joy – Feminism and Religion

And Then Everything Changed: Part Two: Joy by Beth Bartlett

(part one was posted yesterday)

Author’s Note: I wrote this post shortly after Pres. Biden stepped down as the Democratic candidate for the presidency and endorsed Kamala Harris, long before the Kamala-Harris ticket adopted “joy” as their watchword. The reference to the “joy” of this campaign has now become so ubiquitous that I fear it will become trivialized and merely a slogan. I hope instead that they meaningfully embrace a politics of joy and the capacity of joy to heal divides, not just in this country, but throughout the world.

* * *

. . . and then everything changed.

What is this feeling that has been filling me of late? Ah, yes, I remember — hope, enthusiasm, excitement, optimism! It’s been so long since I’ve felt this — on the political scene, for our country, for the world. But lately I’ve felt buoyant – something I haven’t felt at least since 2016. Rather than avoiding the news, now I am eager for it, seek it out.

The energy, vitality, and yes, laughter that Kamala Harris has brought to the presidential campaign has infused myself and many others I know with a sense of joy, a welcome contrast from the doom and gloom that has been surrounding the campaign for so long. Her ability to laugh, to smile, to find the positives in people, in life, that has brought new life to this campaign. Yet for some reason, the opposing side has chosen to focus on Harris’s easy laughter as a target for derision.

Reclaiming Our Birthright of Joy by Mary Gelfand

Part 2 was posted yesterday

In my earlier piece on joy I wrote about collective joy—the kind that can be experienced in larger groups of people engaging in a shared experience that brings them a sense of joy and connection, like dancing in the streets. Here I’m talking about a more personal kind of joy, shared perhaps with a few people.

Speaking as a woman and a feminist, I have often been conflicted about joy. Sure I want to experience joy, but I often feel guilty about it. How can I allow myself to feel the simple joy that beauty and cosmic connection can bring when there is so much suffering in the world? When I was finally able to accept that denying myself joy did not reduce the suffering of others and was harmful to me, I was able to move past the guilt trip induced by my Christian upbringing. I began to look for ways to bring more joy into my life, and discovered a mother-lode of wisdom from multiple sources.

Collective Joy as Our Birthright by Mary Gelfand

One of two pieces on Joy, part 2 tomorrow.

Joy was not a conspicuous presence in my childhood home. My parents were kind and loving, but both had been raised in the Protestant conservatism of rural Alabama during the Depression years. Laughter, contemporary music, dancing, drinking—none of these were part of my growing up years. Attending church was our primary social activity. I started middle school in the mid-1960s having never heard of the Beatles, Chubby Checker, or the Twist.

Instinctively, I felt that there must be more to religious experiences than the dull passivity of listening to an old white man lecture on details of an antiquated religious text. Psalm 100 in the Hebrew Bible instructs us to “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord,” but I couldn’t find joy anywhere in my home church. Even my relationship with Jesus, which felt sacred and special, was dimmed by the constant focus on Jesus’ suffering and death and my concurrent obligation to avoid sin at all costs.