he calls it joy, this ephemeral longing that comes upon him and catches him unawares when he reads a passage of a book, or when he contemplates a scene, or when he remembers a memory. it is the pursuit of this, he believes, that leads him to God.
why does he call this joy, i wonder. when we usually think of joy as an uplifting of the spirit and countenance, why does he link it to this elusive feeling that needs to be described almost laboriously? i begin to realize that the opposite of joy is not, perhaps, sorrow, but longing. and if longing, then joy must be the fulfilment of that longing. there is a logic to this strange nomenclature.
and i have felt that joy too. i have felt that unexpected burst that expands my soul and gives me, momentarily, a glimpse of something far bigger than i am, when i chance upon an empty road, or when the storm clouds come in their ominous glory, or when i hear danny boy, or i join in a chorus of how great thou art. so joy is my glimpse of the eternity that God puts in my heart, and i am the richer for having read about it.
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