Objectively speaking, humans have never been more materially prosperous or physically secure. And yet, we’ve never been more anxious. We’ve never despaired so deeply about the future. We’ve never felt so alone. How can this be?

Sociologists point out two massive factors.

First, inequality. While much of the world is experiencing unprecedented prosperity, there are still billions being devastated by hunger, disease, and violence. And the rest of us can’t avoid knowing about this suffering, and we can’t avoid inhaling the anxiety of it.

Second, the utterly unmanageable rate of change. We are experiencing changes in technology, demographics, cultural norms, and data stimuli at a rate that humans have never had to manage before.

With such brutal inequality and chaotic instability, it’s no wonder that our world is aching with anxiety and sadness. That’s why I am convinced that there is nothing that would shine with more incandescent brilliance and irresistible appeal than if God’s people emanated an authentic freedom from fear and life-giving joy. But of course, for this to happen, the experience of joy and freedom must be genuine.

Joy as the Fruit of Faithful Action

The most revolutionary point of clarity I have experienced in 50 years of trying to follow Jesus: The teachings of Jesus are only useful for me—and useful for others through me—when I act as if they are true.

Jesus himself says this about his teachings. In Matthew 7, Jesus says the difference between the wise man who builds his life on a rock and survives the storm, and the foolish man who builds on sand and gets swept away, is that the wise man heard the words of Jesus and acted upon them, and the other man (who also heard the words) did not. In Luke 11, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who hear the word of God and do it.” The Apostle James makes the same point when he contrasts the foolish person who hears the word of God and does nothing about it, and the doer of the word who “will be blessed in his doing.”¹

The principle here is not about something we earn through belief—it’s about understanding what belief is. As Dallas Willard, the philosopher and theologian of spiritual formation, wrote so clearly: “We believe something not when we say we believe it, or even when we believe we believe it. We believe something when we act as if it were true.”²

Likewise, the teachings of Jesus are only useful for us in rescuing us from fear and finding joy if we are willing to act as if those teachings are true—especially in the most stressful moments.

And when we do—when, by his Spirit, we step out in faith with Jesus in the most dreadful moments, I’ve found that Jesus is prepared to fortify his people with a supernatural freedom from fear and a joy that defies explanation.

Joy Enables Perseverance

Over nearly 30 years serving alongside those who are suffering brutal violence in places of deep poverty, my colleagues at International Justice Mission and I have come to find that joy is, indeed, the secret to doing this work over the long haul. We’ve come to share this truth with each other like a refrain: “Joy is the oxygen of doing hard things.”

In the midst of fighting slavery and abuse and confronting some of the most horrific evil in our world today, we know how quickly we can fall prey to a vicious lie—the one that whispers to us that we shouldn’t laugh, we shouldn’t delight in our lives. That we should wallow in the darkness and the gloom of the suffering we are fighting, 24/7.

But this is, simply, the way to burn out. Imagine watching a candle flame burn in a votive jar and then placing a plate or a lid over that jar. Deprived of oxygen, the flame very quickly dies. This is precisely what happens when we pursue the work of justice and deprive ourselves of joy. If we want to bring justice to a world aching for it, and if we want to do this sustainably over the long haul, we must care for our own souls. And so, as a team at IJM, we pursue daily spiritual disciplines. Every day begins with the gift of thirty minutes of solitude and silence, a practice we refer to as our time of stillness. Then, just as our workday has ramped up with momentum, we stop again, gathering as a community at 11 am for thirty minutes of prayer together. These counterintuitive practices of stopping in the midst of urgent, demanding work keep us from slipping into prayerless striving. Our rhythms of prayer enable us to experience joy and beauty and goodness in life, even as we contend with the brutal reality of injustice.

Over decades of pursuing these disciplines together, we’ve learned the power of the Holy Spirit allows us to live in freedom and joy, and yet we can actively participate with the Holy Spirit’s cultivation of these gifts through our own practices. Dallas Willard taught that there are things you can do to “arrange your life so that you are experiencing contentment, joy, and confidence in your daily life with God.”3 The fruit of this intentional arrangement of our lives toward freedom from fear and joy—this will be the most powerful gift we can bring into the world—our authentic experience with God.

Joy in Dark Places

I spent time with Bishop Tutu in South Africa under the apartheid regime, and I had never seen anyone laugh as hard as he did. He had a capacity to come up for air, and he would do it with regularity, so that he could then go back down into the darkness. I think Bishop Tutu knew the truth we have come to find at IJM, and it’s this: people who are suffering and hurting in the world do not need our spasms of passion. What they need is our long faithfulness in the same direction, and that faithfulness is sustained only as we live free from fear and pursue disciplines of joy.

After decades of immersion in the ugliest and most brutal realities human beings can do to one another, I have experienced such great joy, love, and laughter. Heartache for sure, but beauty and goodness, too. And it has been found in the hard things.

