Joy as Defiance: The Christian Rebellion

*"Joy…is the gigantic secret of the Christian."*¹ —G.K. Chesterton

On the Nature of Holy Insurrection

There is a curious parallel, I think, between the great galactic rebellion of found in Star Wars and the quiet revolution that has been unfolding for two millennia in drawing rooms and prison cells, in hospitals and humble kitchens across the world. Both involve a small band of unlikely heroes standing against an empire of darkness. Both require tremendous courage in the face of overwhelming odds. And both, at their heart, are sustained not by hatred of the enemy, but by love for what is good and true. I could use any rebelion for that matter, but I do rather enjoy thinking about Star Wars as I write this for my own enjoyment.

The difference, of course, is that our rebellion is not fought with lightsabers and starfighters nor guns and swords, but with something far more subversive: joy. Not the giddy pleasure of a child with a new toy, nor the fleeting satisfaction of getting one's own way, but that deep, settled gladness that Chesterton identified as Christianity's "gigantic secret."

This joy, if I may be permitted the comparison, functions rather like a rebel base hidden in plain sight. The enemy (and by this, I mean that old serpent who would have us believe that suffering is meaningless and death is victorious) cannot comprehend how his greatest weapons are rendered powerless against those who possess this strange joy. He hurls circumstances at them that should crush any reasonable person, yet they emerge singing hymns from prison cells.

The Misunderstood Weapon

Now, I suspect that many readers will immediately protest that I am advocating a kind of religious denial—that I am suggesting Christians ought to go about grinning like Cheshire cats while the world burns around them. Nothing could be further from the truth. The joy I speak of is not ignorance masquerading as faith, any more than courage is stupidity pretending to be virtue.

Consider our Lord himself, who was called "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief."² Yet this same Jesus could speak of "my joy" remaining in his disciples and being made full.³ Here was no shallow optimist, no purveyor of religious platitudes. Here was one who wept at gravesides and overturned tables in righteous anger, yet who possessed a joy so deep that it could be bequeathed to others even on the eve of crucifixion. Moreover, do we think that our Lord was joyless in the merriment at Cana or the hospitality at the home of Lazarus, Mary, and Martha? I think not! It is for this very joy that He possessed and saw in life that the sick were healed and the dead raised to life again.

The apostle Paul understood this perfectly when he wrote from his Roman prison, "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice."⁴ These words came not from a man in comfortable circumstances dispensing advice to the unfortunate, but from one who had been "beaten with rods three times, pelted with stones once, shipwrecked three times."⁵ His joy was not dependent upon his circumstances any more than a rebel's hope depends upon the current military situation. Both rest upon a deeper conviction: that the empire of darkness, however powerful it may appear, has already been defeated. And I beg of you reader to not dismiss the darkness in which Paul and many of the apostles toiled. Darkness so deep that only a supernatural light can penetrate.

The Logic of the Impossible

But how, the practical mind asks, can this be? How can one speak of victory when the evidence seems to point in quite the opposite direction? Here we must consider what I call the logic of the impossible—that strange mathematics of the Kingdom where the last are first, the weak confound the mighty, and death itself becomes the doorway to life.

The rebellion of Christian joy operates according to different principles than earthly rebellions. It does not depend upon superior firepower or strategic advantage, but upon a historical fact that changed everything: the resurrection of Jesus Christ. This is not mythology or metaphor, but the great event upon which all Christian joy ultimately rests. When the stone was rolled away from the tomb, it was as if the Death Star itself had been destroyed—the enemy's ultimate weapon was revealed to be powerless.

Yet unlike fictional victories, this triumph was won not through violence but through submission, not by destroying enemies but by loving them unto death. The weapons of this rebellion are precisely the opposite of what any earthly strategist would recommend: forgiveness instead of revenge, service instead of domination, joy instead of bitterness. I would argue that love like this is part of the definition of true masculinity and where true courage is rooted. Not that Christ is not also the judge who will pour out His wrath on sin, but that His love is what gives any of us hope in the forgiveness He offers. Grace is cause for joy inexpressible.

The Everyday Acts of Insurrection

This is why Christian joy in the face of suffering is so profoundly subversive. Each time a believer chooses gratitude over resentment, hope over despair, love over hatred, it is an act of rebellion against the fundamental assumptions of a fallen world. The cancer patient who finds reasons to praise God is engaging in cosmic insurrection. The parents of a disabled child who speak of blessing rather than burden are undermining the enemy's propaganda.

These may seem like small victories, barely noticed by the watching world. But I submit that they are rather like the apparently insignificant exhaust port that brought down an entire space station—small points of vulnerability that, when properly targeted, can topple empires.

