| Dear Friends,
It’s snowing. Here on the coast, we don’t get nearly as much snow as the rest of Massachusetts, so days like this feel magical. I’m giddy.
Chicago got this storm 2 days ago. Our 3 adult kids texted a stream of photos yesterday of their snow-people and their own smiling faces. Apparently there were well over 50 sculptures just in the one neighborhood park near their apartments. It was a day of joyful play in their city that is struggling with so much.
A few weeks ago, I spent half a day with dozens of others telephonically accompanying the 19 people who were arrested for demonstrating at the coal plant in Bow, NH, at their court hearing. We first got to be with them on Zoom, where they smiled, talked about how they were feeling and expressed gratitude. Someone made a joke via Chat and several others dove in. We could watch them laughing, sensing their deep fellowship—and something approaching joy. Hearing each of them give their personal statement to the court afterwards on how the urgency of climate change compelled them to act was profoundly moving to me.
Dismantling white supremacy, stopping climate change, redistributing wealth, and surviving a pandemic in which loneliness, despair, and grief exist alongside health and recovery—all of these are extremely serious business. Listening to the Still, Small Voice and living faithfully to our experiences of the Divine bring up words in me like solemn, intentional, earnest, contemplative. Sustaining ourselves and each other over the long haul, over lifetimes, is essential.
I’m quite convinced that joy, real joy, is necessary.
Joy needn’t always be shared in order to be genuine. My dad found deep delight watching the squirrels try to conquer his bird-feeders. Artists, musicians, dancers and so many others are sustained by the joy that rises in creativity. Singing, exercising (I’ve been assured a runner’s high is a real thing), and reading beautiful poetry can evoke it.
 The most sacred joy I experience arises when shared with others. And when I’m with people I love and trust, laughing together can feel holy, almost covered. I’ve been to memorial meetings for worship that erupted in laughter without straying from the center. I’ve mistakenly looked in the eyes of a dear friend during silent retreats and started giggling from the sheer awe of the moment. I’ve watched junior high-ers laying on the floor in a cuddle puddle laughing from the freedom in being together with others, where they feel accepted and loved.
As we complete almost a year’s worth of youth programs over Zoom, I am mulling over what, if anything, we’ve accomplished. Two of the clearest things seem to be conveying a sense of connection—sometimes even belonging—and reminding each other of joy. The silly moments, the ones where we are all unmuted laughing, and the ones where humor has spontaneously unfolded, have been as nourishing as the honest sharing in small groups and the thoughtful, grounded words from Spirit in worship. They have sustained us. And compelled us to log onto the next Zoom, because maybe there will be more.
With all seriousness, dear Friends, I believe there is urgency in our local meetings finding ways for cheerful fellowship—and yes, laughter—to be shared through this pandemic. Our love and affection for each other raises collective laughter to something like communion. An audio potluck while apart. Perhaps each of our monthly meetings needs a “Committee for Joy.”
Where there is joy, I think there is also gratitude. In the momentary lightening of the weight in our hearts we become aware of what is gift, good, and beautiful in our lives, in the people whom we love, in the world. However temporary, the weightlessness gives us a bit of spaciousness in our beings. And where there is spaciousness, something of that of God may arise, whether it’s comfort, hope, mercy, or wonder. And for this, we feel such gratitude.
And then, feeling fortified and re-energized, we can get back to the serious work of living faithfully, shining love and compassion, building justice, and walking humbly with the Divine. Of being.
I’m holding you all in much love and Light, wishing you joy, and feeling such gratitude.
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