In matters of interpretation, it’s important for us to try to understand context. This is an essential assumption inherent in a liberal religious outlook. Religious liberalism tends to discourage an enthusiasm for absolutes and universals, embracing instead a sense that the milieu in which something comes into being is almost always relevant in some way. This is intrinsic to a liberal religious interpretation of scripture, for instance.
It should be admitted that we all take things out of context sometimes. We all “pick and choose” to some degree, whether we’re liberal, conservative, or whatever label (meaningful or not) we may assign to a particular person or school of thought. Nevertheless, it’s healthy to acknowledge, if we can, when and why this picking and choosing take place.
Evidence indicates that James E. Holmes, the young man accused in the horrible recent mass shooting in a Colorado cinema, purchased some 6,000 rounds of ammunition quite legally over the internet prior to the massacre, and there are so far no indications that the four firearms he is accused of using in the shooting were obtained unlawfully. This brings to light yet again the ongoing and complex issue in our society about the availability of firearms, and the government’s role in regulating their sale and purchase. The defense mounted by those who urge fewer restrictions on gun ownership is most often the Second Amendment of the Constitution, which is interpreted in those instances as protecting the right to bear arms. After all, it’s right there in the text. But what does the amendment actually say?
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
There is an aspect of this amendment which is wholly unique, both within the original Bill of Rights and the seventeen other amendments that have been added subsequently: the Second Amendment is the only one that says why the right in question is granted. The First Amendment does not state, “The separation of church and state being vital to the sustenance of a democratic state, Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;” the Thirteenth Amendment does not say, “Being injurious to and wholly at odds with the principles of liberty, neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States.” Indeed, every other amendment simply states what the rights being granted or the restrictions on the government are, without stating a purpose for doing so. Only the Second Amendment gives a rationale, an explanation for why the right it grants shall not be infringed.
To what militia did James E. Holmes belong, and by whom was that militia well-regulated?
If a phrase from the Constitution, the Bible, or any text is going to be taken out of context, we ought to think seriously about why, and what the consequences might be.
Yesterday I was listening to a radio interview with the Catholic bishop who had been charged with responding to the Leadership Conference of Women Religious. Basically, his stance was that the group, which represents 80% of Catholic nuns, was just flat-out wrong when they suggested that the Catholic Church needs to re-examine its stance on birth control, homosexuality and ordaining women. He said that their vow of obedience was not to their conscience and what they felt to be the call of God, but to the hierarchy of the church. He said that he welcomed dialogue with the women religious, but that “dialogue” meant their coming to understand and accept that the traditional stand of the church and its hierarchy was correct. He pointed out that Catholicism is a revealed religion, and not subject to change based on a changing society.
And all I could think as I listened to him was: “Man, you are so screwed.” They have painted themselves in a corner. When you categorically refuse to adapt to the world you live in, you have doomed yourself to extinction. Maybe not soon, but eventually.
Now, there are plenty of people who would say that if we don’t hold to any absolute standards then we are simply awash in a shifting sea of cultural expectations. We have no compass, no guidance through the tempests and changing tides. This claim is not with out merit—after all, the fact that Kim Kardashian or Snookie thinks something is a good idea hardly means that we should all follow suit.
But here’s the thing. The Catholic Church has staked its life on holding fast to things that are failing to stand the test of time. The position of women in society has undergone a shift across the centuries from an assumption that women are property to an assumption (at least by many) that women are fully the equal of men, and deserve the same rights and responsibilities. The Church has created an absolute out of something that turns out to be quite relative. Even the notion of a strict hierarchy—Pope above bishops above priests above laity, men above women, angels above people above animals—all that Great Chain of Being vision of how the universe is arranged is severely retro. In the modern world it has largely been supplanted by an ecological model in which beings live in a complex net of interrelation, with each part inextricably bound to the whole.
I can’t fault the bishop for his statements. He is, after all, only doing the job he was assigned to do by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. And sadly, I suppose the job he was doing was a job that many of us assign to ourselves on a daily basis—holding fast to things that “have” to be true, regardless of the evidence, for fear that our worlds will fall apart if we open ourselves to the possibility that the world does not match our assumptions. It’s the commonest thing in the world. But as a foundation on which to build a church—or a life—well, it makes me sad.