In Kenya, our IJM teams lead with freedom from fear and incandescent joy amid one of the most terrifying forms of violence—police abuse.

In one of Nairobi’s poorest neighborhoods, a brutal police gang was threatening and extorting money from the community, and shot a humble taxi driver named Josephat. Miraculously, Josephat survived and bravely sought IJM’s help for the impossible—to try and bring the notorious leader of the police gang, Inspector Liliman, to justice.

IJM’s local Kenya team took the case, and several months later, as we were making progress in the prosecution, Inspector Liliman and his gang abducted the IJM lawyer, Willie Kimani, along with Josephat and our driver named Joseph.

The three were driven out to an abandoned field at night, and one by one they were beaten to death, bundled in plastic bags, and thrown into the river. Their bodies were recovered 10 days later.

I received the news by phone at 3 o’clock in the morning and was soon on a flight to Nairobi. As I arrived, I met in a small room with my IJM Kenyan team leaders. They had just stared into the faces of their disfigured friends at the morgue. They now knew they were facing police who were willing to torture and murder without mercy or shame. Soon, they would have to look into the faces of the widows and their children.

All were wondering what should happen next. And to be honest, what happened next makes me tremble to recall—for the Holy Spirit came and they received power. What came next, to be precise, was the power to do what was already written on the office wall. It was the command of their Lord, in two words, from the prophet Isaiah: “seek justice.”

So that’s what they did.

A murderous police gang had declared open war against our IJM team—and I watched as every last member of that team decided to act as if what they said they believed was true. They acted as if Jesus would never leave them nor forsake them.

And then, for the next six years, they woke up every day, prayed to the God of justice, and then worked for justice. They rallied the local church and the community to demand justice and an end to police abuse. They trained and encouraged government leaders of good will to build a future where Kenyan children do not need to fear their own police.

Finally, after six years of faith, the tide turned and the impossible happened. The once all powerful and terrifying Inspector Liliman and his gang were convicted for murdering our friends and received the severest sentence under law. After decades of virtually zero convictions of police for murder in Kenya, IJM and the authorities have gone on to secure the conviction of more than forty police officers for murder and manslaughter. Moreover, Kenya held its first presidential election with none of the massive police violence that has marred every presidential election in memory.

There is still much work to be done to address police abuse in Kenya—as there is in all of our own countries. But I can testify that Christians in Kenya are finding supernatural freedom from fear and the oxygen of joy as the Holy Spirit gives them power to act as if the things that Jesus taught were true.

We are witnessing God use his people to change a nation—and he is sweeping a culture of police terror into the dustbin of history.

Fear and Joy

Twenty-nine years ago, I came very close to not starting IJM—and for one reason: I was afraid. What made the difference for me was not only being honest about my fears—but perhaps more importantly, being honest about what exactly I was afraid of.

In starting IJM, there was a lot to fear. The core work of IJM meant a confrontation with violence, and I could get hurt. I could get other people hurt. I had a wife and four small children. I’d have to leave my career as a federal prosecutor and go work for a non-profit that didn’t actually exist, and probably wouldn’t exist for long. How would I take care of my family?

Against this, I sensed the clear call of Scripture—to seek justice and serve the poor. And I sensed the promise of Christ that He would go with me.

I wasn’t actually so afraid of the violence or the risk to my career or somehow providing for my family. There was something else that terrified me and was actually holding me back. And the worst part was, it was a fear I was ashamed of.

Deep down, I was most afraid of looking like a failure.

Many of our deepest (and frequently unconscious) fears—if we can honestly excavate them—will show us where we don’t actually believe that God is enough—where we think we need something else.

The problem in my case was not that I didn’t know what Jesus taught—or that I disagreed with it—or that it was too complicated to implement. The problem was I didn’t actually believe what He taught. I didn’t believe it in the sense of a willingness to act as if it were true.

But thanks be to God, a gentle and gracious Jesus met me in that honesty. He swept away the shame—and allowed me to pray what is, for me now, the most beautiful prayer in Scripture: “I believe. Help me in my unbelief!”⁴ This is the honest, desperate cry of the father in Mark’s gospel who aches to see his child rescued from evil. He believes enough to go to Jesus, but is humble and honest enough to admit he doesn’t actually believe enough to fully follow. So he cries out—to Jesus—“Help me in my unbelief!” And Jesus responds with decisive power.

We can be free from fear and we can rejoice in all things. We can be anxious for nothing. Indeed, we can be free enough to love others with courageous abandon fed by an inexhaustible joy.

Our story doesn’t end with evil and lies and carnage and chaos. Rather, after chapters of faith and perseverance and service and courage—our story ends in salvation and redemption and rejoicing and glory.

In a world aching with anxiety and sadness—God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and love and a strong mind. With great joy.

Now, we just need to act as if it is true.