My recent vacation combined a little tourism and a lot of family.
The tourism part included an outstanding exhibit at Norfolk’s Chrysler Museum focused on the American artist Jacob Lawrence, a 20th century descendent of the enslaved African Diaspora, and his connections with artists still in Africa. I also visited Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Jamestown. It was the first time in decades that I’d experienced those historic sites, so closely tied to my own family’s story in America.
Williamsburg continues to be what it has been since the Rockefeller’s made it a personal cause, a well-funded billionaire’s philanthropy. Yorktown and Jamestown are different. Both contain historic sites managed by the National Park Service on a shoestring budget, as well as substantial educational sites and museums under the auspices of a better-funded and independent foundation.
At Jamestown, that foundation’s museum and re-creation of the ships and the first fort are called the Jamestown Settlement, and I must admit, I was blown away. They have done a remarkable job of re-framing the story. Where once you experienced a celebration of colonialism, the Doctrine of Discovery, and white supremacy, you can now hear about the intersection and clash of three advanced cultures, the First Peoples of the continent, the English who invaded and established the colony, and the Angolan abductees whose purchase at Jamestown marked the start of our nation’s original sin.
The foundation’s museum and re-created encampment at Yorktown is not quite as nuanced, still firmly rooted in American exceptionalism and white nationalism, with barely a nod to the overwhelming majority of residents in the original colonies who were not made free by the American Revolution, indigenous populations, slaves in the African diaspora, women…
The American Revolution is, in the Yorktown narrative, primarily about taxation without representation, which is at least partially true. It was an economic war, about the exploitative and unsustainable model of overseas colonization. But there is little mention at Yorktown or in popular patriotism of the Southern concern that England might abolish slavery, something that seemed inevitable after a 1772 decision by the Court of the King’s Bench, and a move that would invalidate a primary source of Southern wealth.
The so-called Founding Fathers are at the center of it all in Yorktown, as are those familiar patriotic tropes, “give me liberty or give me death,” and the words of Thomas Jefferson, the “unalienable right” to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
I was already thinking about happiness, for today’s scripture and theme were on the calendar months ago. But what the heck is happiness? And does our faith promise us happiness?
So let’s make this the shortest sermon ever, and stipulate that happiness is whatever Madison Avenue is trying to sell you this week, depending on your socio-economic class, whether that is a new stainless steel refrigerator for your three story waterfront cabin in Kennebunkport, or cheap plastic pumpkins shipped all the way from China and now sitting on your front porch to make your home look festive for the season. Because you can buy happiness. It sits on the shelf right next to self-esteem in the same aisle as the bottles of complete hogwash.
So maybe not. Maybe Madison Avenue is peddling exactly the opposite of self-esteem, is peddling a sense of worthlessness, a sense of failure, because we don’t have that one thing, that glittery perfect something we saw in the New York Times Sunday Magazine that will make us feel successful, that one thing that is one of a billion disposable things that drives the suicide-engine of corporate consumer capitalism. Maybe Madison Avenue manufactures misery.
So scratch the whole happiness found in things. And the short sermon.
Animals experience joy, which seems to me to be the same thing as happiness, despite our discomfort when we start admitting that animals have emotions, because we’re cool with a happy sea otter, but we really don’t want to think about the emotional state of those pork chops on the grill.
Joy is also a good scripture word, so that gets us back to faith. Joy is that thing that comes in the morning after the long night of grief. It is proclaimed by a heavenly host over the hills outside of Bethlehem. And most interesting to me, there is a verb to match the noun, for scripture calls us again and again to rejoice. I kind of like that, the idea that joy is something you do, is a spiritual practice even. We rejoice by choice. Though people may start looking at me funny if I encourage them to “rehappy.”
The thing is, happiness is a mixed bag when it comes to the Christian Testament. The 16th century English translation rendered the “Beatitudes” as “blessed are,” though modern translators prefer “happy are.” But who is promised happiness? And the answer, especially in Luke’s version, is not most of us. The sermon Matthew places on a mount and Luke places on a plain promises happiness to the poor, the starving, those suffering, those who are not happy now. Jesus promised those who were thriving in a system he saw as corrupt and sinful a future of misery.
Which is sort of harsh, really, but consistent with the demands he placed on those who would follow him. Remember, Jesus asked the rich and righteous young man to give all he had to the poor. In fact, Jesus even promises misery to those who would follow him, telling them they will be persecuted for their devotion. So seriously, what the heck are we doing here? I mean, the prophets were by definition dissatisfied and cranky, but there has to be some good news in there somewhere!
And maybe there is, for Jesus also announces the opt-in kingdom of God. It is breaking into the world, co-existent. Maybe the inevitability of 24/7 human misery as a path to righteousness is a distortion of his good news, a distortion that benefits those who would keep us miserable, for if we were meant for misery, why did Jesus bother healing people and feeding people and saving people? Why demand that we clothe the poor and feed the hungry and visit the prisoner if the good news was only about the next life?
Maybe, just maybe, the kingdom of God is a reason to rejoice and maybe, just maybe, it is an attitude, a way of life,. Maybe happy is being what we were always meant to be, transcendent and brief little miracles of love and creativity, selfless, connected.
Maybe happiness comes from the miracle of being and noticing the infinite miracles that surround us, the sensation of warm buttered bread in the mouth and the warmth of the grandchild with arms locked around your waist and the sense of accomplishment when the vacuuming is done and the cold of the creek water running past your ankles. Maybe it is the tears flowing down your face as you finish that novel, a work of imagination that reminds you that life is so very precious, when you hear Barber’s Adagio and move beyond yourself into that perfect space that music creates. Maybe happiness is having a purpose and that purpose is love, that sometimes hard selflessness that is holy and always an option, when we let go of ourselves for a moment and become part of more.
Maybe holiness is letting go of our fear and our ego and being, fully, a part of this mysterious now, for you are part of this mysterious now. And if that is true, happiness, holy happiness, is the exact opposite of what is sold as distinctly American, the rugged individualism and freedom that is really just greed, fear, and sociopathy wrapped in a flag.
The kingdom of love is at hand if we just choose it. Let us re-happy. Amen.