Joy Quenches Our Thirst
Sixteenth Day of Advent. Tuesday, December 16, 2025
Psalm 42:1-5
As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God. When can I go and stand before him?
Day and night, I have only tears for food, while my enemies continually taunt me, saying, “Where is this God of yours?”
My heart is breaking as I remember how it used to be: I walked among the crowds of worshipers, leading a great procession to the house of God, singing for joy and giving thanks amid the sound of a grand celebration!
Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise him again—my Savior and my God! Psalm 42:1-5
Dear friends,
Today’s reflection is quite lengthy because I, John, have been navigating through some personal stuff and realizing that if I’m not careful, I might be running on empty. So I want to share my thoughts on one of today’s Advent readings, Psalm 42. First of all, the psalmist understands my vacant emptiness well. He describes his soul longing for God like a deer desperately searching for water. That’s not gentle poetry. That’s survival language. When a deer pants for streams, it’s not just thirsty; it’s in serious need. And maybe that’s where you are right now, especially as we observe our world on this December day in 2025. Conflicts rage in Sudan, Ukraine, Myanmar, and the devastation in Gaza, displacing millions. Violence erupts unexpectedly, even during celebrations meant to bring light into darkness. The news scrolls by with reports of natural disasters, political upheaval, and humanitarian crises that leave us feeling overwhelmed and helpless. Maybe you’ve been so busy managing the chaos—processing the headlines, holding your own life together, and feeling numb to the suffering—that you forgot to drink from the Source.
Here’s the spiritual truth we need to accept: this deep hunger isn’t accidental. It’s the human condition after the Fall (Genesis 3). We’re not only affected, but everything is broken. The Hebrew word for “pant” in Psalm 42 conveys the sense of crying out, of longing with your whole being. It illustrates the image of God within us crying out for restoration. We were created to live in perfect communion with our Creator, and every tragic headline, act of violence, and displacement of innocent people reminds us that we’re living for a future kingdom and God’s will to be done. That ache you feel when you see the world’s suffering? That’s your soul’s internal alarm, recognizing we weren’t designed for this. And that thirst for God’s presence? It’s actually a gift—it’s your soul acknowledging what it was created for.
Here’s what it takes, though, and the wisdom of the psalmist shines through: he recounts and remembers. He doesn’t pretend the ache isn’t there but acknowledges real suffering. He then recalls those moments when he walked with the crowd to the house of God, when worship wasn’t performance but a genuine encounter with the Holy One. He’s bringing the past into the present reality. The Israelites built altars and established festivals precisely for this purpose, because human beings forget. In a world where over 14 million people have been displaced in Sudan alone, and millions more flee violence in Ukraine, it’s easy to lose sight of God’s faithfulness. But biblical faith is rooted in memory—remembering the Exodus, remembering the empty tomb, remembering personal encounters with the living God.
The psalmist asks himself, “Why are you cast down, O my soul?”—that question is the practice to remind you to speak biblical truth to your emotions. We need to remember that the same God who parted the Red Sea, who raised Jesus from the dead, and who has sustained His people through exiles, persecutions, and plagues throughout history—that God is still sovereign today. This isn’t naive optimism; it’s resurrection hope grounded in the reality of God’s journey with His people.
The psalmist makes a choice that echoes throughout Scripture, and it’s the choice that changes everything: “Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” Notice the future tense—”I will yet praise.” This is biblical hope, which isn’t wishful thinking but a confident expectation rooted in God’s character and what He promises us. The psalmist doesn’t wait to feel better or for circumstances to improve. He turns toward God even while still in the midst of darkness. This is what believers throughout church history have done during times of persecution, war, and social collapse. And this is what we’re called to do today, even as we witness suffering on a global scale that feels unprecedented to our generation. Why do we do this? Because we have tasted something the world cannot give and suffering won’t take away—the very presence of God’s Spirit in us and for us.
Tell God you’re thirsty. Tell Him you see the brokenness of our world and it’s crushing you. Tell Him you remember what His presence feels like and you desperately need it again. And then—even if it feels mechanical at first, even if your emotions lag—choose joy. Choose to praise God for who God is. Not because you’re ignoring reality, but because you’re anchoring yourself to the deeper reality of God’s character and His unbreakable promises. Joy in God’s presence isn’t something we stumble upon or manufacture; it’s something we step into deliberately, expectantly, trusting that the One we seek is already running toward us with the full resources of heaven, ready to satisfy every parched soul that comes to Him.
I need to hear that and I hope you do too. Nuff said.
Watching and waiting,
