Choosing Joy
It seems a lifetime since my last post. In that time, my photographer son was arrested while on assignment to cover the protests, and I broke my left heel in several places in a freak accident with my little grandchild. More about those later. The point is that life as we know it can turn in a heartbeat, and in ways completely outside our control. We always have a choice, though, about how we respond.
If anyone knows about unjust imprisonment, physical pain, or mental and emotional anguish, they would be His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet and the Most Reverend Desmond Tutu, Archbishop Emeritus of Cape Town, South Africa. The same could be said for the late Honorable John Lewis, Member of Congress representing the Fifth District of Georgia. Between them, these three icons of grace under extreme circumstances have experienced deep personal and community pain.
Archbishop Tutu grew up poor in a segregated society. Childhood polio left him with an atrophied hand, a younger sibling died before he was 10, and as a teen he was hospitalized with tuberculosis for 18 months. Later, as a cleric, he saw hundreds of black children and youth killed in the Soweto Uprising. Later still, he was arrested by riot police while helping to lead a protest march, jailed briefly, and had his passport confiscated for some months.
One of ten children born to sharecroppers in Alabama, John Lewis grew up under the systemic oppression of Jim Crow. Like the Archbishop, Lewis was jailed for speaking truth to power, in his case more than 40 times, including after his election to Congress. He was viciously beaten as a Freedom Rider and on Bloody Sunday, and on other occasions as he followed the path of nonviolence to seek civil rights for Black Americans. John Lewis deeply mourned the death of his beloved wife.
As the spiritual leader of Tibet, His Holiness endured the Chinese invasion of his homeland in 1950; over time, as many as 1.2 million Tibetans were systematically raped, tortured, or murdered. He witnessed the brutal suppression of the Tibetan uprising in 1959, when he was forced to flee to India, where he has lived in exile for over 60 years. Removed from his followers, he has seen the destruction of monasteries and shrines, the continued torment of his people, and the near eradication of Tibetan culture.
Despite the violence and evil they witnessed or experienced firsthand, all three have lived lives of peace.The Archbishop and His Holiness won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984 and 1989, respectively; Rep. Lewis was known as "the conscience of the Congress." And despite their powerful grief, all chose to live lives of joy. I have already shared the fun story of the Dalai Lama's encounter with Brian Doyle (May 27 post, "Brian Doyle Trash Talks a Monk"), as well as the delightful image of the elderly Archbishop dancing with the Dalai Lama at his 80th birthday party (March 18 post, "Dancing with Joy"). Their conversation on finding joy in the midst of pain and grief was recorded in the best seller "The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World."
You may have seen the viral video of John Lewis dancing to Pharrell Williams's "Happy" when he was also an elder. Maybe you already know that he liked to dance in his office, too. His staffers tell of his cheerful greeting every morning, and of his readiness to have a party for any occasion. One longtime aide described him as, "so much fun. So full of joy."
Does it seem strange to you that joy would be a defining feature for people who have been so oppressed themselves and who have fought oppression for so long? If so, that might be because our culture tends to conflate joy with a happiness based upon immediate -- and thus unsustainable -- pleasure. They are not the same. Happiness is an emotion; emotions come and go, and we cannot summon them at will. But joy is an outlook, an attitude of the heart or spirit. And joy is a choice that is always open to each of us, even in the worst of times.
Our attitude can make all the difference in how we move through hard times. Viktor Frankl knew that perhaps better than anyone. The Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist not only survived the horrors of a Nazi concentration camp, but emerged from his ordeal strengthened by it. His 1946 classic, "Man's Search for Meaning," has long been recognized as one of the most influential books for American readers. Almost 60 years later it was still part of the syllabus when I was in graduate school to train as a psychotherapist.
Frankl's slim book not only chronicles his time as a prisoner, but lays out his psychotherapeutic thesis that our main drive in life is meaningful purpose. He observed that those who survived the longest in the concentration camps where he was held were not the most physically strong, but those who retained some sense of control over their lives, even when it seemed that everything had been taken from them. Describing how some would share their bread or comfort others, he said, "everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms—to choose one’s own attitude in any given set of circumstances—to choose one’s own way."
Having a meaningful purpose and pursuing it with determination is a proven path to joy. I like the way my former pastor explains it: "Joy is being who we are called to be and doing what we are called to do." That certainly describes how His Holiness, Archibishop Tutu, and John Lewis have moved through this world. It can describe us, too.
Friends, this is a time of enormous challenge. It seems that the whole world is in a bad state. We could easily succumb to despair. But let's not. Let's choose instead to remember the words of Viktor Frankl: "the world is in a bad state, but everything will become still worse unless each of us does his best." Let's do our best to choose joy. From it, we can draw the strength and energy not only to bear our own burdens, but to get into the "necessary good trouble" that can help dismantle White supremacy, preserve the U. S. Postal Service, and protect the vote for all Americans.
