Having Nothing to Say
and though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith the salvation of your souls.1 Peter 1:8-9 NASB
Joy inexpressible– What is “joy inexpressible”? Are we to understand this expression in the same vein as “His ways are higher than our ways,” simply conceding that whatever this joy is, we can’t find any human way of experiencing it? The Greek term is anĕklalētŏs, literally, “not spoken out,” from the negative particle and the word ĕklalĕō, also a combination of the primary preposition, ĕk, and lalĕō, “to utter words.” Once we see the construction of the word in 1 Peter, we realize that this doesn’t mean joy that is beyond comprehension. What anĕklalētŏs really describes is joy that can’t be verbalized. In other words, this is joy we can express; it just can’t be expressed in words.
Peter is pointing us toward an emotional reaction, beyond the reach of cognitive articulation. In his view, this deep sense of joy touches the realm of glory. Perhaps he is recalling the Transfiguration experience that overwhelmed him in the past. Perhaps he is simply being Hebraic, steering us away from Greek rationality as the vehicle of religious evaluation. To imply that this kind of joy is “unspeakable” is to push us toward Sinai, an experience embedded in the ethnic psychology of the Jews. Or perhaps Peter is just noticing that some things of great value can’t be articulated and this fact is worth celebrating.
We are not minds wrapped in flesh, as Platonic dualism might suggest. We are emotive, volitional, animated, embodied beings, and we need to pay attention to the whole range of human interactions in this world, particularly those we can’t quite capture in rational thought. This suggests something else. Could it be that “faith” isn’t really assent to a set of propositions or the vocalization of a creed? Could it be that “faith” is a feeling, not in the sense of some transitory emotional wave but in the sense of shalom, an awareness of wholeness, of well-being? That would be Hebraic.
When I journeyed to Jerusalem on several occasions, my friend Moshe would say to me, “Now when you go back to the States, someone will ask you what it was like to be in Jerusalem. And you won’t be able to tell him. You’ll try to describe the event, the sense of God’s presence, but the words will be inadequate. Being here is a feeling and unless you are here, you can’t quite say what it is.” Moshe was right, but maybe he was more right than I imagined. Maybe faith is like that—something you feel even if you can’t quite say what it is. Joy anĕklalētŏs.
Topical Index: joy inexpressible, anĕklalētŏs, 1 Peter 1:8-9
A precious person in my life is going through the shock of their life. They have made their peace with others and with God, and are now under new management. I know that God, I and others, too, are finding that we are “rejoicing in destruction”, but it is NOT the destruction of them (thinking that you are going to die is not the same as actually dying, y’all): it is the destruction of all that is not them out of their lives, leaving the truth where they can see it. This is a miracle that I have been praying for for several decades. All that pain: all that sacrifice: all that despair into hope: all that seemingly ‘wasted’ faith. And, a miracle save at the last moment. Somebody else – perhaps a whole heaven full – is going to have to experience that joy for me: I am incapable of even being able to feel a fraction of the relief and happiness. The magnitude of it (as well as what it means for the salvation of others around, too) is way too far beyond me. I hope heaven’s hosts are singing their tongues off: I can’t seem to find mine.
Thank you, Skip, for writing this today of all days. Thank you, Body, for synching so well. Thank you, YHVH, for Your love through the salvation of your Son to us. Halleluah! Amen.
I truly believe and this is why we pray for each other for we do not know when the time will come that we will be encouraging someone somewhere like Peter at Pentecost in the book of Acts , they all heard it in their own language.
God of the Open Air, III
By Henry van Dyke, 1904
Lost, long ago,
that garden bright and pure,
Lost, that calm day
too perfect to endure,
And lost the childlike love
that worshipped and was sure!
For men have dulled
their eyes with sin,
And dimmed
the light of heaven with doubt,
And built their temple walls
to shut thee in,
And framed their iron creeds
to shut thee out.
But not for thee
the closing of the door,
O Spirit unconfined!
Thy ways are free
As is the wandering wind,
And thou hast wooed
thy children, to restore
Their fellowship with thee,
In peace of soul
and simpleness of mind.
wow
This is an amazing poem! Thank you for sharing.
I find myself thinking how God first placed man in the Garden of Eden. Sure is a far cry from the places culture dictates we humans worship in today. Buildings with four walls closed off from the very creation that we were meant to experience all that God is. Indeed, how does one confine the Spirit?
I’m guessing that the joy Adam and Eve felt was simply amazing 🙂
So much more running thru my mind but I lack the words to express it.
You know it when the experience overwhelms you.
It can happen from time to time. It may happen many
times. It depends on the individual.
Faith is our amazing supernatural gift that lives in us
like a heartbeat. It’s with us in our unremarkable daily
norms, and it’s with us in our exalted moments which
may render us speechless.
Paul spoke of such an occasion. “And I know that this
man — whether in the body or apart from the body I do
not know, but God knows — was caught up to paradise
and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is
permitted to tell.” 2 Cor 12:3-4
Yes, you can feel realities which you may not be able
to articulate . . . and perhaps better so.
(Laurita, we join in the Hallelujah chorus.)