Philippians is such a beautiful letter.

I mean it was such a beautiful letter to read and to think about. I don’t get many letters—I usually live in a flow of short, utilitarian text messages with emoji and gifs. And what kept coming to mind is a good and close friend that genuinely cares for you, going through something together with you, to help and to support, to encourage and to counsel you. And one of the main things I’ve been meditating on is rejoicing. Paul couldn’t stop writing it and praying it, apparently.

Rejoice.

You know, as I just stopped and sat with that the past few mornings, I realized I don’t fully understand the word, at least not how Paul worked through it; how it’s actually meaningful in everyday tangible life. It’s a rejoicing in the fruits of the here and now, with all of the people around us here and now, and dealing with all of the highs and lows of life—here and now.

But then this rejoicing really begins in a space that isn’t quite here, with a view of time that isn’t quite now, right? It’s looking back to a Jewish man from a distant time and place, who lived and died and lived again. And then looking forward to a forever-king that we’ve been adopted by to live with forever, after we live and die too.

But then also looking back further and further to find God having been working from the very first moment of bringing things together in one name and saviour—a beautiful and cosmic family and kingdom that has always been and will always be as well.

But it’s also actually now and here as well. That’s the crazy and amazing story: it was, it will be, it is now already.

So, you know, rejoice.