Love,
Nancie/Mom/Mimi/Grandma
It seems a lifetime since my last post. In that time, my photographer son was arrested while on assignment to cover the protests, and I broke my left heel in several places in a freak accident with my little grandchild. More about those later. The point is that life as we know it can turn in a heartbeat, and in ways completely outside our control. We always have a choice, though, about how we respond.
If anyone knows about unjust imprisonment, physical pain, or mental and emotional anguish, they would be His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet and the Most Reverend Desmond Tutu, Archbishop Emeritus of Cape Town, South Africa. The same could be said for the late Honorable John Lewis, Member of Congress representing the Fifth District of Georgia. Between them, these three icons of grace under extreme circumstances have experienced deep personal and community pain.
Archbishop Tutu grew up poor in a segregated society. Childhood polio left him with an atrophied hand, a younger sibling died before he was 10, and as a teen he was hospitalized with tuberculosis for 18 months. Later, as a cleric, he saw hundreds of black children and youth killed in the Soweto Uprising. Later still, he was arrested by riot police while helping to lead a protest march, jailed briefly, and had his passport confiscated for some months.
One of ten children born to sharecroppers in Alabama, John Lewis grew up under the systemic oppression of Jim Crow. Like the Archbishop, Lewis was jailed for speaking truth to power, in his case more than 40 times, including after his election to Congress. He was viciously beaten as a Freedom Rider and on Bloody Sunday, and on other occasions as he followed the path of nonviolence to seek civil rights for Black Americans. John Lewis deeply mourned the death of his beloved wife.
As the spiritual leader of Tibet, His Holiness endured the Chinese invasion of his homeland in 1950; over time, as many as 1.2 million Tibetans were systematically raped, tortured, or murdered. He witnessed the brutal suppression of the Tibetan uprising in 1959, when he was forced to flee to India, where he has lived in exile for over 60 years. Removed from his followers, he has seen the destruction of monasteries and shrines, the continued torment of his people, and the near eradication of Tibetan culture.
Despite the violence and evil they witnessed or experienced firsthand, all three have lived lives of peace.The Archbishop and His Holiness won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984 and 1989, respectively; Rep. Lewis was known as "the conscience of the Congress." And despite their powerful grief, all chose to live lives of joy. I have already shared the fun story of the Dalai Lama's encounter with Brian Doyle (May 27 post, "Brian Doyle Trash Talks a Monk"), as well as the delightful image of the elderly Archbishop dancing with the Dalai Lama at his 80th birthday party (March 18 post, "Dancing with Joy"). Their conversation on finding joy in the midst of pain and grief was recorded in the best seller "The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World."
You may have seen the viral video of John Lewis dancing to Pharrell Williams's "Happy" when he was also an elder. Maybe you already know that he liked to dance in his office, too. His staffers tell of his cheerful greeting every morning, and of his readiness to have a party for any occasion. One longtime aide described him as, "so much fun. So full of joy."
Does it seem strange to you that joy would be a defining feature for people who have been so oppressed themselves and who have fought oppression for so long? If so, that might be because our culture tends to conflate joy with a happiness based upon immediate -- and thus unsustainable -- pleasure. They are not the same. Happiness is an emotion; emotions come and go, and we cannot summon them at will. But joy is an outlook, an attitude of the heart or spirit. And joy is a choice that is always open to each of us, even in the worst of times.
Our attitude can make all the difference in how we move through hard times. Viktor Frankl knew that perhaps better than anyone. The Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist not only survived the horrors of a Nazi concentration camp, but emerged from his ordeal strengthened by it. His 1946 classic, "Man's Search for Meaning," has long been recognized as one of the most influential books for American readers. Almost 60 years later it was still part of the syllabus when I was in graduate school to train as a psychotherapist.
Frankl's slim book not only chronicles his time as a prisoner, but lays out his psychotherapeutic thesis that our main drive in life is meaningful purpose. He observed that those who survived the longest in the concentration camps where he was held were not the most physically strong, but those who retained some sense of control over their lives, even when it seemed that everything had been taken from them. Describing how some would share their bread or comfort others, he said, "everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms—to choose one’s own attitude in any given set of circumstances—to choose one’s own way."
Having a meaningful purpose and pursuing it with determination is a proven path to joy. I like the way my former pastor explains it: "Joy is being who we are called to be and doing what we are called to do." That certainly describes how His Holiness, Archibishop Tutu, and John Lewis have moved through this world. It can describe us, too.
Friends, this is a time of enormous challenge. It seems that the whole world is in a bad state. We could easily succumb to despair. But let's not. Let's choose instead to remember the words of Viktor Frankl: "the world is in a bad state, but everything will become still worse unless each of us does his best." Let's do our best to choose joy. From it, we can draw the strength and energy not only to bear our own burdens, but to get into the "necessary good trouble" that can help dismantle White supremacy, preserve the U. S. Postal Service, and protect the vote for all Americans.
Love,
Nancie/Mom/Mimi/Grandma
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