Last year the Executive Committee of the UU Ministers Association held our spring meeting in New Mexico and I spent a couple of days before the business meeting taking a short vacation with a couple of old friends. In those two short days we explored Santa Fe and Albuquerque. We feasted on chili verde and sopapillas. By chance I had the opportunity to meet Arthur “LowLow” Medina, an artist whose paintings appear not on canvas but on classic low-rider automobiles; Medina was profiled in the New York Times travel section in 2004. I valorously defended my friend from a pack of wild dogs on the dusty streets of Chimayo, which is a story for another time. And, finally, I attended morning worship at the First Unitarian Church of Albuquerque, where, exactly 364 days ago I heard my colleague, Christine Robinson, preach on the subject of “Happiness.”
Truthfully I don’t recall much of that sermon but I do remember sitting in the Albuquerque congregation and making a mental note that I should preach on this subject. As I told my Preaching Practicum class this past month, some of the best sermons are actually ones that we preach to ourselves. There are areas of my life right now where my own blessings are just too many to count. I am fulfilled, delighted, and happy. How could life be any better? And, at the same time there are other parts of my life that I face with disappointment and frustration. I suspect that your lives include a bit of both as well.
At first, happiness would seem to be something obvious and elemental, but, in fact, happiness is a more complex topic than we think. Consider this: I was talking to a member of the church and telling her about my approaching trip to the Zen community at Green Gulch. I mentioned that Green Gulch is a strictly vegetarian community and that it was a community practice to spend the first fifteen minutes of each meal in silence. The member turned up her nose and confided in me that she thought this sounded just plain awful. I imagine that some of you would enjoy these practices and others would hate them.
Or consider that 2004 New York Times profile of Arthur “LowLow” Medina. The journalist who profiled him mentioned an incident in which a young punk in a flashy red sports car pulled up next to Medina at a red light in Espanola, gunned his engine as if to challenge Medina to a drag race, and then sped off down the street. Medina rolled forward until he reached his desired cruising speed of ten miles per hour. To quote Medina, “For us lowriders, it is all about doing it slow and low.”
Or, to offer just one more example, I might mention that today is Palm Sunday and this next week is the Christian Holy Week. This coming week as many as 50,000 Catholic pilgrims will walk ten, twenty, fifty, or one hundred miles or more along a pilgrimage path leading to the sanctuary in Chimayo, New Mexico, that town where my friend and I were accosted by wild dogs. They will make this pilgrimage walking across the desert, under the hot southwestern sun. Some will make a portion of the journey barefoot. Others will crawl on their knees. Still others will repetitively stand and fall prostrate on the hard ground below. For these pilgrims it will be a deeply spiritual experience. I suspect that few of us would find the experience as enjoyable.
So, it turns out that I have been belaboring a terribly obvious point: that different people take pleasure from different activities. And yes, this point is extremely obvious, and yet it is something that it is important to keep in mind.
So, allow me to belabor this point even more. The incredibly obvious point that different people enjoy different things is larger than a matter of some saying “po-tay-to” and others saying “po-tah-to.” On the surface, differences in what brings us enjoyment may seem superficial. But, I would imagine that there is a hymn that we sing regularly here in this church that some of you love passionately and others of you detest and abhor. Community, with its sharing and closeness, entails being with others who desire different things than you desire. And this is often not as small of a thing as it seems. More on this later.
In speaking about happiness, I should point out that happiness is different than pleasure. Pleasure refers to all sorts of activities—many of them good for us, many of them benign, some harmful—that make us feel good in the short term. Pleasure is experienced as the result of an action that provides us with a fleeting sense of feeling good.
Happiness is something different than pleasure. Or rather, happiness is something more than a long sequence or series of pleasurable activities. Happiness is not about actions but about being. It is an emotional state. Not everybody who engages in pleasurable activities is happy, but happy people have cultivated a perspective of gratitude, of thankfulness, for the things in their lives that bring them pleasure.
I do want to introduce one more word: joy. Pleasure is a sensation derived from an action that makes us feel good. Happiness is an emotion. Joy, then, is happiness that is felt in a way that is particularly ecstatic or intense. Joy, I would also contend, often has a quasi-religious quality to it. Joy involves something like the elevation of one’s own spirit.
I want to give you an example. I am trying to think of something that is stereotypically considered to be pleasurable but lacks the capacity to bring a person joy. But, at the same time, I don’t to be too titillating. Well, let’s use an example that is very safe. Filling out March Madness brackets and following your picks to see how they do is an activity that millions of people find pleasurable, yet we would not describe it as an activity that brings a person joy. Joy is not only an experience filled with intensity and ecstasy; it is a pleasure that is both transcendent and also linked to the addition of a kind of moral value to one’s life. Joy is holding your new daughter or your new grandson in your arms. Joy is also often linked to art and nature and by extension to the romantic notion of the ability of artistic and natural beauty to uplift us morally. Listen to Beethoven’s Ode to Joy or Handel’s Alleluia chorus; stand on the mountaintop; watch the deer graze at the edge of a dewy field at sunrise. These things evoke in us joy.
