In Such a Time as This: Celebration as a Spiritual Discipline

By Serena Lee

“In such a time as this…” my professor emphasized to our class last Thursday. We had just found out that our classes would be converted online and all of a sudden had to prepare to say goodbye to our classmates until next fall.

“In such a time as this, you have to remember why you chose to become a social worker. Right now, people are panicking. They are losing jobs, their homes, the people they love. Though tragic, you have a very unique opportunity to be the help you chose to become.”

For some reason, I wasn’t panicking. I felt grounded and filled with hope and inspiration, even though the world around us was turned upside down by the novel coronavirus COVID-19 pandemic, and life as we knew it would completely change. This prompted me to reflect on my own seasons of darkness and hopelessness, as if recalling memories of my despair was an attempt to empathize with others in their deep pain. I remembered feeling such severe anxiety that my body would shake violently like I was trying to crawl out of my own skin. I remembered the depression that clouded my ability to see any choices other than the choice of death and destruction. I remembered how much of my brain capacity was occupied by existential dread and the longing for my existence to be annihilated.

Still, I somehow have not succumb to the darkness. Right now, I almost feel guilty that I am feeling light. And then it dawned on me: I survived my experiences of darkness because others around me were beacons of light. They did not succumb to my darkness, but held me as they demonstrated that life could be different, filled with hope and laughter and joy and celebration. Their lightness helped carry me forward so that when I was hopeless, I could at the very least hope in their hope of God’s promises. 

It is a strange time to discuss the spiritual discipline of celebration. I had a difficult time reflecting on how I might share my thoughts on celebration during this season of Lent…and especially during this season of social isolation, fear of uncertainty, and disorientation of routine. What is there to celebrate now? Our world is collapsing from the weight of human pain and weakness, evil intentions and selfish greed. We fight with those we love and remain indifferent to inequality. Our planet is dying and still we grasp for more. What is there to celebrate now?

For several years up until I was prompted to write this blog post about celebration, I have been a champion for ushering in the genre of lament into the Church. I saw celebration as empty and fake because there was so much to lament and I felt that celebrating in such a time as this would be inauthentic and dismissive of people’s darkness. How dare the Church celebrate as people fall by the wayside, hidden under the shadows of our steeples? How can I celebrate GOD when I don’t feel like God has intervened in the way he has promised? Is this a God worthy of celebrating? 

I’ve come to the conclusion that celebration is only made empty when you do not acknowledge darkness, are blind to the world in pain, and ignore blatant evilness. Celebration in its truest form is a proclamation of victory, like a battle cry of strength and resilience knowing not whether you will make it out alive. Celebration is the recognition that the Church knows the end of the story: Jesus wins. For all that he bore on the cross, we know that his silencing of sin and death through the resurrection is all the more powerful, meaningful, and victorious.

So here we are, the Church, living through the Lenten season, lamenting our sins and yet waiting in hopeful anticipation for Resurrection Sunday. We are the “already-not-yet.” We inhabit a liminal space that is sacred and messy and full of God’s love all at the same time. We have the unique privilege of being able to entangle our lament with our hope, our joy and our sorrow, and our celebration and mourning because church is where heaven and earth collide and Jesus is called God With Us. I hope that in this pivotal moment of our history that we will celebrate God—not to trivialize the decomposition of our societies—but to demonstrate the alternative way of life that God has offered us to partake in. 

I end with an example that the slaves of the South in the 1800s exemplified for us. What came out of their pain and struggle were songs of praise. They understood how heavy it was to suffer and be victims of injustice. Yet, their spirituals and hymns portray that beautiful dance with Darkness because the dance itself is how you make darkness into light. Church, hope so that others may borrow your hope. Rejoice so that the sorrowful may feel joy through you. Laugh while others argue with rage and dividing accusations. Celebrate when you feel like complaining. In such a time as this, may we exemplify the same spirit and celebrate our lives and God and all that he has done, is doing, and will do. Glory Hallelujah!

Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
Nobody knows but He knows my sorrow
Yes, nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
But glory, Hallelujah

Sometimes I’m standing crying
Tears running down my face
I cry to the Lord, have mercy
Help me run this all race

Oh Lord, I have so many trials
So many pains and woes
I’m asking for faith and comfort
Lord, help me to carry this load, 

Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
Well, no, nobody knows but Jesus
No nobody knows, oh the trouble, the trouble I’ve seen
I’m singing glory, glory glory Hallelujah

No nobody knows, oh the trouble, the trouble I’ve seen
Lord, no nobody knows my sorrow
No nobody knows, you know the trouble
The trouble I’ve seen
I’m singing glory, glory, glory, Hallelujah!