Joy is Resistance
Luke 1:46-53
Luke 1:46b-53 (NRSV):
46 And Mary said,
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant.
Surely from now on all generations will call me blessed,
49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name;
50 indeed, his mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
51 He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones
and lifted up the lowly;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty.
Did any of you, a year ago, predict the presence of inflatable frogs at protests? All starting here in Portland, with a man dressed up as an inflatable frog outside an ICE building. Not to overlook the chicken guy. Which came first, the chicken or the frog?
This isn’t just Portlanders keeping it weird. This isn’t people goofing off. It’s not like these frogs and chickens and unicorns aren’t taking the gravity of what they’re opposing seriously. They’re taking it very seriously, that’s why they’re there. When I watch a video of an inflatables dance party in front of armed, masked agents, I think I get a glimpse of how celebration fits into revolution. How whimsicality and playfulness have a part in social change. How joy is an act of resistance.
It’s striking, too, when I wear my frog costume to a protest, how much joy this brings others. People always ask for photos with the frog, which I feel a little shy about, because I want to help, not be a distraction. But when people see the frog, they cheer and laugh and smile, releasing all those happiness chemicals in the brain that we need to stay healthy and engaged. People pose with the frog and feel the joy of being connected to something bigger. They may need that joy. We may need that joy.
We’re all facing something difficult, no matter how privileged you are. While some have it really hard, are at greater risk, we’re all facing the challenges of this world, together.
I am learning, from frogs, from the voices of the marginalized, and from my own experience, that joy cannot be an afterthought. Joy is not a luxury. It is a necessity.
Mary rejoices. Is she always rejoicing? Is this woman relentlessly happy? Does this song reflect Mary’s “always-attitude”? Mary speaks for a community–this isn’t a song someone overheard Mary sing while gazing out her open upstairs bedroom window. Mary voices the concerns of a community–their struggles, their hopes. Even their joy.
Do you remember when Mary nudged Jesus to turn water into wine? His initial response was something like: “it’s not my time yet, mom!” I wonder if Jesus wasn’t sure he could do it, as though his true meaning was: “I’m not sure I could pull this off.” But Mary believes in her son. Mary has some real “guys, we can do this!” energy. And that could be what Mary’s community needed, like the underdogs in a sports movie, getting that motivational speech at the pivotal moment. That joyful energy could be what a lot of us need, right now.
In this song, Mary celebrates that she has been seen in her lowly state, has been given many good things, and has been cared for by a merciful God who saves. Mary celebrates God’s strength–maybe a strength that can become her strength, her community’s strength–and celebrates that the proud and powerful and rich are defeatable. “There are more of us,” maybe she thinks, “then there are of them.”
Mary, a dreamer, like her son, sings her dream of a future where the powerful are dethroned, and the lowly are elevated. Not exactly a true role reversal, but a total deconstruction of hierarchy, giving rise to a new reality where the hungry are fed with the good stuff because hungry people deserve to eat good things, and where the hoarders of good things lose their hoard. Watching the underdogs rise up and defeat their arrogant opponents isn’t just satisfying because it’s vengeance, but because it’s relief. I think it brings us joy to see good people get good things.
Do Mary–and the community whose hopes she voices in her song–always feel this level of euphoria? No. I’m sure life is hard, that being truly present to what’s happening means you can’t actually smile and laugh all the time.
But it does seem like struggling people have found ways to survive really hard things by finding practices that bring them joy, doing things in community that bring joy, even singing joyful, hopeful songs.
“Joy is an act of resistance.” Some of you have said that, here. What’s that all about? It sounds nice, for a community like ours, part of a Quaker tradition that began as a radical, communal act of resistance to authority, particularly the authority of the church and state, and men, to a degree. We like the word “resistance” here, I think–it fits our antifascist, hippie vibe. And I think we like “joy”? We express a lot of grief here but we’re not anti-joy, we can laugh, we can have fun! So what’s the connection between the very serious work of resistance, and the seriously-needed lifeline of joy?
The phrase “joy is an act of resistance” comes from a 2011 poem by Black poet Toi Derricotte, called “The Telly Cycle,” dedicated to Telly, her pet fish.* This poem, all about Telly’s experience, from Derricotte’s perspective, includes the line: “How do you stop the hurt of having to breathe?” That phrase–“joy is an act of resistance”–arises from a place of pain, I think, from an effort not to escape but endure that pain, a quest to find the resources needed to sustain those going through very difficult times, whether a personal, unique challenge or a challenge you share with a community. In a world set up to crush your spirits, and your body, how do you avoid being crushed?