Faith is not about belief. Faith in fact has very little to do with what beliefs you hold, other than that it allows you to hold them. Faith is a sacred, deep, emotionally involved kind of trust. Faith is the kind of trust that you enter into with your whole being. Faith is the kind of trust that, when it has been broken, it hurts deep inside… but faith is the kind of trust that finds a way to trust again despite the hurt.
We are all people of Faith. Faith is a basic aspect of human nature. We live in a universe that is so awe inspiring, so infinite, so grandly complicated that all of human knowledge amounts to only a tiny fraction of reality. Indeed, much of human perception about reality is pure construct… because the whole of infinity cannot be understood by finite human minds.
The realization of just how little about the universe we actually understand exists in all of humanity, both consciously and un-consciously. That realization is one understanding of why humans created religion (but not the only one).
Faith is what allows us to function despite knowing or sensing how little we actually know about all that surrounds us. This is where beliefs come into the definition of Faith. Faith does not equate to beliefs… but it is possible to hold faith in some of your beliefs.
We can have faith in (or sacred trust in) beliefs, in principles, in people, in religious traditions, in community, in systems and institutions, in ourselves, and in the universe as a whole. This last is sometimes referred to as “Faith in God”, “Faith in Dharma”, or “Faith in Creation”. As I have found faith in the universe as a whole, that it is not conspiring against me, not indifferent to me, but rather conspiring on my behalf and that I am a part of it… I have found something to have faith in… but that is not my faith.
My faith is the ability to trust something from the very core of my being. When we are bound together by trust that touches the deepest aspects of who we are… we are living in Faith Community.
A Crisis of Faith is not when a belief is questioned, but when we sense that a deep trust has been broken.
Someone has been Faithful, a Faithful spouse, a Faithful friend, a Faithful person, when they hold not only the sacred trust they place in others, but the sacred trust others place in them as one of the most important aspects of their human existence.
A Religious Faith is not a collection of people who share beliefs, but a community of people who have made the commitment to trust one another to care for each other’s spirits and souls, and who join together for a Faith filled purpose.
Blind Faith is a trust that is not examined, not understood, and of which requires only body and soul, neglecting the mind and the spirit.
Pure Faith is the kind of trust that you hold even when your rational mind says you should not. This is a two edged sword, because at times the ability to hold a pure Faith is a blessing, at other times it is simply Blind Faith in disguise.
Click here to read the rest of the Defining Religious Language essay series
Yours in Faith,
Rev. David
As a New Yorker, I should be accustomed to the fact that the annual Fourth of July hot-dog eating contest held in Brooklyn is local news. I should be, but I still cringe whenever I turn on my evening newscast only to see a line of people stuffing frankfurters and buns into their mouths at nauseating speed. Then I stop to think about why this is news (people actually enjoy watching it, it’s a “sport” we can all relate to, etc. etc.), and the minister in me reacts.
Of the many things I find objectionable about this yearly American ritual, the one that sticks with me the longest is how it celebrates quantity over quality. This is a disease that is rampant in the dominant cultures of our world. It is a disease that is poisoning our species, our relationships and our Earth.
“More, more, more,” we cry, never satisfied. Our national hunger for stuff–lots of stuff, any stuff, more stuff–is impossible to ignore. Like a person who needs only 2,000 calories a day consuming 19,000 calories of hot dogs in just a few minutes, we eagerly snap up the latest contraptions, gadgets and fashions with no concern about how our overconsumption affects others.
We decry the high cost of gasoline because we have built communities in which our individual vehicles are required to get us to our individual activities. We protest at the merest notion that our taxes should be used to support mass transportation, say, or renewable energy (much less fuel efficiency). Meanwhile, we’re spewing carbon into the atmosphere at an almost unfathomable rate. Our Secretary of State goes to China to talk about low-emission cookstoves in poor households while millions of Americans drive behemoth SUVs for neither sport nor utility.
We measure our economy by the number of new houses built, largely because building new houses means hiring tradespeople and buying appliances. Despite the fact that our national policies are designed to spur the construction of more and more houses, more and more people are, simultaneously, forced to live on the streets, in the woods and in their cars.
