Joy is resistance: Choosing hope in a broken world

 In our current climate – economic pressures, political divisions, ecological anxieties – joy can feel like a luxury, writes Anthony Hunt.

BY CAPTAIN ANTHONY HUNT

A few weeks ago, I was doomscrolling – a word we use for that late-night habit of endlessly swiping through social media or news feeds, consuming story after story of bad news, crises and outrage. It’s a strangely addictive cycle, but not often a joyful one.  

In the middle of that spiral, I stumbled across a clip of stand-up comedian Sammy Obeid. He’s an American comic with Palestinian roots, carrying a razor-sharp wit and able to find humour even in life’s tensions. Midway through a set, someone in the audience shouted, “Joy is resistance.”  

Obeid paused, let the words hang, then grinned: “Yeah. I’ve even got merch that says, ‘Jokes are resistance’.” 

That exchange hit me hard. Here was someone whose identity is tied to a people often associated in the headlines with conflict and suffering, still laughing – still finding joy. And an audience member reframed it as something much bigger – a deliberate act of defiance against despair.  

Paradoxes

Most of us know this paradox. We live surrounded by beauty – the beaches, the bush, the easy warmth of an Australian summer’s evening – and yet, open the news and you’re quickly reminded that the world is hurting. War, injustice, cost-of-living pressures, fractured families, ecological strain.  

The ancient writers of the Bible knew this same tension. One letter famously declares: “All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs” (Romans chapter 8, verse 22, The Message translation).

The world is both stunningly good and deeply broken. And we feel caught in the middle. Do we give in to the brokenness, or pretend everything is fine? Or is there another way? 

A different way

One of the most striking voices on this question is Paul, an early Christian leader whose life was anything but easy. Paul wrote many of his letters while imprisoned or persecuted, yet one of his recurring themes is joy. 

“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I will say, rejoice!” he urged the church in Philippi (Philippians chapter 4, verse 4, New King James Version). Coming from a man writing in chains, those words sound almost absurd. Yet for Paul, joy wasn’t shallow cheerfulness. It was rooted in a deep trust that love and goodness ultimately have the last word. 

He went further: “We even take pride in our problems, because we know that trouble produces endurance,endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Romans chapter 5, verse 3–4, Contemporary English Version). 

This is why many Christians today can describe joy as resistance. It resists the pull of cynicism. It resists despair. It insists that even in the darkest times, light remains.

In the life of Jesus, we also see that joy and sorrow are not enemies, but more like dance partners. Jesus was known for attending parties and feasts, telling stories about wedding banquets as glimpses of what God intends life to be like. Even his first miracle was at a wedding, turning water into wine (John chapter 2, verses 1–11), suggesting that even celebration itself is a sacred act. 

Yet, Jesus also wept. He cried over the death of a close friend (John chapter 11, verse 35). He mourned over the city of Jerusalem, lamenting its brokenness (Luke chapter 19, verse 41). He even told his followers: “You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you” (Matthew chapter 5, verse 4, The Message). 

This paradox is central. Life is both celebration and mourning. To deny either is to deny reality. To embrace both is to live more fully human. 

Defying despair 

In our current climate – economic pressures, political divisions, ecological anxieties – joy can feel like a luxury. But maybe, as that audience member shouted, joy is resistance. 

Choosing joy doesn’t mean ignoring injustice or glossing over pain. It means refusing to let despair have the final word. It’s resistance to the pull of hopelessness.  

And it doesn’t always look grand. Sometimes it’s the small acts that keep us human: sharing a meal with neighbours, volunteering at a local op shop, cheering your team at the footy, or laughing at a comedian’s joke. Sometimes joy is as simple as sitting with someone who is grieving, refusing to let them face sorrow alone. 

As the writer and activist Cornel West once put it: “Our job is not to solve every problem in the world, but to do our part with grace, integrity and courage.” We may not be able to heal all wounds or end all wars. But we can resist despair by choosing to practice joy, hope and love where we are. 

Joy and sadness 

So perhaps the question is not, “How can we be joyful when the world is broken?” but rather, “Can we dare to be fully human by holding both joy and sorrow together?” 

Joy can be real, even when brokenness is all around us. And brokenness can still be real, even in the middle of celebration. To live with both is not contradiction – it’s truth. It’s resisting the temptation to numb oneself with denial or drown in despair, to doomscroll the night away. 

This paradox is at the heart of the story of Jesus – the cross and resurrection side by side, grief and joy inseparably linked. But even outside faith, the invitation is the same. To laugh without ignoring pain. To mourn without surrendering to hopelessness. To embrace life, not as an either/or, but as an and/both.  

That’s not naïve. It’s profoundly human. And maybe, that’s the kind of resistance our world needs most. 

Captain Anthony Hunt is the Corps Officer at Centenary Corps in Queensland.