WRITTEN BY: LORRAINE LAM

It’s hard to write about joy right now. In my own city, homelessness is on the rise and we have already had two people freeze to death on the streets before the full arrival of winter. Food insecurity has doubled, if not tripled. Loneliness and depression are at an all-time high. COVID-19 is not quite done with us yet. These harsh realities in my own city are mirrored by the mass decimation of Palestinians in Gaza and the displacement of millions in Sudan… meanwhile I am just trying to get along with my extended family and not swear at the driver who took the parking spot I was eyeing after circling Costco for fifteen minutes.

In one of the familiar favorites of Scripture around the Christmas story, we read about the shepherds. These caretakers were living their lowly and marginalized lives when a host of angels appeared to tell them the good news. Joseph and Mary, living under Roman rule, snuck off to have a child out of wedlock in a manger – as ordinary of a place that could be imagined for the birth of a baby.

It is striking to think about how joy shows up in these unexpected, ordinary ways. And how those on the peripherals of society experience it closest.

Some of my most memorable and life-changing moments of joy have been within the communities of people I have known on the streets. When my friend James was murdered in 2019, his memorial service was full of loved ones who came to grieve and share memories of joy in celebration of his life. The feast following his service was full of laughter and cherished connections. Sure, James was homeless and lived in the shadows of Toronto; but he was always first to laugh at my jokes and offer me a tea if he was buying one with whatever change he had gathered.

James was overlooked by most of society, but stories shared at his funeral about his life and friendship were rich in connection and meaning. Many who came to honor him were also poor and unhoused; despite being shy of resources, they were rich in joy, love, and grace. Despite being judged and scorned by the wealthy, they were always first to extend compassion and start a conversation. “They just don’t know us [poor people] yet,” James would say.

During the early days of COVID-19, when people with houses were isolating at home, encampments in my city became much more visible and much larger. People who were unhoused living in these encampments had many survival struggles, but I was blown away by the ways these residents created joy for themselves and each other. They shared food and laughter, and even threw a bit of a party when one resident found a nearby stereo in a nearby dumpster! Did these encampments have it rough? Absolutely. But they were not short of collective care, compassion, and joy.

I’m not here to romanticize the realities of people who are poor and on the margins. But I do have a desire to share three things I am constantly being taught from these communities:

Joy is an act of resistance—in the ordinary

First coined by Toi Derricotte, “joy is an act of resistance” has breathed new life into justice work, especially in black feminism. I was recently at a Kirk Franklin concert where singing, dancing, and jamming out with an entire crowd of people sent electric waves of energy through my body. For a brief moment, I felt like we could do anything! This is the energy of joy! As Audre Lorde explains, joy gives us the “energy for change” to resist the oppressive structures and status quo that make us tired and apathetic; an exhaustive oppression that holds us back. But in the face of this paralysis, joy is an act of resistance. Communities hammered down by systemic oppressions wave a giant “we will not be defeated” flag by continuing to have joy in the face of it all.

Joy isn’t turning a blind eye to pain and burying our head in the sand. Joy is recognizing that loss, sorrow, grief, anger, all have a place alongside the temptation to just cry out “everything is fine” when it’s not. Joy is an invitation to resist the status quo, and lean into the pursuit of justice.

Joy is learned in unexpected places—namely, from those on the margins.

Especially during the holiday season, Christians want to make a difference and serve others. But sometimes we can mistake pity for love, especially when we move to action: we have pity for people on the margins, instead of love. This easily translates to charity for, instead of solidarity with, a certain group of people. It takes the community aspect away from justice, instead solidifying the “us/them” dichotomy. We want to “spread joy” without realizing that maybe we are the ones to be learning and receiving it from the same people we think we are helping and giving it to.

What if this year, instead of trying to make a difference for poor people, we find ways to lay aside our desire to be a savior? What if we learn what it means to receive joy from those who may not have been born in a manger, but sleep in one each night?

“Go to the margins, not so you can make a difference; go, so that those on the margins can make you different.” - Father Greg Boyle

Joy is a discipline in the ordinary—and it requires a long-haul commitment.

Resistance takes practice. Learning takes time. Just like any skill—from weightlifting to piano playing to baking—discipline is required for progress. Joy, too, is a discipline that we have a lifetime to master in the ordinary. The shepherds weren’t searching for radical joy; they were just doing their jobs when the good news found them. Our mundane grocery errands and carpool pick-ups might not be outstandingly memorable, but we may be surprised at how joy can be found when we’re focused on it as an opportunity. The discipline of a joyful normality allows the ordinary to become sacred, which is what the Christmas season is all about.

For us it might just be finding the perfectly ripe avocado or the best parking spot. It may be hearing from a friend after some time, or finally not arguing with your mom for a day. Maybe it’s getting an extra hour to nap, or a chance to have tea with your neighbor. Just as the shepherds found an intense, unexpected moment of joy in the midst of their regular routine, we too can find joy in the ordinary. Just as they were able to celebrate despite the oppressive injustice around them, may we, too, worship while living imperfect lives.

We are not alone in this. Joy is one of the Holy Spirit’s fruits—one that we can rely on him to grow in us as we seek him more. May the joy of the Lord be our strength as we pursue Christ’s joy this Advent season and beyond.

About the Author

Lorraine Lam is a believer in cultivating hope-filled communities, seeking opportunities to speak and write to amplify voices that are silenced, while learning to be a more effective co-conspirator. She does regular consultations with local churches and non-profits, delivering workshops on crisis intervention, housing and homelessness, faith and justice, and worship.

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