Philippians 4:4–7
The reading from Philippians for this Sunday — from which it takes the traditional name “Gaudete Sunday,” from the Latin translation of the text — is all about rejoicing. “Rejoice in the Lord always,” Paul writes. “Again I say, rejoice.”
Joy is all over the letter to the Philippians, which is full of repetitions of Paul’s own “rejoicing” for events in his own life and for the church in Philippi (e.g. 1:18), as well as exhortations to “rejoice.” This is particularly striking given the reality that Paul wrote this letter from his incarceration.
It is important to name that the exhortation to rejoice can be an oppressive one — to demand a sort of performative joy in the Lord from those who suffer is itself an unkindness. But I find the exhortation to rejoice in this letter to be a comfort. Partly, this is because Paul’s exhortation to rejoice comes out of his own confidence and joy — it is less of a demand than an invitation. Another reason, I think, comes from what he identifies in 4:5: “The Lord is near.” Rejoicing derives from the nearness of God; from God who comes down in compassion, sharing in our sufferings so we can share in God’s joy.
And the nearness of God does not only imply God’s self-emptying compassion, but also the promise of deliverance. “The Lord is near,” bringing freedom, liberation, and healing. The very nearness of the Lord implies freedom and liberation, because freedom and liberation are God’s own nature.
This all makes me think of the role of joy in abolition and transformative justice. Sometimes it is easy, in organizing and activism and ministries of presence and solidarity with those who are incarcerated, to see the injustice and suffering of the world so much that we forget how central joy is to the work of abolition. Joy is as essential as struggle.
If abolition is about what we build, not just what must be torn down, then it is enacted in building structures of joy. Solidarity by those of us on the outside with those who are criminalized and incarcerated is based on the joy found in the communities people build within carceral spaces. Restorative justice spaces are spaces of reparation, but they can also be spaces of joy as we deepen connections with one another’s truth. Transformative justice practices build on joy too: in Beyond Survival, Janaé E. Bonsu of BYP100 writes about how “healing-centered organizing requires habitual self-care and collective-care,” naming how organizing spaces draw on “Indigenous and ancestral practices” to build those spaces of care. The work of justice begins with finding joy through practices that have been marginalized by mainstream culture.
“Hope is a discipline,” Mariame Kaba says. And perhaps joy is a discipline too, one that we find as we invest in deep relationships and caring community.
For me, this text is a necessary reminder to search for practices of joy that sustain the work of building a just world.
Hannah Bowman is the founder and director of Christians for Abolition.