Psalms of Advent, Week Three: Joy

Joy is rooted in Justice.

We light the pink candle in Advent and call it joy, but the psalms ask us to pause before we rejoice. Joy in Scripture is not surface-level emotion.
It is not cheerfulness.
It is not the decision to look away from what is broken.

Biblical joy is heavier—and stronger.

Joy rises when God shows up.
When the lowly are lifted.
When injustice is overturned.
When the weary are restored.

This is the joy the psalms know. A joy anchored not in circumstance, but in the justice and mercy of God.

The psalms were not written by people insulated from pain. They come from exile and displacement, from longing and unanswered prayer, from communities who knew what it meant to wait for God to act. And yet they sing.

Not because everything is right.
But because God is right.
And God is coming.

To search for joy is to cry out for justice. And to cry out for justice is an act of praise.

Psalm 146 opens the final movement of the Psalter with a command: Praise the Lord. But almost immediately, the reason for that praise becomes clear. God is named not for abstract power, but for concrete action.

The Lord executes justice for the oppressed.
The Lord feeds the hungry.
The Lord lifts those who are bowed down.

Joy here is not sentimental. It has weight. It has grounding. The psalmist rejoices because God is aligned with those at the margins. Praise becomes an ethical posture—a refusal to believe that injustice has the final word.

Joy, in this psalm, is trust that restoration is already underway.

The psalmist carries that trust into memory. It remembers a return from exile, a moment when laughter felt possible again. But the psalm does not romanticize the journey.

Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.

Joy is not instant here. It is harvested. Justice is often sown painfully, through endurance, waiting, and even in loss. But sorrow is not wasted. God gathers it. God transforms it.

This psalm teaches us that joy is both gratitude and prophecy: remembering what God has already restored and trusting what God will restore again. To rejoice is to believe that renewal is possible, even when tears are still present.

Isaiah 12:2-6 takes that joy and sends it outward. With joy, you will draw water from the wells of salvation, the prophet says—and then immediately turns the people outward toward proclamation.

Joy, in Scripture, does not remain private. It is drawn, carried, and shared. Like water from a well, it is gathered together and given away. When justice heals, joy cannot stay contained.

Joy that remains inward withers.
Joy rooted in justice becomes visible.

As the deer longs for flowing streams,
so my soul longs for you, O God.

This is joy remembered, and joy desired, but not yet fulfilled. It is hope stretched thin. But it is still worship. The psalmist speaks to the soul, to the self, reminding it to hope, to wait, to praise again.

Here, the psalms teach us something essential: longing itself can be holy. The ache for justice, the refusal to settle for less than God’s presence, the persistence of hope even when joy feels distant—this, too, belongs to praise.

Advent lives here.
We rejoice not because everything is finished, but because God is faithful.
We long not in despair, but in trust.

Taken together, these texts form a deeper understanding of joy.

Joy is not escapism.
Joy is not pretending the world is fine.
Joy is the bold, faithful act of praising a God who is not finished yet.

True joy is found in the active pursuit of justice—
where the oppressed are lifted,
the brokenhearted restored,
and righteousness is allowed to bloom in the world.

This is the joy the psalms teach us.
A joy that waits.
A joy that sings.
A joy that does justice.

Read more, or follow along a daily Advent Reflection Reading on the Psalms series at ScholarlyWanderlust.com.