From The Plague by Albert Camus:
Martine Rambert: “It makes me feel ashamed now.”
Dr. Bernard Rieux: “Ashamed of what? Being happy when other people aren’t? You were right, before I met you, I didn’t know that to be happy you had to work at it. Put your heart into, I always thought that one day, happiness would just come along. That all you had to do was avoid pain. But without pain, there’s no happiness either.”
This isn’t a reflection about happiness, laughter, or anything light-hearted. Although, I suppose, that is what we are after, isn’t it? We might even argue that happiness, laughter, joy, light-heartedness are states of being we all hope to make real and recurrent in our lives. And, when we come upon those moments, when we give in and they flood the chambers of the heart, we surrender to that which is effusive, effervescent, inexpressible, irrepressible. We are overcome with joy, with the lightness of being, uplifted in the inexhaustible Mystery that permeates all that is…When that happens, we want that to happen again, and to happen over and over again. What we call light-hearted should be a visceral and brilliant descriptor for the state of the soul: hearts full of light, light spilling from heart windows and doorways into desperate streets, dispelling gloom and shadow. If it sounds a bit melodramatic, it probably is. Still, it doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t want to live inspired lives, that we shouldn’t fully embrace all that is buoyant when there is too much gravity in the world.
The truth is that our lives are not written that way. The very word “experience” carries the literal meaning of being “in danger.” We are always and everywhere at risk. By whose leave and what right should I profess joy and light-heartedness in this world where monsters are lurking everywhere? No longer the stuff of nightmares, monsters like school shootings, gun violence, sex-trafficking, homelessness, environmental degradation walk around in broad daylight, stealing life and joy. These aren’t abstractions but concrete and complex realities with challenges and considerations far eclipsing the frame of this thought. And, I draw great inspiration from the voices of those voices, young and old from all corners, speaking through suffering and tragedy to lift up life, joy, calling for a world more just, loving, and peaceful for all. In a world desperately in need of more heart-light and light-heartedness, how do we find joy and that which is life-giving? I have no doubt and tremendous hope that we all have answers that work for us: family, friends, sacred places, silence, community, service, prayer, work, worship…But all in all, in the midst of terrible plagues of violence, trauma, and injustice, happiness takes work. I love the two video clips attached to this stream of words for the simple demonstration that laughter is contagious, that how we interact with each other makes an immediate difference in the state of our being.
Initially, chasing this incomplete thought, I imagined ending up with a passage from the Christian scriptures in Matthew 11:28 where it says “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Or, with the notion that God is with us—a foundational and frequent reality in the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. Or, even with something from the Buddhist tradition which speaks to the power of our own state of being to shape both our own reality and the reality around us. All of these are possible responses to finding a path through wastelands and warzones, apathy and avoidance. Each response is an invitation to imagine a new way. As fallible people working in fallible institutions, there aren’t whole lot of promises for safe passage. In fact, in a world full of corners, every turn is a prayer. Said differently, nowhere—at least not any place that I have found—does God guarantee that we won’t suffer, that we won’t find ourselves hungry, thirsty, estranged, naked, sick, or somehow imprisoned. But, God does say that God is with us. Over and over again—suggesting that times will come when we are prone to forget it, perhaps even in those difficult moments when it might make all the difference in the world. And, we are also reminded—with the same persistence—that we are loved, no matter what, and especially in the midst of our own poverty and vulnerability. Isn’t that the ultimate source of all light-heartedness? All heart-light? It isn’t a free pass at anything—especially not suffering and fallibility which are ineluctable in this life—nor does it open the door to nihilism. There is something fundamentally life-giving here.
It reminds me of the Myth of Sisyphus, told by Camus. In the classic story, Sisyphus is condemned by the Gods to a life of futility, rolling a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down again. The crime for which he has earned this punishment? Avoiding death because he wanted to keep living. What Camus calls us to in his rendition of the myth is “to imagine Sisyphus happy.” It isn’t a naïve romantic ideal but an existential imperative.
We have a choice about how we infuse relationships, our community, the world with our presence. Contagions are tough, real, dire in so many cases. For those that are suffering and struggling in the moment, it will take all of us who are not to offer our presence, compassion and understanding; and when the time is right, show how Sisyphus might laugh, see the beauty in the world, find peace in the walk down the mountain to fetch the boulder.
