From Your Minister
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As I began my monthly rituals of circling around writing my Quest column—rituals which generally include brooding, conversations, naps, internet searches, leafing through poetry books, walking the dogs, cleaning the kitchen, reading friends’ updates on Facebook, casting about in my mind for something wise I read or heard long ago that I can share—rituals of circling similar to my dogs’ as they prepare to lie down, following some cellular memory for creating a nesting spot—as I did all of this, something shocking emerged in my awareness: I have never preached or written, explicitly, about joy!
I’m not saying that joy hasn’t been part of many other things I’ve reflected about—celebration, sexuality, justice, love, grief—it’s just that I have never taken the time to reflect specifically and explicitly on joy.
I am a joyful person. I make games out of things I find tedious. I depend on joy daily to make my days interesting and meaningful, to bring me to life. So what’s with that? I asked myself. Here are the three responses that came to me—see if any of them resonates with you.
First of all, there is a part of me—a part, I am sad to report, that seems to hold considerable sway despite the fact that I don’t actually believe it—that thinks joy isn’t as “smart” or as “deep” as, say, grief or fear or anxiety. Kierkegaard wrote Fear and Trembling, and A Sickness Unto Death, so he must be really smart! Books with joy in their title all too often seem (at least in my mind) to feature badly drawn pictures of unicorns and rainbows.
Second, there is a superstitious part of me that believes talking about joy could bring sorrow right to my door. “How ironic,” I imagine the preacher intoning at my funeral, “That someone who devoted her life to sharing joy led such a horrific life and died such a hideous and tragically early death!”
And third, there is a part of me—and I really hate this one, but there it is—that still buys the Puritan belief that in some way joy is sinful, wrong. How can I be happy, I find myself wondering, when so many people are living in war zones, droughts or famines, living with grief and illness and poverty? How is it fair or considerate for me to not only be happy but then to inflict my happiness on the poor sorrowful world?
As I stared these beliefs in their smug little faces, I thought to myself, “I need help.” Rev. Amanda Aikman, who wrote one of this month’s sermons, identifies herself on her website as a “Unitarian Universalist Minister and Joyfulness Consultant.” Clearly, she was the person to call.
I told Amanda about my rainbows and unicorns skepticism. I told her that, earlier that very day, in the airport, I had passed a New Age bookstore where every title seemed to include the word joy. In fairness, not a single rainbow nor unicorn was to be seen. Still, it wore me out just looking at the titles—actually made me feel a little crabby if truth be told. I began to feel as if I was supposed to add a joyfulness plan to all the other plans I already don’t do very well with every day—work plans, food plans, exercise plans, meditation plans, budget plans—all told, a nap was beginning to sound pretty good.
Predictably enough, Amanda had me guffawing in no time. It’s not about forcing yourself to adopt a particular worldview about joy, she said. Joy has to be grounded, authentic. Grounded joy is about knowing that your experience and who you are is OK. It’s not about taking one more class, reading one more book, doing one more thing in order to make yourself joyful. It’s about loving what you love.
We hung up, and I sat with that for a while and felt, well, grounded. And joyful. Joyful in a plain, simple kind of way. Joyful in a way that made me remember an email from Lorraine Dennis, CLF’s Executive Director, after a conversation about joy. Lorraine wrote:
I started thinking about joy a few years ago when I decided that New Year’s resolutions are stupid, but resolving to do more of something simple was smart. That first year, I chose to find joy wherever I could see it. We had gotten SO much joy on our sabbatical trip by just looking at beautiful places that I wanted to duplicate it. That’s when I fell in love with the 30-second glimpse of the lake I get each morning on the train to Boston. It’s like a little happy pill every morning—and when I see the swans on the lake, it’s amazing. It’s a silly thing that really feeds me. Same thing with hyacinths on Hancock Street, or a glimpse of the Boston skyline.
So, where do you get glimpses of joy? For me, it’s the simple things: brooding, conversations, naps, internet searches, leafing through poetry books, walking the dogs, cleaning the kitchen, reading friends’ updates on Facebook, casting about in my mind for something wise I read or heard long ago that I can share…and yes, writing another Quest column. So, enjoy the summer, OK? See you in September!
- From Your Minister - July 1, 2020
- From Your Minister - June 1, 2020
- From Your Minister - May 1, 2020