I’m part of the problem, too. I love my electronic toys (I’m typing this on my iPad), and yet I pay little attention to the pollution caused in China by the factories that make the screen I’m looking at, or the child labor in Africa used to mine the rare metals inside my phone.
And so I see myself in the face of the eating contest participant shoving processed meat and refined white bread into his mouth, trying to do nothing but eat more than the person standing next to him. I look into the mirror of truth, and see something I cannot live with. I need to go on a diet. A stuff diet. Maybe you’ll join me. We’ll be healthier together that way.
In yesterday’s New York Times, op-ed columnist, Ross Douthat, published “Can Liberal Christianity Be Saved?” My first reaction upon reading the article was to launch a strident refutation. Other people of liberal faith already have. But as I thought more deeply about Mr. Douthat’s indictments, I found more truth and realized that my own reaction was just that–a reaction to some of the unfortunate realities that liberal religion has brought upon itself. I’m not in complete agreement with all of Douthat’s criticisms. His final premise that liberal churches, “often don’t seem to be offering anything you can’t already get from a purely secular liberalism,” is painfully accurate. However, I think Douthat misses the mark on why this is. There are, at least, other possibilities to consider. The foundation of Douthat’s concern seems to consist of liberal reforms, primarily in the Episcopal church (although he makes the connection to other liberal faith communities). I’m just not sure when reform became a bad thing. The slower moving Catholic Church certainly hasn’t been winning any awards for it’s resistance to and failure to adapt to the modern world. When I read Douthat’s words that the Episcopal Church:
is flexible to the point of indifference on dogma, friendly to sexual liberation in almost every form, willing to blend Christianity with other faiths…
I wanted to swell with pride. These are bad things? I think where Douthat misses the mark is somewhere in his concept of “traditional” religion, which he mentions at least twice. He seems to equate “traditional” with conservative and unchanging, but doesn’t ever define the word, except to invoke foundational practices mentioned by liberal theologian Gary Dorrien. As a person of liberal faith, I have come the understanding that “conservative religion” is an oxymoron. To be religious is to be generous, especially in the Christian context of Jesus’ teachings. There was nothing conservative, traditional, or status quo about what Jesus taught. Quite the contrary, he challenged the religious and political authorities and laws of the time repeatedly and stridently. Jesus taught generosity. Jesus challenged tradition.
So which “traditions” is Mr. Douthat holding up as more sound than the liberal reforms that have been the norm in societies and religions across the globe since human history has been recorded and preserved? I don’t think he meant the tradition that Jesus taught or that his immediate apostles followed, or their followers in the early centuries of Christianity, which was a time of oppression from without and debate from within. The earliest traditions of Christianity were to be counterculture. I imagine, from his own words, that Mr. Douthat means the traditions of the Catholic Church, which rejects the reformations that have been challenging the church for at least a millinium, which still dogmatically calls itself the one true Christian church. I wonder if he also means the fundamentalist interpretations of Jesus’ teachings that have infiltrated many corners of Christianity and subsequently dictate that there is only one path to the divine, through Jesus as lord and savior, all others being damned?
I find none of this “tradition” in Jesus’ teachings, in the early church, or in the liberal faith that I practice today.
Nonetheless, as Mr. Douthat accurately describes, liberal Christianity has moved uncomfortably close to a secular liberalism, and liberal faith communities are declining. But as any good social researcher knows, correlation does not equal causation. The claim in this article that the decline and imminent death of liberal Christianity is inherent in liberalism itself, is unfounded.
So what do liberal faith communities need to do to survive and thrive? I believe, like Mr. Douthat, that we need to offer religion again. Not conservative, traditional religion that is unchanging and uninviting, but the inclusive, radical religion that Jesus taught in his first sermon. A religion that binds together all people in a single garment of destiny. A religion that does not change the law, but fulfills it by holding it accountable, and by breaking the status quo. A religion that invites and creates social change, not because it is becoming more secular, but because change is human nature (thank God), and because social issues are moral issues first, not political.
We also need to reintroduce discipline into our faith practices. As liberal faith communities have progressed we have lost focus, not so much of our history and traditions, but of our discipline. Religion is ultimately grounded in practice. Practice requires discipline. Discipline creates disciples. Not blind followers, but informed, radically-prepared change agents.