Happiness, I think, resides in that large gap between pleasure and joy. Before we consider how it is that one finds happiness, we might muddy the waters by asking if happiness is something that is even worth attempting to cultivate. The argument could certainly be made that happiness is morally questionable. Look out at the world, the argument goes: look out at the world and really dare to see all of the despair, suffering and pain; dare to see the senseless acts of violence; dare to see the oppression and the persecution; dare to see the environmental destruction. How dare we care about our own happiness?
However, I don’t find this way of approaching life to be commendable. Being miserable, critical, and angry does not mean that you are living a saintly life. There are plenty of miserable, critical and angry people who are just plain miserable, critical, and angry just as there are people who are genuinely happy who give selflessly to make the world a bit more decent and kind and humane. Ignorance is bliss except when it isn’t; bliss does not correlate to ignorance.
Since today is Palm Sunday and this next week is Holy Week, I might suggest that the events of the passion narrative are instructive to us in helping us to think about the question of happiness. When you examine the passion narrative from the perspective of the disciples, the story becomes one of how a community preserves itself in the face of enormous loss, disappointment, and uncertainty. It is about the summoning of joy despite trauma and loss and fear.
Earlier I compared pleasure to happiness and said that happiness is more than the engagement in pleasurable activities over a long duration of time. Happiness is something else. It is an emotional state that combines several attitudes. Happiness includes gratitude, the ability to be thankful for the things in our life that do make us feel good and whole. Happiness also includes contentment, or a sense of being at peace with life and with other people. Such being at peace does not mean resignation. It has to do with a quality of self-differentiation. While we may work for a good cause about which we are passionate, at the same time we should recognize our own limitations. Namely, we should not take it personally when we are not victorious in that high and noble cause for which we have sacrificed. Happiness isn’t the same as not caring; it isn’t indifference. To the contrary, happiness often is linked with a high capacity for resilience, the ability to push onward without losing hope. Gratitude and thankfulness, peace and contentment, equanimity and resilience: these are the elements of happiness.
There is so much more I could say about happiness. But I want to end by considering happiness from two other angles. Happiness is, I believe, all the things I’ve just said, but it also is something more. Happiness is finding that place where you belong, that thing for which you were meant. Some might call it a calling or a vocation or your purpose or your destiny. My colleague Vanessa Southern tells a story about this in her book of collected meditations.
In that book she tells the story of growing up with an Australian Shepherd named Lady. She grew up in an urban environment and Lady was just not meant to be a city dog. So, the family brought Lady out to the family farm where her grandparents lived where lady would spend her later years in a place a dog would love. On the second day on the farm the family woke up and Lady was nowhere to be found. The horses on the farm were missing as well. The family went out as a search party. Finally, they found the horses clustered in the corner of the field, where the fence formed a right angle. And there, running back and forth and nipping at the horses’ hooves was Lady, happier than she had ever been. She was doing what she was meant to do.
I want to end not by bringing my thoughts to any sort of firm resolution, but by adding a wrinkle of complexity. As individual beings happiness can be elusive. But every so often everything just comes together and we do find, just like the dog in the story, that place where everything we are meant to be is perfectly aligned.
I do wonder though about how community complicates things. Lady may have found her bliss, but the horses may have a different take on this particular story. As human beings we are fundamentally social creatures. We do not live in isolation and when we do things like come into this church we become a part of community. It is my hope that here you will be able to be and become your true self, that you will find an outlet for your driving passions, that you will be as true to your nature as the dog in Vanessa Southern’s story.
I hope that you will come to understand and value your participation in this community as more than just a string of pleasurable moments. I hope that this religious community helps you to find joy, and, if not joy, than at least some combination of gratitude and thankfulness, peace and contentment, equanimity and resilience.
And, at the same time, if you really invest yourself you will find—you cannot help but find—that your happiness, your calling, your meaning will bump up against others in community. There will be that hymn that makes you groan with irritation that makes the person next to you ecstatic with happiness. There will be a time when you are living your passion and others tell you, “Hold on just a second, you’re making me feel like an old horse cornered by a dog.” In community, happiness is realizing that it is not all about you or about me and pursuing happiness will mean that you will inevitably bump up against others’. That is the way it works. But it is not an excuse not to give it a go.
I want to conclude with the words of Mary Oliver. They are words that came to me in thinking of those tens of thousands of Catholics who will be making a pilgrimage through the desert on their way to Chimayo later this week. Mary Oliver wrote,
You do not have to be good .May you hear that announcement and discover that place in the family of things. And may that place lead you to immense and wondrous happiness.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
Whoever, you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place in the family of things.