Consider the testimony of those who have embodied this defiant joy throughout history. Polycarp, facing martyrdom, declared that he had "served Christ eighty-six years, and He has done me no wrong."⁶ John Chrysostom, exiled from his beloved Constantinople, wrote, "Glory to God for all things!"⁷ Corrie ten Boom, in the hell of Ravensbrück, learned to thank God even for the fleas that infested their barracks because they kept the guards away during Bible study.⁸

These were not people who avoided suffering, but those who discovered that joy and sorrow could coexist—indeed, that joy often burned brightest in the darkest places.

The Witness of Unreasonable Gladness

Now, it is precisely this unreasonable gladness that makes Christian joy such a powerful witness to the world. A secular worldview can account for happiness when circumstances are favorable, just as any military analyst can explain victory when one side has superior numbers and equipment. What cannot be explained away is joy in the midst of suffering, peace in the face of uncertainty, hope when all evidence suggests despair.

When the world sees a widow praising God at her husband's funeral, or a man facing bankruptcy speaking of God's provision, or a persecuted church growing in numbers and fervor, it encounters something that simply does not fit the prevailing narrative. It is confronted with evidence of another world breaking through into this one—what we might call the Empire of Light establishing outposts in the territory of darkness.

This is why totalitarian regimes have always feared not the political dissidents but the saints. A man who finds his joy in Christ cannot be controlled by those who can only threaten his circumstances. He has already joined a rebellion that transcends earthly powers, one whose victory is not merely hoped for but historically accomplished. His hope and joy are in that Far Kingdom in which light forever shines and the stain of sinful man can never blimish.

The Discipline of Defiance

But we must not suppose that this defiant joy comes naturally or requires no cultivation. Like any form of resistance, it demands discipline, training, and constant vigilance. The rebel who would maintain hope in dark times must regularly return to base—which is to say, to prayer, Scripture, and the fellowship of other believers.

Gratitude, I have found, serves as one of our most practical weapons in this campaign. When we choose to give thanks not merely for pleasant things but "in everything,"⁹ we are essentially refusing to allow circumstances to dictate our spiritual condition. We are declaring our independence from the tyranny of the immediate.

Corporate worship becomes a kind of resistance meeting, where rebels gather to remind one another of the true state of affairs—that Christ is King, that death is defeated, that love will have the final word. In these gatherings, we practice the joy that we must then carry into a world that has not yet learned this secret.

The Ultimate Victory

The reason this rebellion can afford to operate with such confidence is that its victory is not merely hoped for but already accomplished. The cross and resurrection represent not just the turning point in our individual stories, but the decisive battle in the cosmic war between light and darkness. What remains is not the winning of the war but the working out of a victory already achieved.

This is what allows Christian joy to be truly defiant. We do not hope that good will triumph over evil; we know that it already has. We do not wish that death might one day be defeated; we celebrate the fact that it already has been. Our joy is not wishful thinking but recognition of what Christ has done and certainty about what he will complete.

The Call to Join the Rebellion

And so, I issue this invitation: join the rebellion. Not the rebellion of anger and violence, but the quiet insurrection of those who have learned to find their joy in Christ regardless of circumstances. Let your gladness be an act of defiance against the spirit of despair that pervades our age.

This will not be easy. The enemy (though already defeated) still has considerable power to make trouble. He will assault you with circumstances designed to steal your joy, with doubts designed to undermine your hope, with sorrows designed to convince you that his version of reality is the true one.

But remember: you fight not as one who hopes to win, but as one who knows the victory is already secured. Your joy is not dependent upon your performance but upon Christ's accomplishment. Your hope is not based upon your circumstances but upon his unchanging character.

The world desperately needs to see this kind of joy—not the shallow happiness that depends upon favorable conditions, but the deep gladness that can coexist with sorrow, the settled peace that remains unshaken by turbulent circumstances, the hope that burns brightest in the darkest hour.

Such joy is indeed defiant, for it refuses to accept the enemy's lie that suffering is meaningless, that injustice will never be addressed, that death has the final word. Instead, it proclaims with every smile, every song, every act of love, that the Light has come into the world, that the Darkness has not overcome it, and that those who have joined this most peculiar rebellion possess, as Chesterton said, the gigantic secret of the Christian: joy.

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Joy in Song

Here is a song that has helped me lately in maintaining this joy:

I hope it can be a blessing to you and be a start to a heavenly rebellion in your heart as well.

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References

1. G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (London: John Lane, 1908), Chapter 9.

2. Isaiah 53:3, English Standard Version.

3. John 15:11, English Standard Version.

4. Philippians 4:4, English Standard Version.

5. 2 Corinthians 11:25, English Standard Version.

6. The Martyrdom of Polycarp, Chapter 9, trans. J.B. Lightfoot.

7. John Chrysostom, Divine Liturgy, traditional attribution.

8. Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place (Grand Rapids: Chosen Books, 1971).

9. 1 Thessalonians 5:18, English Standard Version.