I met him only once during a small gathering. He was visiting the United States from a nation where following Jesus often comes at a great cost. As a pastor of an underground church, he had endured arrests, interrogations, and the constant threat of being watched. I expected heaviness in his voice, maybe even fear. Instead, what I saw disarmed me: he laughed.
It was not the lighthearted laughter of someone avoiding pain. It was deep and steady, the kind that rises from somewhere beyond circumstance. His eyes glowed as he spoke about his flock, about the nights they gathered in secret to worship, about the joy of seeing one more person meet Jesus. I remember thinking that joy should not be possible for someone who has lived under persecution. And yet, it was radiant and alive, defying the weight of suffering.
That one conversation changed how I understood joy. I realized joy is not the denial of suffering but the declaration that Christ is enough in the midst of it.
There is a kind of joy that emerges when lesser sources of security fall away. Not because suffering itself produces holiness, but because it exposes what the heart is truly anchored to. Whether faith is lived under pressure or peace, joy grows when Christ becomes our deepest source of life. The joy I encountered in that pastor was not extraordinary because of suffering, but because of Christ.
This pastor showed glimmers of a purified gold that has emerged from years of suffering, a costly, consecrated contribution to the global Church. He embodied that which is being unearthed across Asia: a resilient faith and a witness born in the wilderness. His suffering is not virtuous in and of itself. But by it, a sleeping Church in the West is reminded of what it means to follow Jesus with everything. We, often seduced by the false comfort of prosperity and material gain, desperately need to hear the voices of believers who have not built their faith on comfort but have purified it in the fire of persecution. They carry a depth, a resilience, a radiant gold we cannot afford to ignore.
As he shared stories of quiet courage and costly obedience, I could feel the presence of God in his words. They were not dramatic. They were gentle and filled with a kind of authority that only comes from walking through fire. In that moment, I did not just hear his story. I felt something in me break open. The Lord brought me back to the burden He had placed in my heart long ago for believers in that part of the world and breathed new life into it.
Joy is not cheap. It is costly. It does not come from ignoring pain but from walking through it with Jesus. The joy I saw in this pastor was a byproduct of the deep communion with God in the midst of suffering. It was a joy that looked like freedom, a confidence that Christ is worth everything. So often, we equate joy with comfort, blessing, or success. But this pastor’s laughter carried the sound of eternity. It was the laughter of someone who had been stripped of everything except Jesus and discovered that He was enough.
As I reflected on his story, I was reminded of Revelation 12:11 that says,
“They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives even unto death.”
We shall overcome by the word of our testimony, as we unite our stories with the blood of the Lamb. Our focus is to witness, to bear faithful testimony to Jesus, no matter the cost. The Gospel advances not through comfort alone, but through obedience rooted in love. Their joy is their weapon, their worship, and their witness.
When I remember that pastor’s joy, I am reminded of the kind of faith I long to carry, a joy that cannot be shaken because it is anchored in eternity. His life, and the lives of those who have gone before us, call me to live with that same costly devotion. May we, too, be found faithful. May our lives bear witness to the joy of knowing Jesus, whatever the cost, until the nations sing the same song of triumph: “Worthy is the Lamb.”
Header Photo Credit: Daiga Ellaby