* https://rattle.com/from-the-telly-cycle-by-toi-derricotte/
Author Ingrid Lee, on her website “The Aesthetics of Joy,” says that joy is a “propulsive force” that energizes those working for change. Joy creates unity, and unified people are harder to dominate. Joy keeps us human, when we find it in dehumanizing situations, even in seemingly trivial pleasures. Joy surprises, like when a marginalized community celebrates their existence in playful ways that thwart the expectations of those hostile toward them. Joy makes us resilient, as even small bursts of positive emotion can reduce the likelihood of burnout. And joy leads to hope, if we can resist despair with fun and play, even if the world is on fire.*
*https://aestheticsofjoy.com/joy-is-an-act-of-resistance-how-celebration-sustains-activism-2/
Maybe we can see this joy in Mary. Could she have felt the weight of her community’s struggles, and the weight of her own struggle to survive her world, not to mention pregnancy and childbirth, and instead of succumbing to despair, find herself saying, “You know what? Let’s sing! I’ve got a song coming to me. And my song is not meek and mild, my song’s got some edge, some fire. My song is hope…and joy.” Mary sings to survive, like so many before and after her.
The late Audre Lorde, a Black feminist poet, wrote this: “In order to perpetuate itself, every oppression must corrupt or distort those various sources of power within the culture of the oppressed that can provide energy.”* Lorde is speaking on the topic of the “erotic” which, for her, includes sexuality but is more about the lifeforce of each person, their creative energy, their power, and their capacity for joy and pleasure.
* https://uk.sagepub.com/sites/default/files/upm-binaries/11881_Chapter_5.pdf
How do people claim their power, when they feel powerless? How do you reject the notion that pleasure and joy are frivolous or indulgent, when they are crucial and sustaining? How do you remind yourself that you’re not just here to produce goods for others, but to enjoy this life, with others? How can we honor that “lifeforce” in one another, and help each other resist whatever denies it?
Let’s get more personal. What brings you joy? What makes you happy? What restores you? What brings you pleasure? And is there a part of you that wonders: “am I allowed to experience pleasure? Isn’t pleasure the opposite of good religious-y self-denial?” I suspect that some religious communities who are critical of pleasure, in its many forms, aren’t concerned that pleasure will destroy you, but fear that you will find joy outside the bounds of religious community, and then won’t need the church. Those who criticize joy and pleasure may be trying to control you, not keep you safe or set you free. Another reason why joy is defiance and liberation.
A lot of people in our world are dealing with hard things. I think a lot of you are dealing with hard things. What role does joy play, in sustaining you, in keeping you going? What are you rejoicing about, in this season?
And please don’t hear “what is bringing you joy?” as a critique of grief or rage. This isn’t about balancing the scales, about saying “you're too focused on what’s wrong.” I think the point is…to be honest. To not live in denial, of what is hard or what is good.
Mary’s song is not a denial of what’s difficult. She’s actually very honest, here. “My state is lowly! People are on thrones that shouldn’t be there, in a just world! People are hungry! People are too rich! Your children call for aid, and are waiting, and have been waiting for a long freakin’ time!” Mary names it. And yet…you can’t tell me this isn’t a song of joy. Mary says as much. Mary demonstrates the value of being honest, whether positive or negative, rather than being…avoidant, disconnected, indifferent, dishonest.
So be honest with yourself: what’s really hard right now?
Now, be honest, again: what’s keeping you going? What makes you smile? What is something you did recently that just felt really nice, even if it only lasted a few moments?
I don’t think it’s always helpful to push people toward joy, but maybe what we can do is make it a little easier for each other to notice that which brings us joy. Maybe you’ve just forgotten. Maybe you’re overwhelmed. Maybe there are joys to seek out but maybe you’re fighting a joy that’s trying to emerge, for any number of reasons?