This week, I promoted increased discipline in the faith lives of my Unitarian Universalist congregants using the example of the coming month of Ramadan and the five pillars of Islam. Even modern adherents of Islam practice the discipline required in the five pillars. I asked my congregation how they could introduce a regular, practiced, discipline of more reverence, more restraint, and more responsibility in their lives. None of this is counter to the ideas of religious liberalism. All of it will be necessary for us to get back on track with being successful reformers.
So, I absolutely agree with Ross Douthat when he says, “What should be wished for, instead, is that liberal Christianity recovers a religious reason for its own existence,” we just see different paths toward that goal. His are grounded in an undefined tradition and conservancy, mine are grounded in an unabashed liberal spirit and generosity within a healthy practice of religious discipline.
There are many paths…
Unitarian Universalists ought to be paying attention to what is happening in mainline Protestant denominations in the United States these days. This may seem counterintuitive to some; our religion has a Protestant heritage, of course, but the content and focus of much of Unitarian Universalist religious life ceased a long time ago to have Christianity at its center. We are a small religious minority in this country, not obviously part of any kind of “mainline.” Nevertheless, it’s worth recognizing that while we are theologically distinct from mainline Protestant denominations, there are a number of things we have in common socially and culturally: both Unitarian Universalists and mainline Protestants tend toward liberalism in theology, emphasizing a faithful life rather than any “one true way”; in both Unitarian Universalism and mainline Protestantism we see women in leadership roles, and we both tend toward progressive positions on social issues like civil rights and equality for women; Unitarian Universalism has the Welcoming Congregation program to affirm the rights and dignity of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender persons, and we find analogous stances in the Protestant mainline, such as the Open and Affirming congregations in the United Church of Christ, the Reconciling in Christ program of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, and of course openly gay leaders like V. Gene Robinson have gained prominence in the Episcopal Church. Like Unitarian Universalists, mainline Protestants tend to worship in white-majority congregations; we both have historically been socially, economically, culturally and politically prominent in American society; our congregations tend to feature a prominent representation of educated, middle-class or affluent persons.
Another thing we have in common with the Protestant mainline in America is that we are declining in numbers. In terms of the sheer number of people belonging to congregations, Unitarian Universalists are not in the precipitous numerical free-fall of some mainline Protestant denominations, but neither Unitarian Universalists nor mainline Protestants are numerically growing. Given all these commonalities, religious liberals such as ourselves ought to be paying attention to the so-called “mainline,” whether or not we ourselves consider ourselves a part of it.
Finley Peter Dunn’s memorable aphorism about a newspaper’s role of comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable has also been applied to other realms of human endeavor, including the religious enterprise. There are ways in which both Unitarian Universalists and mainline Protestants might fit someone’s definition of “comfortable.” The idea that every mainline Protestant and every Unitarian Universalist is well-educated and middle-class or affluent is patently false, and even if it were true, it is a monstrous absurdity to think that material wealth equals happiness — given that, say, cancer, domestic violence, alcoholism, or bipolar disorder are no respecters of socio-economic status. At the same time, it would be irresponsible not to at least ponder the possibility that it is not difficult to find persons in a Unitarian Universalist or mainline Protestant congregation who are individuals of means and influence, and/or people whose anxieties do not necessarily include wondering where their next meal is coming from.
I can’t speak for any other religious communities, but my experience of Unitarian Universalist congregations is that we are often motivated by a strong desire to be comfortable. There is some insight (and perhaps even a tiny bit of truth?) to the old joke: “Why are UU congregations sing hymns so badly? Because they’re all scanning ahead to make sure they agree with the words.” It is almost axiomatic in some of our congregations that some of our people are going to become discernibly upset if they hear something they don’t agree with. Our familiar tensions around, say, “the G-word” are emblematic of this. For me this raises a broader question: why are we attending a worship service in the hope of being comfortable? If we truly wish to plumb the depths of life’s meaning and death’s truth, won’t that necessarily involve some discomfort?
