proactive way the world typically teaches. We cannot make joy as we would a bed or a cake. We do not work, pay, or strive for it. We don’t even have to deserve it. We can only receive it. Like the rain that falls on the just and the unjust, like all spiritual faculties, joy is a gift of Spirit, ever present and accessible within us. This does not mean we are always able to claim it. In times of pain and grief, we may feel cut off from this inner resource. We may need to do our weeping for a time. But through our ongoing spiritual practices, we can render ourselves more susceptible to joy’s influence. We can loosen our grip on our suffering and be willing to let God in, even in emotionally challenging circumstances. We can learn, through prayer and meditation, to make ourselves empty vessels, open and receptive to God’s comfort, in our happiness and in our grief, in sickness and in health, in every manner and mood of our days.

Jesus knew well the joy that comes from Spirit. It was this inward, ever-present joy that he wanted others to experience. “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete” (John 15:11). As Jesus’s joy came from his attunement to the presence of God within him, so our experience of joy comes from the same source. The more we practice the presence of God, the more we attune ourselves to its frequency of love, peace, and every other good thing, the greater our experience of joy will be.

The spirit within is the only true source of the joy we desire in our lives. Nothing else will ever satisfy—not possessions, activities, relationships, or geographical locations. Emilie Cady said it clearly in Lessons in Truth: “All joy and strength and good spring up from a fountain within one’s own being; and if we only knew this truth we would know that, because God in us is the fountain out of which springs all our good, nothing that any one does or says, or fails to do or say, can take away our joy and good” (Twelfth Lesson, “Bondage or Liberty, Which?,” p. 151).

What great freedom comes from knowing this inner source of joy that lies just here within reach, like a secret spring. What comfort comes from knowing such joy exists in God, and its whole function is to uplift us! As we dip daily into the reservoir of God within, like my mother dipping tentatively into that long-ago pool, first just our toes, then up to our ankles and knees, and then all the way in, with the water washing up over our heads and bathing us in new life and energy, we will come to know joy—unfailing, abundant, irrepressible.

.