Held in the Dark
There’s something about night-time that makes everything feel heavier. Questions get louder. Emotions sit closer to the surface. The tiredness in your body starts to feel like tiredness in your soul. No wonder Scripture often uses darkness to name the things we can’t explain or escape.
But Advent doesn’t rush past the dark. It moves through it. It names it. And it reminds us: joy often comes at night.
Joy, in the Kingdom, isn’t cheerfulness. It’s presence-aware wholeness—a quiet, sometimes defiant assurance that God is with us, and that His nearness changes everything. Not by removing pain, but by holding us inside it. As Tish Harrison Warren writes, “We must hold our pain and God’s promises in the same hand.” That’s the tension we carry—and the place where joy begins to grow.
Joseph is ready to walk away when the angel meets him in a dream. The shepherds are working the kind of night shift that blends into every other. These aren’t moments of clarity or triumph. They’re raw, uncertain, ordinary. But they’re the places God chooses to enter.
The Word becomes flesh—not in polished perfection, but in real, lived-in humanity. And that’s where joy finds us. Not in pretending things are fine, but in experiencing God’s presence in the middle of it all. Not because the world has changed—but because God is here.
We often picture joy as sparkle and ease. But in this story, joy is what happens when we realise we’re not alone. It flickers like light at dawn. It doesn’t erase sorrow—but it gently orients us toward hope.
Joy doesn’t wait for the dark to lift. It enters it—because that’s where God meets us.
So if you find yourself in the night—tired, tender, or undone—you’re not on the outside of joy. You might be standing right at its beginning.
READ
-
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
-
Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, 9 for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
DEEPER
The Gospel accounts don’t hide the vulnerability of Jesus’ birth—they foreground it. A young couple displaced by imperial power. A child born not at home but among animals. Visitors who were strangers. Danger close behind. The story is full of uncertainty, fear, and risk.
Joseph’s quiet courage. Mary’s resilience. Shepherds trembling in the dark, only to find themselves the first to hear “good news of great joy.” In each moment, the message isn’t that everything will be easy. It’s that God is already here.
Joy in the Kingdom is never shallow. It doesn’t ignore pain—it dares to sing in the middle of it. It’s not naïve or soft. It’s bold. Subversive. A protest against despair. That’s what makes it holy.
When Jesus is born, the world is still groaning. Rome still rules. Poverty still crushes. Fear is thick in the air. But the heavens erupt anyway. An angel army bursts into song—not because everything is fine, but because God has come close. The sky doesn’t wait for the pain to end. It declares joy right in the middle of it.
This is the surprise of Advent joy: it doesn’t land after the struggle. It shows up in it. It interrupts the night with light. The shepherds are terrified, and rightly so. But the first words they hear are: “Do not be afraid. I bring good news of great joy.” That’s not sentiment. That’s revolution. Joy is what happens when heaven breaks through.
Joseph hears it in a dream. Mary carries it in her body. The shepherds race into the night to find it wrapped in cloth, lying in a manger. None of them saw it coming. None of them had it all together. But joy still found them.
Joy lifts our heads when they hang low. It gives us courage to move—even when the road ahead is still uncertain. It doesn’t wait for resolution. It begins in the ache and helps us keep breathing. In Jesus’ presence, it rises—quiet but steady, surprising but unmistakable.
In a culture that often seeks comfort or control, joy is something different. It’s not just a positive feeling. It’s the fruit of knowing we are seen, loved, and never alone. Sometimes it shouts. Sometimes it weeps. Sometimes it just gets you out of bed when you thought you couldn’t do another day. That’s joy too.
Joy in the Kingdom isn’t just emotional—it’s prophetic. It declares, even in the dark: “God is still at work.” That’s the kind of joy the Spirit cultivates in us—not just for our sake, but to share with others. As we receive joy, we’re invited to become messengers of it, like the shepherds who ran to tell what they’d seen. This is joy as mission.
Jesus didn’t come to impress or distract. He came to restore. And when that restoration touches our lives, it brings joy—not as surface sparkle, but as the deep song of a world being made new.
So if you’re in the dark this week, let joy surprise you. Let it rise in defiance of fear. Let it crack through the heaviness like dawn. Because joy isn’t a bonus feature of faith. It’s a fruit of God’s presence. And He’s here. With us.