I am increasingly persuaded of the possibility that between the phenomenon of stagnant or declining numbers and the desire for comfort there exists a causative correlation. Everything in my experience persuades me that human beings yearn for environments of challenge in which we can grow. Such challenges can’t be demanding beyond our capability, or threatening beyond what we can endure, but they do need to extend beyond our comfort zones. We shouldn’t necessarily be surprised that our denomination is not growing numerically if we make comfort a primary goal. Whether or not we are indeed doing that remains an unanswered question, which is uncomfortable in and of itself.
Where we are most vital as a people of faith often seems to be in the places where we aren’t looking to be comfortable. The aforementioned Welcoming Congregation program, one of many things that makes me a proud adherent of this beautiful, flawed, human faith of ours, is a sterling example. It isn’t necessarily comfortable to confront the prejudices and injustices of our world and take a stand that some segments of our society condemn. Yet do we not feel called to this as our holy work?
Religious life should always be comforting: it should give us patience, strength and hope in our sorrow and pain. Being comforted and being comfortable are not the same thing.
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I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything. But letting these things slide is, shall we say, not my strong suit. So when a Facebook friend posted a picture of a gun mounted under a car’s steering wheel with a caption about it being an “an anti-carjacking device,” accompanied by her wish that this were legal, I just had to put in my $.02 worth. I suggested that, given the prevalence of road rage, maybe more guns in cars might not be such a good thing. Only maybe there was the tiniest bit of sarcastic edge to the way I phrased it.
And, as these Facebook conversations go, someone else responded: “Wouldn’t you be more polite if you knew everyone else had a gun?” I don’t know whether the conversation got more serious for the other folks viewing the exchange at that point, but it certainly did for me. We had just entered the realm of religion. Here’s the thing. No, I’m not polite because I’m afraid of people around me with guns. I’m polite (at least I’m generally polite) because I just think people should be nice to one another. I’m happier, they’re happier, the world in general is happier if people are nice to one another. It’s a basic religious principle. Like, you know, the Golden Rule.
But there are plenty of folks in the world who believe that we need the guns in order to make people behave. Deterrence is at the heart of their theology. They figure that the sure knowledge of hellfire and damnation is the only thing that can keep people on the straight and narrow. Without the threat of hell, surely utter licentiousness would prevail and we would be sucked down into a whirlpool of degradation.
It’s a point of view to which they are entitled, but a) there’s no particular evidence that the threat of guns or the threat of hell actually makes people behave better on the average and b) really, how depressing can you get? Would you rather live in a world in which people are polite out of terror for their lives or souls, or would you rather be part of a community of people who cared for one another because love is the great sustaining principle? Isn’t it better, really, to be “good for nothing,” to be good without hope of reward or punishment other than the pleasure of doing what is right, kind, honoring of our connections?
Sure, there are people who do terrible things, who break the bonds of community in devastating ways. Carjackings do happen. But is the world a better place when we assume that any person on the corner is a potential threat, or if we assume that the folks we see outside our windows are neighbors, human beings with worth and dignity equal to our own? Which perspective is likely to make you feel safe? Which perspective is likely to bring you joy? Which perspective is one worthy of sitting at the heart of your religion? Me, I’ll go with the love every time.
We spent the Fourth of July like many others do. We got together with family and friends, we had a cookout with way too much food, and we set off some fireworks once it got dark. The family fireworks are always a highlight of the day, and we all anticipated a great show this year. What we didn’t bargain for was the near-disaster they turned into.
As dusk fell the men (family tradition dictates that it’s always the men who prepare and set off the fireworks) brought out boxes and boxes of pyrotechnics (all legal, here in New Hampshire). We sorted through the stash, prepared the fuses, and decided what order we’d shoot them off. The rest of the family, including children, enjoyed blueberry pie and ice cream on the deck overlooking the “launch site.” The first several displays went off without a hitch. And they were met with appropriate “oooh’s” and “aaah’s” from the friendly crowd. As we try to do every year, we started off small, building up to the “big stuff” toward the end.
