virtures?

Hope and Joy ground me. More than that, they’re among the “things” – the “ideals” or virtues that define me. They are the filters that I see the world (and my circumstances) through. They are “things” that I long for that I strive for…they’re my anchors. I only have 1 tattoo (to date) and it says “hope” in Bengali…but if I ever got another tattoo (and believe me, I’ve thought about it) it would be a “joy” tattoo (it’s probably just a matter of time…).

The longer I live in Kolkata (or maybe it’s just the longer I live), my understanding of joy and hope have shifted. I’d say they’ve expanded, deepened, grown. They are more well-rounded, fuller, more complete.

joy and hope are not what I thought they were.

Back in 2008 on a Mars Hill Church advent blog I read this quote about joy:

“Joy is not the froth and lightness we tend to long for and expect. Joy is an anchor; it is heavy. It falls into the coldest, deepest dark places, where the current and pressure are enough to crush bone, and it holds there. On the surface waves crash and roll, and we are not steady but we are held, and somehow that is beautifully enough. So when the soldier is not yet home, when the cure has not yet been found, when the loneliness hasn’t yet faded, there is Joy. When the hurt hasn’t yet seen its end, there is Joy. When we wait and wait and all for nothing because the happiness we’ve asked for doesn’t arrive, there is Joy. The Lord is come.” (Lisa Velthouse).

This quote is written on a pink index card that is taped to my mirror. It’s been there for years. I almost have it memorized…on the surface the waves crash and roll, and we are not steady but we are held…I mean, seriously…that is some powerful stuff. I know this definition of joy. I’ve learned it. The hard way. I know about crashing and rolling…about not being steady, but being held. I know about waiting…and waiting…and seemingly for nothing. I have intentionally pursued joy in the past 3 years. I have disciplined myself to find joy in the midst of suffering. I have fought for the joy of the Lord, that is, indeed, my strength (and I have also received Joy as a gift and a grace – undeserved).

Then, back in January I was reading a novel and stumbled across this little quote:

“Hope is a horrible thing, you know. I don’t know who decided to package hope as a virtue, because it’s not. It’s a plague. Hope is walking around with a fishhook in your mouth and somebody just keeps pulling it and pulling it.” (Ann Patchett, State of Wonder).

And I don’t think this is the entirety of hope, but it is a part of hope. When we choose hope, we put ourselves, our very self, on the line…and sometimes hope is painful. Oh, hope is painful. There have been days (lots of days) when hope has felt like a plague to me…if only I could get rid of the hope…if only I could see the story as finished. If only that “somebody” would stop pulling me around by the fishhook in my mouth! Cause it hurts! 

I recently told a friend of mine that I need some people to tell me some stories where things do not work out in the end – cause as a person who defines my vocation as, “a receiver and bearer of hope” sometimes I need a bit of reality to balance out hope. (I mean, seriously, it’s almost pathological – give me one tiny shred, the tiniest shred of hope and I’m sold.  Or a split-second glimpse of how it will all work out in the end is all I need to go on for miles and miles…days, and weeks and years). Sometimes I think I need someone to just say, “Listen, this time it’s not going to work out. Sure, you can tell me 15 very similar stories that worked out beautifully in the end, where hope does, indeed have the last word, but not this time. Not. This. Time. Get over it. Let it go. Here, let me help you get that fish-hook out of your mouth. You’re only hurting yourself by letting it stay there."

I’ve hoped enough (and through enough darkness) now to know how much hope can hurt…and I’m not letting go. Fishhook or not, there is always hope, and some Hope does not disappoint.  Nevertheless, it is comforting to know (and to name) that sometimes hope is more like a fishhook than a “happily ever after.” (even when things do work out well in the end, the road of hope is usually long and winding).

And then there’s this “treasure” that I just read this week. I’m reading a book called, “The Gift of Imperfection” by Brene Brown, and it is a great book. It has been encouraging and challenging…and an all around great read. I loved reading this perspective on joy. It fits with what I have learned about joy.

“Joy is as thorny and sharp as any of the dark emotions. To love someone fiercely, to believe in something with your whole heart, to celebrate a fleeting moment in time, to fully engage in a life that doesn’t come with guarantees – these are risks that involve vulnerability and often pain. When we lose our tolerance for discomfort, we lose joy.” (The gift of Imperfection, Brene Brown)

Hope and joy – virtues? Yes.

They are also very weighty.

They are hard and messy, and costly. Oh so costly.

Worth it? Of course.

They are anchors.

And what anchor worth anything is light?

There is a dimension of heaviness to hope and joy.

It’s what makes them worth clinging to until the very end, come what may.