Jennifer and I recently returned from Gettysburg, a place I have found myself drawn to, like many people. We revisited where Lincoln gave the Gettysburg address, revisiting the painstaking editing of that 2 and half minute speech which would create a vision that has continued to inspire me. It is not just the vision itself, but the impulse behind that vision that resonates with me. That it is up to us, all of us, personally and collectively to decide the true meaning of what we’ve inherited. The character of our lives will depend on that meaning, or in some cases, that lack of meaning. It’s a free choice, and our choice matters. I was reminded of the end of Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address, which fleshes out the ideas of the Gettysburg address:
“With malice toward none with charity for all with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right let us strive on to finish the work we are in to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan ~ to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” I like the humility of “with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right.” Each of us has a partial vision, and that vision is ours to live into.
I want to look back at some of our history this morning not to give a history lesson, but to discern together what we’ve actually inherited, and the meaning of that inheritance. For me, that inheritance could be summed up as: joy. It is nice to have a building, it is nice to have theological statements, it is nice to have the recorded experiences of some of our faith ancestors. But for me, it’s about joy. I want to share with you a couple stories about this joy that might be easily missed or overlooked.
The first story is about our chalice. Many may assume that this is some ancient symbol that we’ve used in churches for hundreds of years. It is actually fairly recently that our churches have started using the chalice. And the reason for that is our role as American Unitarians during World War II. During the outbreak of the war, when it came to America’s attention what was happening to Jews in Europe, the Unitarians sent a service committee to Nazi occupied territories. They created this symbol using a mix of the communion cup as the base, to signify Jesus’ communion cup and they added a small flame above it. There are many theories of what that flame represents. I like the open interpretation of it. For me that flame is joy. American Unitarians put this symbol of the communion cup with a flame to mark certain homes and businesses in Nazi occupied territory as a safe shelter, a sanctuary for Jews. Then they arranged to have them leave the country and come to the United States where they could avoid the evils that would have occurred if they stayed.
At first glance it’s an intense story that is about risk, sacrifice, and a commitment to human worth. But I think something that gets overlooked is the joy of it. What is joy? I’ll give you my definition. Joy is the feeling we get when we realize we’re connected. You could also call it love. But joy feels more accurate to my own experience. It’s a joy to realize that we are truly connected to one another, something beyond our usual way of seeing ourselves. Even under great stress and strain, to me it seems that joy becomes more clear, more powerful, more true. More enduring. In a true sense, joy is not sensible or merely rational. It’s an affront to good sense sometimes. It’s a joy to do what we can while we still can. It’s a joy to feel that sense of connection we feel naturally when we help each other. It’s really a simple thing. But in a sense, it may be everything. Joy to me does not mean the absence of any other human feeling – doubt, fear, anger, sadness. Joy meets all these human feelings, and accompanies them, side by side. It lights our way through being human, feeling all of it.
The second story is related to the tune, “Just in Time,” which is related to our faith tradition in a story I had never heard before until recently. It’s a classic tune and this particular story is related to the march on Selma. I know we have at least one member who was there. Harry Belafonte asked Tony Bennett to come to the March on Selma to show support as a celebrity and perhaps perform a song. Tony Bennett refused because it was scary to him, which makes sense. Harry Belafonte in his patience described in detail what was happening to black people in Selma: the violence, the voter intimidation, the police and townspeople who were acting in cruel ways. This convinced Tony Bennett though he was still frightened, like many, to come. They didn’t have a stage, so they used dozens of black caskets, which they piled on top of each other to make a stage for the performers. For the first time in his life, Tony Bennett stood on top of these caskets and sang a cover of “Just in Time.”
After he sang that song, he had to go to the airport to fly home, and they asked a white woman from Detroit to drive Bennett to the airport. That woman was Viola Luizzo (lee-oo-zow), who came from a Unitarian church in Detroit. She was sadly killed at Selma, like James Reeb, another Unitarian Minister. She was killed on the way back from driving Bennett to the airport. Those tragedies as well as others that took place all throughout the South led in time to the passing of the Voting Rights Act. Even in the most grisly circumstances, there is a kind of joy. It’s the joy of unbroken connection – to the past, present, and future. It’s a joy to see again and again that human solidarity cannot be broken, even by death. Joy is soft and it’s very tough. It is found in places we might think are inappropriate. That is its power. It’s subversive. Today we don’t remember Viola Liuzzo as someone who died.