About halfway through our show, we had a little glitch. As rockets went soaring skyward, a couple, for unknown reasons, shot off to the side. One came buzzing by those of us standing near the pile of un-ignited fireworks. We laughed it off as an abberation and kept going, bringing out the “big guns” as we neared the end of our show. Then, right in the middle of one of the biggest displays we had, the entire thing blew up. It was a massive explosion that sent red-hot rockets sizzling in every direction. Including several that aimed right at the crowd. People dove for cover and ran in every direction. Once the smoke cleared, we took a headcount. Everyone was accounted for and safe. No one was injured by the blast. Never, in all the years of setting off family fireworks, had we had such a close call. (It wasn’t until the next day that we learned that another family suffered a similar malfunction that seriously injured several small children.)
Fortunately, my wife and daughter missed this whole incident. They had decided to drive our grandson home before the show began. But they had a close call of their own. As they rounded a bend in the road, my daughter noticed a large shadow looming off to the left. She slammed on her brakes just as a bull moose, standing as tall as her SUV, loped across the road right in front of them. Her quick reactions averted a disaster that could have led to their serious injury or worse.
After the smoke cleared from the fireworks malfunction and we found out everyone was all right, and later when I heard of my daughter and wife’s close call with the moose, I breathed a sigh of relief and uttered a silent “thank you” to the Universe that our family was intact, safe and sound. In both cases, it could so easily have been otherwise.
Close calls and near misses remind us of how precious, and how precarious, our lives are. And gratitude is the appropriate response to these reminders. It doesn’t matter to whom or what you pray your prayer of thanksgiving, or that you even call it a prayer at all. Whether or not you believe that it is “God’s will” that you or a loved one avoided tipping over into the abyss, or that it was fate, or plain, old dumb luck, we can’t help but give thanks that we and our loved ones are here to greet another sunrise.
The writer Jane Kenyon expresses this sentiment in her poem “Otherwise.”
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birchwood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
On the Fourth of July it could so easily have been otherwise. Someday it will be so, for me and mine, and for you and yours. For all the days until it is, let us experience and express our gratitude.
Peace,
Peter
For me, the word “joy” always brings to mind the same thing: tears.
I realize this might not be the logical thought process for most people, and some might even find it strange, but it’s the truth. The idea of joy immediately makes me think of tears. This is because I am what some might call a “crier.” I cry when I’m angry and sad. I cry when I’m frustrated or overwhelmed. But mostly, I cry when I’m joyful. I’m one of those people who cries at my niece’s chorus concerts, or when I found out my good friend had just given birth, or when watching two people make a commitment to one another in marriage. These times of joy bring tears to my eyes, and I am so thankful for that.
It’s like my heart is overflowing with emotion, and the only way for that joy to go is out! So those tears of joy are indicators of abundant love and happiness. They are my way of showing support and love for the people I care about. They help me feel connected to the joyful and happy experiences in life. I think, in some ways, those tears of joy are also reminders of the bittersweet that can come with success or achievement.
Most recently I have been watching videos of soldiers coming home and seeing their dogs for the first time. To be honest, I’m not sure why I do that! Having a spouse deployed is an emotional rollercoaster, and every time I watch one of those videos I long for the day that Susan is home, and our pups see her again. Watching these dogs squeal and jump, wag and give kisses brings such joy into my heart, and I can’t help but cry. There is such a pure love and joy in their responses to seeing the person they love after a long deployment. In those videos, the dogs and the soldiers exude pure joy and appreciation for each other.
I have moments of joy that happen almost every day. Afghanistan is 8 ½ hours ahead of Boston, so my day is essentially on an opposite schedule from my wife’s. We usually get to talk or email twice a day. I feel so blessed to have the ability to stay connected with her in this way. Every time my phone beeps with a message or email (yes, I got a smartphone specifically for this deployment!), my heart starts to beat a little faster. There is nothing like the feeling I get when she writes to me or calls. There is a solid joy in knowing that she is okay. But those times of joy are amplified because of the very true reality that she is not in a safe place right now. That’s the bittersweet I’m trying to explain.
But whether bittersweet or genuinely joyful, I am so thankful for those times in my life when I have felt wholly joyful and happy. There is a necessity in relishing in those times of joy. There is so much suffering in this world, but there is so much joy too. All too often we focus on the negative, or try to keep ourselves under control. My hope for myself, for all of us, is to live in the moment. My hope is to feel the joy, and to let those tears of joy flow. Like those dogs who are swept up in the excitement of reunion and jumping with joy, I hope to grasp the moment and be overcome with joyful emotion.
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