This makes me think of being a kid, maybe Teddy’s age, and my Dad, who used to, annoyingly, saying to me “where’s Daddy’s sunshine-y boy? Where’s Daddy’s sunshine-y boy?” And I would try soooo hard not to smile, so that he didn’t win, and because I was not feeling “sunshine-y!” But my dad would keep at it, and eventually my face muscles, trying so hard to maintain a frown, would falter, and I’d start to smile, because it was just so silly, and my Dad was cute, I guess. I stopped fighting the joy, and my Dad helped bring it out of me. What or who brings the joy out of you?
This time of year brings me a lot of joy. Christmas movies that are important to my family. Elf is probably our favorite movie as a family. And obviously we don’t go watch it individually on different devices, we watch it together, which matters. And of course we quote it all year long. “I’m singing…I’m in a store…and I’m singing!” Shared joy.
Seasonal food brings me joy. Jo makes chocolate peanut butter balls each Christmas, a daily staple–part dessert, part protein snack. My mom makes this fantastic bean dip every year, which I fill up on before Christmas dinner. Jo’s family does cheese and chocolate fondue for Christmas dinner, which is joyous in a quirky way. Egg nog and winter ales are fun. There’s something joyous about seasonal food, but also about seasons, in general. The chance to enjoy something that’s only here briefly, knowing something new and different is coming next. I think this is how I feel about hiking too. I have favorite hiking seasons, but there’s no time of the year I don’t enjoy hiking, because there’s always something to wonder at, even in the “dead” of winter, when, of course, things are not dead, but very much alive, even if quiet and resting.
I feel the joy of rituals, shared with others, which seem more in focus this time of year. Going to the Camas tree lighting. Seeing the Christmas ships on the Columbia River. Getting a tree and decorating it. A yearly Christmas Day neighborhood walk in Woodland, with Jo, where I show her around and explain what that used to be, and what happened there, and so on. I think back on a 20-year-long Christmas tradition of gifting my Grandma an inexpensive Egyptian perfume bottle. Or setting up the nativity set every year, the one with ceramic people and animals and one Lego angel. Or playing Uno with extended family and just pummelling my elderly cousin Norm with Draw Fours, every single year. Sustaining traditions–and creating new ones–brings joy.
Is joy about connection for me? Definitely. Most of my joy is shared joy, I’d say.
Is joy about survival for me? Am in a survival mode? I don’t know. Not in a way that some are, for sure. Sometimes work is stressful. Sometimes parenting is hard. Sometimes my body aches in many places at once. Sometimes people leave my life, which is sad. Sometimes things break, and cost a lot to fix. Sometimes people I care about are hurting, and I want to help but can’t. I’m doing okay, but yeah, I guess there are hard things to be endured.
But I find joy in my work. My kids are a delight. My body sometimes feels really good. People come into my life and stick around too. Sometimes I can fix things that break, which is amazing. Sometimes I can help someone, which feels good for them, and for me, and…for us.
Is joy about resistance for me? I may not be as vulnerable to some kinds of suffering, as others. But if we’re all in this together, and if my capacity to show up for those who are hurting, and unite with those working for positive change and opposing those forces that would otherwise crush our world; if my ability to be an active, alert, responsive participant in this work and world is strengthened by my capacity to experience joy, then…yeah…I guess joy is resistance, for me.
Cole Arthur Riley, the author of our current book discussion book, This Here Flesh, encourages us to look for beauty and holiness not in mountaintop experiences, but in the ordinary. She writes: “If you really want to get free, find God on the subway. Find God in the soap bubble. Me? I meet God in the taste of my gramma’s chicken. I hear God in the raspy leather of Nina Simone’s voice. I see the face of God in the bony teenager bagging my groceries. And why shouldn’t I?” *
* Cole Arthur Riley, This Here Flesh: Spirituality, Liberation, and the Stories that Make Us, 41.
And why shouldn’t we? What I’m hearing from others is that joy is essential. What if Mary sings, alongside her community, to resist the forces that would dehumanize her and tear her community apart, to survive a harsh world, so that she can, among other things, raise her son? Without the sustaining power of joy, in her life, I’m not sure there’s a Jesus. Without the sustaining power of joy, in our lives and world, I’m not sure there are Christmas ships or Lego angels–or inflatable frogs.
Queries:
How does Mary’s joyous song speak to you today?
What difference does joy make?
What is bringing you joy? How is joy sustaining you, in this season?
How have you witnessed or experienced joy as an act of resistance?