We remember a Unitarian woman who lived and died for a basic fact: that we belong to each other, and that belonging means we do whatever we can to help one another. The joy we discover in true belonging is stronger than any human force, it is stronger than any government law or policy, it survives more than we can imagine.
It is now ours to live and maintain. I am a peacekeeper on election day this year, a chaplain at the polls in case there is unrest or voter intimidation. But I don’t feel that I’m doing that alone. In addition to other poll monitors and other clergy, I take the spirit of Viola Liuzzo with me. Her joy found in commitment is now my joy. It’s a joy that is doubled. The reason I mention these two stories is because they may not be stories we would first imagine joy would be about. These are stories about life and death. Stories about risk and sacrifice. But that to me is the joy we’ve inherited.
It is about life and death. It is about risk and sacrifice. It is also about everything in between. It’s about Tony Bennett crooning to a crowd. It’s about our pledge drive. It’s about the joy of simply acknowledging that we are here together, and that is very special.
The joy I’m talking about is a joy that can’t be taken away, at least not forever. It seems to crop in every generation, among people who are committed to living out the truth that we are connected, even when things feel scary. That joy of connection lights our way. I depend on it. I depend on it in my moments of doubt or when I’m bothered, or feel like we have to do this again – we still have to ensure that people can have the right to vote. I get down about it sometimes. And I don’t sweep that feeling under the rug or diminish that in myself or in others. But there seems to be a spirit from the past that breaks through anyway, and often seems wildly inappropriate: a feeling that to be together like this and do what we can, is a great joy. It is the stuff of life itself.
That is what I find special about a church like this. Without the overlay of creeds and a singular belief about God that we have to adhere to, there’s a great simplicity to our path, to this place, to our tradition. It’s a joy worth celebrating. The celebration for me is that when things seem most dire, our faith ancestors had the courage to show up again and again throughout history. And that showing up created the possibility for joy, a joy that survives even death. And that is our inheritance. And this is realized by people who were everyday human beings like us. The joy was found not in theology, not in promises after death, but in our very present interactions with each other right now. It’s ever present. It’s so normal, we might just miss it.
It is a joy to be alive with all of you during this time. I think we have something to offer the world that is quite counter cultural and subversive. Our great subversion is not in our justice stances alone, or in who we decide to be in solidarity with. It’s the underlying spirit that is the most subversive, at least to my mind.
We don’t do these things because it’s about duty or righteousness alone. We understand that we all see through a mirror darkly. It is not the risk and sacrifice that sets us apart. It’s the joy that we come across, sometimes by great surprise, in the doing. Joy meets us where we’re at and transforms us, if we’re open to it. It reminds us there is another way to be, another way to act. The joy is found in taking that leap with eachother to do what we feel is right, to feel for ourselves that the connection we have to each other can never be broken. Violence and suppression cannot break it. Time can’t break it. Death itself can’t even break it. I don’t pretend to understand any of this, but it seems to be the case.
That joy did not originate with us. It’s a joy that never gets old, it’s never past. Doing what we can to support each other, to support a place like this, is to remind ourselves of that joy. It’s always here, maybe even especially when we think it would be inappropriate for it to be here. When we take that moment to recognize that we belong to each other, and that belonging expects us to act in certain ways.
It’s not about duty alone, it’s not about responsibility alone, it’s not about our sense of self. It’s deeper than that. It’s about realizing that there are alternatives available to us now, alternatives to numbing, depression, and nonstop outrage. There is a companion to these feelings which will never let us down, even when we least feel it. That reminder is a joy worth celebrating. May we abide in it and maintain it. May we create a sanctuary for it. May we proclaim it with a life of joy in service to all.
Topics: Joy