
9/17/25 Yet I Will Rejoice
- Fr. Patrick Bush

- Sep 16
- 3 min read
Takeaway: Worship is choosing joy in God, even when life is barren.
“Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; though the produce of the olive fails and the fields yield no food; though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will exult in the God of my salvation.” — Habakkuk 3:17–18
Opening Prayer (Wednesday)
Father, in the middle of this week, I lean on You for strength. When I am weary, be my rest. When I am uncertain, be my guide. Refresh my soul as I draw near to You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Reflection
There are times when we find ourselves in a place of complete barrenness, with nothing. Habakkuk’s envisions fields stripped bare, orchards fruitless, flocks vanished, and stalls empty. In the prophet’s world, these were not inconveniences but signs of economic collapse, hunger, and despair. Everything that symbolized life, provision, and stability has disappeared. And yet, Habakkuk’s declaration breaks into this loss with stunning defiance: “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord.” Worship, for the prophet, is not contingent upon abundance but is a deliberate act of trust, choosing joy in God when every earthly reason for joy has dried up.
Worship is not a response to circumstances, but a reorientation of the heart. Joy in God is not naïve optimism nor a denial of hardship; it is the rooted conviction that God Himself is our very portion. When the fig tree blossoms, we give thanks. But when the fig tree withers, we choose to rejoice anyway, because our hope is not rooted in figs but in the God of salvation who does not wither or fade. Habakkuk shows us that joy is an act of faith, not a fleeting feeling. It is the stubborn insistence that God is worthy of praise even when life feels barren.
In our own lives, this barrenness take many forms: lost opportunities, strained relationships, financial burdens, or prayers that seem unanswered. We know what it is to look out on fields that feel empty, to see fruitless seasons where hope runs thin. In those moments, worship can feel unnatural, even impossible. And yet, like Habakkuk, we are invited to lift our eyes beyond the emptiness to the unchanging character of God. Joy in Him is not dependent on what has been taken away, but on what cannot be taken away: His steadfast love, His saving power, and His presence with us.
To say “yet I will rejoice” is to confess that joy is anchored not in circumstance but in our covenant relationship with God. It is to align ourselves with those who sang hymns in prison, blessed God in exile, and gave thanks at the breaking of bread in every generation. Such worship is costly, at times, because it is forged in disappointment and loss. But it is also the most powerful witness, for it reveals to the watching world that our God is not just the God of the harvest but the God of barren fields.
Questions
What “barren fields” in your life feel empty, fruitless, or disappointing right now?
How might your choice to worship in difficulty bear witness to others about God’s unchanging faithfulness?
Application
Identify one area of your life that feels barren or disappointing. Instead of waiting for it to change, bring it honestly before God and then intentionally speak words of praise, either through Scripture, song, or prayer. By doing so, you are choosing to anchor your joy not in circumstance but in the God.
Closing Prayer
Lord, when the fields of my life feel barren and empty, help me to say, “Yet I will rejoice.” You are my salvation, my portion, and my joy. Anchor my heart in Your unchanging love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
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