In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.( 1 Peter 1:7-9)
This past weekend, I found myself on a bachelor trip. Ten men gathered not for pretense or shallow escape, but to honor a friend stepping into the most beautiful of covenants. It was joy in its purest form. The kind that lifts your spirit before you even realize it. We laughed hard, teased each other, and spoke freely. The zipline echoed with adrenaline-fueled shouts, and our go-kart races became a battleground of light-hearted accusations and exaggerated stories of who spun out and who didn’t, and which player profiles might have been accidentally switched. Joy was thick in the air, unmanufactured and unmistakable.
But joy as we experience it is rarely solitary. It almost always brings its shadow. Between the thrill and the noise, we slowed down, and conversations grew candid. Joy is evenly matched by anxieties and exists alongside quiet burdens. I found myself asking God a question I’ve asked many times before: Why does joy always seem to be interrupted by trials—whether internal or external? Why do the highest moments of life carry with them the quiet ache of the trials we are still walking through?
Peter doesn’t shy away from that question. In his first letter, he addresses it head-on. “In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials” (1 Peter 1:6). There is no contradiction in that sentence. Rejoicing and grief walk side by side. They are not mutually exclusive; they are spiritually intertwined. Our rejoicing is real, but so is our pain, and neither is wasted. Peter goes further to say that these trials have a purpose: “These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold... may result in praise, glory, and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed” (v.7). Our trials are not cosmic accidents or divine oversight. They are carefully curated by the hand of God. They refine what is eternal. They burn off what cannot last and leave behind the substance of a faith that will resound forever.
This is the tension we live in: joy and difficulty, laughter and groaning, celebration and refining fire. But it is not a hopeless tension. The inheritance is already secured, kept in heaven for us, shielded by God’s power. What we walk through now is temporary, even when it feels endless. And if the laughter at the bachelor party was real, so was the refining. Joy was not the absence of trial; it was the presence of grace in the midst of it. Because even here, God is shaping us for glory.
Refined by Fire, Sustained by Joy
It is no surprise that trials come. We live in a world fractured by sin and fading by the hour. And for those of us who bear the name of Christ, the pressure is even more acute. Our very presence, salt in a decaying world, and light in ever-thickening darkness guarantees resistance. Yet what catches us off guard is not that trials come, but how easily we forget what they are meant to produce.
The relative comfort many of us have known in recent times has dulled our reflexes. When trials do arrive—be they internal wars or external storms—we often react from the flesh. Some grow bitter, angry with God for allowing pain they feel is undeserved. Others slip quietly into hopelessness, forgetting that our Lord is not simply a past redeemer, but our living hope (1 Peter 1:3). In both cases, we miss the invitation. We turn from the refining, rather than letting it do its work.
Yet Scripture points us down a different path. “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds...” James does not suggest that joy is found in the absence of hardship, but in the presence of purpose. The testing of our faith is not for destruction but for construction. Perseverance has a job to do in us, and if we allow it to finish its work, we will become mature, complete, lacking nothing (James 1:2–4). But how often do we interrupt the process, flinching before the fire has done its purifying work?
Our salvation, Peter reminds us, is not static. It is living. It breathes and sustains and stirs up in us a reason to rejoice, even when life is uncertain. Every hardship, every ache, every unanswered question falls under the watchful eye of a Father who chose us before time began and who ordains every trial not as punishment, but as preparation. He gave His Son, not to insulate us from suffering, but to ensure that none of it would be wasted. Still, if we are honest, many of us look for joy elsewhere. We chase joy that is circumstantial, not eternal. We root it in what we can count or post or hold. For some, joy is chained to financial security, rising and falling with account balances. For others, it is tied to relationships, its measure defined by someone else’s approval or affection. And for many in our generation, joy is held hostage by the curated lives we scroll past on screens, allowing digital illusions to rob us of the real thing.
But Christian joy is not synthetic. It is forged in the fire of affliction, anchored in the unchanging person of Christ. Joy is not the denial of pain, it is the recognition that even here, in the valley, God is working. Even here, He is faithful. And even here, we are being made ready for glory. So yes, trials will come. But so will joy, the kind that the world cannot give, and therefore cannot take away. And that is the joy worth holding onto.
Anchored Joy, Honest Tears
Peter reminds us that true joy must be rooted not in circumstance, but in God Himself, the God who has secured our salvation through Christ and sustains us by His Spirit. Our faith is like a small boat, easily tossed by the violent winds of life’s storms, yet anchored firmly by Christ. He is the weight that holds steady, the unshakable ground beneath the shifting waves of our emotions. This is why we rejoice, not because the storms are less severe, but because our foundation is immovable. Joy anchored in Christ does not rise and fall with the tides of life; it endures, even in the face of trials. It enables us to look past the pain without ignoring it, and to endure hardship by keeping our eyes fixed on the reward beyond it.
Nowhere in Scripture are we told to suppress grief or deny sorrow. The Bible never calls us to pretend. In fact, Peter openly acknowledges that his readers “have been grieved by various trials” (1 Peter 1:6). This call to rejoice does not erase suffering, it redeems it. It offers a deeper, sustaining joy that lives alongside tears. The Psalms, perhaps more than any other book, embody this tension. They teach us how to grieve honestly before God while clinging tenaciously to hope. Juan Sanchez expresses this beautifully: “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that Christians are never to be sad or that we should not grieve. We do grieve—but we grieve with hope, a living hope. We can smile as we cry.”
So, brothers and sisters, let us return to the joy that first found us, the joy not anchored in fleeting success or passing comfort, but in Christ Himself. The trials we face are real, and the pain they bring is not to be dismissed. But neither is it final. We have a living hope, one that outlives every storm and outshines every shadow. Christ has secured our salvation, the Spirit has sealed it, and the Father is shaping us for a glory we cannot yet comprehend. Let us lift our eyes from the dust of our anxieties and fix them once again on the risen King. For though we grieve, we grieve with hope. Though we suffer, we do so in joy. And though we wait, we wait with confidence, because the One who promised is faithful, and the joy set before us is worth every tear along the way.
Prayer
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the living hope I have in Christ. Though I walk through trials, help me remember that none of them are wasted. You are refining my faith, shaping me for glory, and anchoring me in a joy that cannot be shaken.
Forgive me for the times I’ve looked to fleeting things for joy in money, approval, comfort. Call me back to the joy that is found in You alone. Help me rejoice, not because life is easy, but because You are faithful.
Jesus, be my anchor when the storm comes. Teach me to persevere, to allow Your refining work to shape me without resistance. May I not despise the fire but trust the hand that wields it. Let my life testify that joy and sorrow can coexist when our hearts are fixed on You.
Holy Spirit, restore to me the joy of my salvation. Strengthen me to grieve honestly, wait patiently, and live with joy that looks beyond the present.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen