“The difference between shallow happiness and a deep, sustaining joy is sorrow. Happiness lives where sorrow is not. When sorrow arrives, happiness dies. It can’t stand pain. Joy, on the other hand, rises from sorrow and therefore can withstand all grief. Joy, by the grace of God, is the transfiguration of suffering into endurance, and of endurance into character, and of character into hope–and the hope that has become our joy does not (as happiness must for those who depend up on it) disappoint us.”

-Walter Wangerin

Sometimes people disappoint me.

Sometimes I disappoint myself.

I think disappointment is one of the things we fear most.

What if I trust this person with my sacrificial donation to a worthy cause and he absconds with it for his own personal pleasure?

What if I trust this woman with my story, but her tongue twists truth like a knotted cherry stem that becomes a mocking joke at my expense?

What if I trust these caregivers to protect my precious child and they return him with a bruise in the shape of a hand and a flimsy excuse pinned to his onesie.

These examples are hypothetical (mostly); however, many people understand the suffering that comes from a sense of betrayal and discovering people they trusted were not who they said they were. That kind of pain is real. Some of us add to the suffering by feeling ashamed for being gullible, but there is also the fact that sometimes we didn’t see the red flags sooner because we didn’t want to. They were inconvenient.

But what if the culprit is me? What if in my exuberance to illustrate a point, I break a confidence and share a story I promised not to share?

What if I accept the polite gesture of driver allowing me to merge onto a busy road as if I was entitled to it, then, only a block later, slam on my brakes, sloshing my hot coffee everywhere. What if I mutter the curse, “idiot!” at an obviously drug- impaired woman who stumbles onto the road in front of me. (Ok. That one really happened. I almost ran over her! But God forgive me, in that moment I was more upset about what an enormous inconvenience that would have been to me more than I was about how devastating it would have been to her. )

I was not who I thought I was. I felt ashamed and stupid for my choices.

I’ve been thinking a lot about scenarios like this and worse lately. A lot of people, including myself, have been deeply disappointed by betrayals of trust by people we thought we knew. I suffer with victims who have been treated as if they are expendable in the kingdom of God. Some of the substantiated reports coming out sent me into deep mourning. I lost my joy.

As a foster mother I often held inconsolable weeping children who had been abused. I rocked them for hours. As a friend I’ve listened to stories of abuse and the consequences both women and men didn’t disclose until decades later. I never thought I would see so much dishonour for the powerless in a church setting. It’s been a season of anger and mourning, but I don’t want my angry tears to congeal into bitterness, nor do I want to enable systemic corruption.

I’ve also seen the tears in the eyes of friends I treated cruelly with impatient, judgmental, or dismissive words. I am not without sin. In recent months I felt compelled to find two estranged friends from many years ago who I needed to apologize to. Eventually I learned that both had passed away. I regret not making things right sooner.

This season of sorrow has prompted me to look at things I don’t want to see. It has made me realize that even though I can’t fix anybody, I can’t afford to carry a grudge either. It may take a while to get there, but the goal is forgiveness. It has made me ask questions.

What if we confront the people who wronged the innocent or the trusting, and by holding them accountable, protect more vulnerable lambs from abuse? What if we go further? What if we are all honest with each other? What if we come humbly, together, recognizing our own vulnerability to falling, and extend grace to help them in the long process of rebuilding trust as they learn to become the people God created them to be?

What if I thank God for revealing when I miss the mark? (Publicly, if need be.) What if I apologize, make amends, and (here’s the hard part) forgive myself as I cooperate with Holy Spirit as he works in me so I can become the person he created me to be?

My examples are (mostly) hypothetical. Disappointment is real. In the past few months, I have struggled with the consequences of disappointment in Christians I felt I, or fellow-believers ought to be able to trust. Then I realized I was also in need of grace to let go of self-made comforting idols. What if godly sorrow that temporarily removes our happiness leads to an awareness of the permanent joy the author of our faith wrote into the script of his plan for our lives?

What if joy means knowing that He who began a good work in us will be faithful to complete it? What if the pain and grief-filled times are gifts of grace that motivate us to develop endurance leading to good character that can carry increased hope? What if it’s really true that God loves us as we are, but also loves us too much to leave us this way?

What if we can say –with joy– our Heavenly Father’s discipline is not fun at the time, but as we respond to his voice, and take time to sit in his presence, we discover he is actually good? What if it is his kindness that leads us to want to change? What if the sorrow of godly suffering leads us through the valley of the shadow of death to self where he prepares a feast for us where the enemies of our soul can watch but dare not touch us? What if the evidence of transformation in our lives is being able to say. with sincerity, I trust you Lord, for only you have the words of eternal life?

In you is fullness of joy, even in sorrow.