Joy
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I once traveled to a conference for Unitarian Universalist ministers that was held in Ottawa. For various reasons I decided to take the train. That meant leaving early and arriving in Ottawa sometime around 10:00 p.m. It was a long day. Nonetheless, my trip was such a delight. My first train went to Penn Station in NYC. Then I caught a second train to Montreal. That one traveled along the Hudson River for a couple of hours and then it seemed as if the rest of New York was one beautiful lake after another. Many of the small train stations looked like movie sets. Several industrial areas were marked by colorful and creative graffiti. So much to see.
I took a book to read for work and a book for pleasure. I didn’t touch either of them. I didn’t do anything. Well, I smiled a lot.
For several days after the trip, in the midst of the business of the conference, I felt the positive impact of traveling in such a slow and mindful way. It brought me as much joy as I’ve experienced in some time. I felt a little like I had been transported to a slower time, to a place where the beauty around me could not be escaped, to a kind of attentiveness that my average day does not often hold.
This is what sometimes happens. We find ourselves with a keener than usual sense of the beauty and goodness of Life. At a recent lunch meeting I asked members of my congregation to describe a time when they had known joy. Several people spoke of being in the beauty of nature. Others about connections with loved ones. Some described a kind of affirmation that comes from service, or new learning, or challenging oneself. Even those who described the ordinary moments were talking about this kind of keen sense of the beauty and goodness of life.
I’m intentionally using the word “joy” rather than happiness or contentment. I’m using joy to describe what I believe is a characteristic of a life of faith—in the countless expressions that may take. I consider joy a universal attribute of full, rich, meaningful living. Different from happiness, pleasure, or fun. It can be present in spite of circumstance. In fact, some suggest that joy in the face of dire circumstance is the only way to judge true joy. I would say it is not an emotional quality, but a spiritual one. Like many other spiritual qualities, it is never fully realized, yet always promised. A keen sense of the beauty and goodness of life.
Unitarian Universalist minister Carl Scovel, minister emeritus at the historic King’s Chapel in Boston, Massachusetts, describes joy as the aim of our faith in his Berry Street Essay to the 1994 UUA General Assembly in Fort Worth, Texas:
The Great Surmise says simply this: At the heart of all creation lies a good intent, a purposeful goodness, from which we come, by which we live our fullest, and to which we shall at last return…. Our work on earth is to explore, enjoy, and share this goodness. Neither duty nor suffering nor progress nor conflict—not even survival—is the aim of life, but joy. Deep, abiding, uncompromised joy.
There is a lot packed into Carl Scovel’s concise definition of the heart of our faith. It begins with a simple statement about the nature of creation. At the heart of all that is there is goodness. This is a statement of faith. We don’t know it. We can’t know it. But we can live it. And Scovel says the way we live it is “to explore, enjoy, and share this goodness.” To make deep, abiding, uncompromised joy our aim.
There are two things we must attend to in order to live this faith. First, we must be mindful of the world so we will experience, again and again, that abiding goodness. This is how we cultivate that keen sense of life’s beauty and goodness. We cannot bless something we do not see. We cannot offer a blessing if we are not open to the Life around us. We cannot bless the world if we do not attend to it.
As Anne Sexton writes in her poem “Welcome Morning”:
So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.
The joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard,
dies young.
The second thing we must attend to is our own part of the goodness at the heart of all that is. We are not separate from this thing in which we place our faith. The power of goodness at the heart of things, whatever we call it, is not remote, untouchable, unmoved. The power of goodness at the heart of things, on the contrary, is as close as a lover’s touch, the wind on our face, the song that rises up from us. It is not only beyond us, but also between us, and even within us. As the ancient Hindus wrote:
Do you sense the vast creative power of the universe? The power that creates all things, sustains all things, and claims them all in the end? Well, you don’t have to bow down or feel insignificant, because you are part of that power. You are part of the infinite and the eternal, just as you are.
If this is so, that we are part of that power, that goodness, then we must attend to our part. Albert Schweitzer says it simply: “The only ones among you who will be truly happy are those who have sought and found a way to serve.” Service to the good at the heart of Creation is how we sustain joy in our lives, how we are faithful to that deep, abiding, uncompromising joy.
Two things: mindfulness of the world around us in order to cultivate a keen sense of the goodness at the heart of things. (Gratitude is a part of this—but I think once that keen sense is cultivated, gratitude follows without any effort on our part.) And secondly, attention to our own part in creating and maintaining the goodness at the heart of things. Living in alignment with our faith—that is, answering goodness with goodness.
There are at least a couple of significant challenges to this idea that we can cultivate joy. Sometimes we cannot see the goodness around us. And, sometimes we cannot see the goodness in us. Both these challenges call us to practice.
In Tibetan Buddhism there is a practice called Tonglen. Roughly, it means “sending and taking.” In her book, The Places that Scare You, Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön describes how using this practice can help us in our ability to rejoice, or find joy:
When we encounter pain in our life we breathe into our heart with the recognition that others also feel this. It’s a way of acknowledging when we are closing down and of training to open up. When we encounter any pleasure or tenderness in our life, we cherish that and rejoice. Then we make the wish that others could also experience this delight…. In a nutshell, when life is pleasant, think of others. When life is a burden, think of others.
Practicing joy does not mean we never feel pain or fear or frustration. Faithfulness is not about believing that everything will always turn out okay. Carl Scovel’s “Great Surmise” does not say that everything will always turn out fine. Sometimes things go terribly wrong. Always, we bear the knowledge that we will lose people we love. My faith is not predicated on never feeling terrible grief. (Good thing.) My faith is that even with all the terrible grief we must bear, even in a world where war is too often thought to be the answer, even in a world where some people believe it is okay to torture and abuse other people, even in this world, an eternal goodness lies deep at the heart of Creation. And this goodness makes love possible.
If this is our faith, our responsibility is great. If we believe this, we are called to attend to the beauty and goodness. That means slowing down sometimes. It means looking deeply and compassionately. It means finding the courage to keep our hearts open. Painting thank-you on our palms for the laughter of the morning. Or singing a song of praise. In these ways we attend to the goodness at the heart of things.
And then, we must attend to our part in this goodness. That means making more of it. It means not being tempted by violence. It means helping people who need help. Serving something beyond ourselves. Sharing what we have. Protecting things that matter. Transforming the world through our own acts of love and justice. In these ways we answer beauty and goodness with beauty and goodness.
We do not attend to any of these things perfectly. Sometimes we are distracted by the wrong things. We are afraid to open ourselves to the fullness of Life. We move too fast, thinking maybe that will save us from some anticipated pain or grief. There are many reasons we let joy slip away. This is what it is to be human.
To be faithful is to seek, again and again, to find joy. Deep, abiding, uncompromising joy. This takes discipline. A keen sense that the beauty and goodness of Life is fleeting. So we must practice attending to the goodness and to our part of the goodness.
The joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard, dies young.
