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Pure Joy! It’s Your Party!

Leicester City Championship TrophyIt’s complete pandemonium, folks!
The crowd roars as the team is announced.
They break into song as the players stride to the podium.
The roar is deafening as they hoist the championship trophy.

It is ours.
After decades of waiting
and a lifetime of work,
we have won it!
Pure joy!

This is the scene as the Leicester City Foxes are declared the English premier League Champions. A “5,000 to 1” shot. Improbable. Impossible. Impeccable. Perfection.

This is the scene as our name is announced: ________________, our winner and champion. The crowd roars its approval!

The Communion of Saints? No, it’s the hills: they have burst forth in song, and the mountains have joined in perfect harmony.IMG_6790

My goodness,
The birds are a-flutter,
their nests all a-teeter,
as their perches give way in applause.

Good grief,
the branches themselves are a-titter,
clinking and clapping,
tipping and tapping.
Nature itself has joined the celebration.

What of the foxes?
What of the birds?

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head,” But Jesus said, “… follow me.” ~ Matthew 8: 20, 22

He who commands the seas,
and the skies
and the stars of night,
Has orchestrated this celebration.

And you, Dear Child, are its reason.

For you shall go out in joy, and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
shall burst forth in song, and all the trees of the field shall
clap their hands. ~ Isaiah 55:12

Excessive celebration

Those wide receivers and tight ends are so full of themselves, dancing around in the end zone like that. Shakin’ their booty and strutting their superiority. Right there in front of the defender they just beat to score the touchdown. It got so bad they had to regulate it, penalizing them for excessive celebration. I wonder how the refs decide how much is “excessive”?

I have to admit, though, most of those guys are pretty good dancers. I mean they’ve got rhythm and moves. Set aside the pomposity and they are really quite fun to watch.

And it’s not just football players. There is the dog pile and the chest slide and the mob and the high-five-the-bench and the jump into my teammates arms and… well, when we score, we celebrate. Not choreographed, not planned, just pure joy, done physically.

Then, I stand to sing at praise songs at my local church and that’s all we do. Stand and sing. No jumping. No sliding. No high fiving. We stand. And we sing. And we sit down. There’s not even any applause. Where’s the joy?

We’re celebrating the biggest score in the history of mankind and we don’t even sway to the beat. The bravest among us may raise a hand or clap limply along, but it takes a very secure person to clap the beat when no one joins in. I salute those people. Quietly. In my mind. With a nod of approval. Where’s my joy?

credit: sport offers another option, the finger point to the heavens. Some people would disagree with it, considering it wrong or rude to suppose that God is ‘on my side’ or has ‘helped me score this touchdown or hit this home run.’ That’s pretty bold, really, to suppose that our God is a side-taker. I suppose He couldn’t care less about the outcome of a college football game on a Saturday in September. But I have every confidence that He does care about the one who plays, and I can imagine that He celebrates with the one who scores, on either team.

So, what if the finger point (or the take a knee, popularized by Tebow) was not meant as an acknowledgement that God did this for me but an “I give this back to you” moment? An acknowledgement that “what I’ve just done, I couldn’t have done without you. So, in front of all these people I give you thanks.” Bold.

Alfred Morris, rookie Redskin running back phenom, goes this one better. His end zone celebration is a home run swing. He met a bunch of little leaguers who needed some support and a mentor and he promised to acknowledge them with “the swing” if he scored a touchdown. Imagine their joy to see Alfred Morris saying with his swing, “that one was for you, guys.” Alfred keeps on scoring and keeps on swinging. He doesn’t need to point upward; he points outward. Even his celebration is an outreach.

Celebration is natural;  why do we contain it? Okay, it’s embarrassing to our teenagers, but other than that. Isn’t God working great things through us all day long? Can we celebrate just a little? Not raucous and “in your face” but with a little more gusto?

I mean, who would know if the next time my training session really rocked the house I sneaked in a little finger point to the heavens? A little acknowledgement of thanks for getting me to that moment and a “right back atcha” to God. Such a small thing. Easy to forget, if you have to think about it. But joy, pure unadulterated joy, doesn’t think. It just does. And there would be worship, right there on the field, or the court, or the pool.

It’s not for the crowd to see or the congregation to follow or the fans to remember. It’s just for God. Let ’em think what they want. Go ahead, throw the flag. 

For you, O Lord, have made me glad by Your work; at the works of Your hands I sing for joy. ~ Psalm 92:4

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