Defiant Joy in a Weary World

One night in 1847, a French poet penned the words:

Long lay the world
in sin and error pining,
till He appeared
and the soul felt its worth.

Those lyrics, later translated into the beloved carol “O Holy Night,” also include a line that I find deeply moving: “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.”

It is a striking image. A world worn down by sorrow and strain somehow finds itself rejoicing. What kind of joy can weave its way into a weary world? Certainly not a dutiful Christmas cheer or a forced smile. Advent joy is of a different kind. It is defiant rather than naïve - a joy born from hope that rises in the very places where suffering and sorrow remains.

German theologian Karl Barth once observed that the Apostle Paul’s understanding of joy was essentially “a defiant ‘Nevertheless!’” Christian joy stands with its feet dug deep in the soil of real heartache and still sings “nevertheless” - nevertheless, God is faithful; nevertheless, Christ will come again; nevertheless, hope will get the last word.

Advent invites us to discover this kind of “nevertheless” joy, a joy that does not wait for weariness to fade before it begins to surface.

Joy Within Sorrow

We do not have to look far to find weariness in our own world.

Many feel stretched thin by stress, grief, or the relentless pace of life - especially during the Holiday season. Scripture also reveals this kind of exhaustion. The Israelites lived under Roman occupation with heavy taxes and heavier hearts. Isaiah’s promise came to “a people living in darkness” who longed to see a great light. When that promise was fulfilled in the birth of Jesus, it came not in a moment of peace but in a time of upheaval. Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem weary from travel and unable to find lodging. Shepherds kept their night watch in fields that were the furthest thing from comfy and cozy.

Into that world - messy, restless, and not unlike our own - Jesus Christ, the Son of God and Savior of sinners, was born. And because of His birth, “nevertheless,” the weary world began to rejoice.

Christian joy does not require the elimination of sorrow.

It is joy that defies sorrow because it often flourishes within and alongside sorrow. This theme of defiant joy runs through the nativity stories. Elizabeth and Zechariah, barren and in their later years, find joy in God’s gift of a surprise pregnancy. Mary, a teenage girl whose life has been turned upside down, visits Elizabeth and erupts into what we now know as the Magnificat. Mary’s song does not sweep hard things under the rug or gloss over harsh reality. She sings of proud rulers scattered, the lowly lifted, the hungry filled, and the greedy rich sent away empty. Mary’s joy is anchored not in her circumstances, but in God’s promise to renewal a weary world.

It is as if Mary is saying, “Look at what God is doing - not separate from our deep and unresolved pain, but right in the middle of it!”

The early Christians embraced the same posture. Paul wrote “Rejoice in the Lord always” not from an ivory tower or writing retreat, but from the harsh confines of a Roman prison. His chains did not silence his joy the joy of the Lord had become his strength. Paul understood that joy is not a mood that comes and goes with our circumstances. It is instead a resilient posture that’s anchored in God’s own faithfulness. This is why Paul and Silas could sing hymns at midnight with whip-wounds on their backs. They were “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing,” trusting that Jesus remained with them in the dark places and would carry them through.

Defiant Joy as Witness

Defiant joy is not only a gift for the weary soul; it also becomes a witness to others.

When American minister John Sullivan Dwight translated “O Holy Night” into English in 1855, he lived in a nation weary from the systemic sin of slavery. Dwight, a committed abolitionist, was deeply moved by the carol’s proclamation:

Chains shall He break,
for the slave is our brother,
and in His name
all oppression shall cease.

During the Civil War, those words became a lifeline for Christians yearning for justice. Imagine Northern believers and enslaved families singing those words in dimly lit sanctuaries, the nation torn apart, yet daring to rejoice in advance at the freedom Christ would one day bring. Their joy was itself an act of resistance - a bold “nevertheless” that refused to surrender hope to the darkness.

Joy has always been a quiet form of protest against despair.

It says, “The story is not over. God is acting even now.” This echoes an insight from political philosopher Hannah Arendt, who wrote:

“Every act, every word, every gesture has the possibility of beginning something new; it is in the nature of human affairs that something entirely unexpected can arise. This is the miracle that saves the world.”

Arendt was not speaking of Advent, yet her words resonate with its meaning. Into a weary world, God introduced something entirely unexpected:

Himself.

And in Him, joy becomes not only a possibility for any believer in this present world, but also a guarantee for all believers in the world to come.

When followers of Jesus rejoice in weary places, they become living signs of this miracle and of God’s certain future. Consider a mother humming a hymn in a chemotherapy ward, her body frail yet her trust in Christ intact. Or a family facing financial uncertainty who still invites neighbors into their home for cookies and a gift exchange. Or a church in a hostile region gathering secretly to worship and give, even from their lack. Such joy does not invalidate sorrow. But it does transform sorrow into gospel testimony. It tells the world:

Love has come, and love will win.
It’s only a matter of time.

Joy for the Weary Heart

Perhaps you find yourself too weary to rejoice this Advent.

If so, take heart. Joy is not asking you to chase it down; joy is looking for you, even here. Especially here. It often begins, not as a shout, but as a small spark: gratitude for a kind word, a glimpse of unexpected beauty, the laughter of a child. These “small things” are not trivial distractions. They are glimpses of grace, reminders that the world is still held by a God who is loving and faithful.

Jesus Himself endured the cross “for the joy set before Him.” He knew that on the other side of suffering lies redemption and renewal. And even in the midst of suffering, the Father gives strength through joy. Nehemiah once spoke to a worn-out people rebuilding a ruined city and told them, “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” That remains true for us. God’s joy sustains us precisely when our own strength runs out.

So this Advent, what if you simply asked God for that kind of joy? Not an anemic, fake “Christmas cheer” that denies reality, but a sturdy joy that travels alongside your weariness and slowly begins to transform it.

As churches around the world light the pink candle of Gaudete (Rejoice) Sunday, may we do so with full awareness of the joy of the Lord, which is our strength.

The world may still be weary, yet there is a thrill of hope in the air. We can rejoice in advance at the day when oppression will cease and every tear will be wiped away. Until that day, may we take our place in the chorus of defiant joy, rejoicing in God our Savior, whose coming gives our souls their worth and transforms our weariness into expectation. The weary world can rejoice, because Christ Jesus has come.

And in Christ Jesus, “nevertheless,” hope will have the final word.