Dear Friends,

I want to speak about the Courage to Rejoice (even in summer). In a world marked by exhaustion, injustice, and grief, joy can seem almost out of place. How do we celebrate when the headlines are heavy with war, division, and climate anxiety? And yet, the Christian tradition insists: joy is more than

a fleeting feeling. It is an act of spiritual resistance. It is a faithful, defiant “yes” to the goodness of God in the midst of a fractured world.

Summertime often invites us into moments of beauty: blooming gardens, backyard meals, the laughter of children running through sprinklers. These are not just seasonal pleasures — they can be sacred signs. Scripture shows us that joy often blooms not after struggle ends, but in the midst of it.

The Israelites sang on the shores of the Red Sea (Exodus 15). The psalmists lifted up joy while

surrounded by enemies. And Jesus, “for the sake of the joy that was set before him,” endured the

cross (Hebrews 12:2 NRSVUE). That kind of joy is not escapism. It is a declaration!

Joy, then, becomes a radical act of faith. In a culture fueled by outrage, joy is countercultural. When we gather in worship, sing hymns, share cold lemonade with a neighbor, or watch the sunset after a long, hot day — we are participating in holy disruption. These practices ground us in

something deeper than today’s chaos. They remind us of God’s enduring presence, even now.

Of course, joy can’t be faked. Jesus warned against joy without roots — like seed on rocky ground.

It springs up quickly, but withers in the heat (Matthew 13:20–21). The joy that lasts is nurtured by trust,

by rhythm, by attention. Summertime offers us space to slow down, to notice. Take a walk. Listen to

the wind in the trees. Give thanks for small wonders. Let joy take root.

This post-resurrection season invites us to remember that Christ is risen — and so is hope. Our task is

to tune-in to the movement of the Spirit, to notice beauty and blessing, to name joy when we see it. Whether in a picnic, a baptism, a community garden, or a quiet evening under the stars — joy still

finds us.

Let’s reclaim joy not as a luxury, but as essential to resilient faith. It keeps us tender in a world that wants to harden us. It keeps us faithful when cynicism would be easier. It keeps us open — to one another, to God, to life.

So take courage to rejoice — not because everything is fine, but because God is still faithful! Let’s sing, savor, and rest — not to escape the world’s pain, but to proclaim that pain is not the whole story.

Joy is not shallow. It is brave. And this summer, it might just be what our souls need most.

In the grip of Grace,

Pastor Peter J. Blank