joy
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Joy Run
Yesterday we ran for joy. About eighty people showed up to join me to run one-tenth of a marathon around the Augustana College campus.
It started as a response to the attack on the Boston Marathon last week. I decided to defy the preachers of fear by running for joy, and to honor those tens of thousands of runners who ran in Boston. And I invited friends, because joy shared is joy amplified.
I didn't expect many people to join me, so I was surprised to find seventy or eighty runners - and a few walkers, and quite a few dogs - waiting for me when I arrived. Even more surprising were the TV cameras from all the local stations, and the reporter from the Argus Leader. Here are some links to their stories: Argus, KDLT, KSFY. And, of course, at our Augie news website. I was pleased to talk with such intelligent and kind reporters who thought this was newsworthy.
I was so swamped by the interviews before the race that I wasn't able to snap a photo of everyone beforehand, but here's a photo of some of the people who ran with me, at the finish line. I'm grateful to live with such joyful people.
Several of those who ran with us also ran the Boston Marathon, including two who ran this year and two who ran in previous years. We were honored by their presence.
It's better to live lives of joy, lives of neighborly care, lives full of what St John calls agape, or nurturing love, than to live lives constricted by fear. My gratitude goes out to everyone who ran with me, and to the reporters who covered it, and to all people everywhere, who bring joy to the world.
It started as a response to the attack on the Boston Marathon last week. I decided to defy the preachers of fear by running for joy, and to honor those tens of thousands of runners who ran in Boston. And I invited friends, because joy shared is joy amplified.
I didn't expect many people to join me, so I was surprised to find seventy or eighty runners - and a few walkers, and quite a few dogs - waiting for me when I arrived. Even more surprising were the TV cameras from all the local stations, and the reporter from the Argus Leader. Here are some links to their stories: Argus, KDLT, KSFY. And, of course, at our Augie news website. I was pleased to talk with such intelligent and kind reporters who thought this was newsworthy.
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| Some of the Joy Runners |
Several of those who ran with us also ran the Boston Marathon, including two who ran this year and two who ran in previous years. We were honored by their presence.
It's better to live lives of joy, lives of neighborly care, lives full of what St John calls agape, or nurturing love, than to live lives constricted by fear. My gratitude goes out to everyone who ran with me, and to the reporters who covered it, and to all people everywhere, who bring joy to the world.
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Run For Joy
As I mentioned in a recent blog post, and as the Sioux Falls Argus Leader has reported, I am going for a run for the sake of joy this weekend, and you're invited to join me, here or wherever you are.
The prophets knew this thousands of years ago: we become like what we worship. We might think we don't worship, but I'm here to tell you that the way you spend your life is the way you worship. We all worship. Each of us ascribes worth to things by giving our time, our money, and our attention to them.
It's tempting to give our attention to monsters, to worship the devils that the news cameras follow breathlessly through the streets. It is tempting to worship our fears, to let the things that could steal, or maim, or kill become the focus of our attention. It is tempting to hold the horrors in our hearts until we form them into perfect idols. If that weren't tempting, the news would look very different.
Avoiding idolatry - by which I mean worshiping things that are not worthy of our precious lives and attention - takes a conscious and sustained effort.
It requires us to remember not the horror but the joy. It requires us to give up the cramped life of fear and to stretch ourselves in the exuberance of being alive, of having a body.
At their best, this is what marathons are about: exultation in the gift of living an embodied life.
So run with me. Shake off the terrors, and feel your muscles, your bones, your sinewed vitality. Wherever you are, get out there and feel a little of what the marathoners were feeling as they ran, the hard-earned joy of running, the joy of feeling alive with other people.
Let me add that I'm not an accomplished runner, so don't expect me to lead the pack. This will be a run, not a race. If you want to walk with us, push a stroller, or whatever lets you feel the joy of being alive, come and join us. Bring your joy.
The prophets knew this thousands of years ago: we become like what we worship. We might think we don't worship, but I'm here to tell you that the way you spend your life is the way you worship. We all worship. Each of us ascribes worth to things by giving our time, our money, and our attention to them.
It's tempting to give our attention to monsters, to worship the devils that the news cameras follow breathlessly through the streets. It is tempting to worship our fears, to let the things that could steal, or maim, or kill become the focus of our attention. It is tempting to hold the horrors in our hearts until we form them into perfect idols. If that weren't tempting, the news would look very different.
Avoiding idolatry - by which I mean worshiping things that are not worthy of our precious lives and attention - takes a conscious and sustained effort.
It requires us to remember not the horror but the joy. It requires us to give up the cramped life of fear and to stretch ourselves in the exuberance of being alive, of having a body.
At their best, this is what marathons are about: exultation in the gift of living an embodied life.
So run with me. Shake off the terrors, and feel your muscles, your bones, your sinewed vitality. Wherever you are, get out there and feel a little of what the marathoners were feeling as they ran, the hard-earned joy of running, the joy of feeling alive with other people.
*****
I'm not collecting money, but I encourage you also to give a donation to an organization of your choosing that cares for those who suffer. I'm going to give to the Red Cross and the United Way. Because I think that love for neighbor is a worthwhile thing to focus my attention on, and giving my money helps to focus my attention.
And while you're at it: turn off the news and think about this: what is bringing you joy today? How are you bringing joy to others today? As someone wise once said, "whatever is true,
whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is
lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or
praiseworthy—think about such things."
*****
Let me add that I'm not an accomplished runner, so don't expect me to lead the pack. This will be a run, not a race. If you want to walk with us, push a stroller, or whatever lets you feel the joy of being alive, come and join us. Bring your joy.
∞
I Am Afraid
I am afraid.
Not very afraid, just a little. Mostly, I am afraid of using my days poorly.
But I'm not really afraid of death. I'm not really afraid that my plane will fall from the sky, or that the economy will collapse. Close calls from asteroids and comets don't worry me even a little bit.
There are a lot of things I don't want to lose - my job, my health, and especially my friends and loved ones - but I don't see the point of spending a lot of time worrying about that, especially since losing them is inevitable.
In his Ethics, Aristotle reminds us that courage is not the absence of fear. (The absence of all fear is just another kind of foolishness.) Courage is being afraid of the right things. Like living badly, or bringing shame and dishonor to oneself, to one's family and friends, to one's nation.
So I admit it: I'm a little afraid of wasting the time I'm given, of not living a life of love, of failing to live joyfully. I'm a little afraid that today I'll squander time on things that don't matter while not giving myself to those I love. I'm afraid of worshiping things that don't deserve my worship.
Thankfully, I'm not in charge of all time. I'm only in charge of what I do right now. Which means I have something positive I can do with that little fear of mine: I can fight it by doing something that matters. Right now.
Not very afraid, just a little. Mostly, I am afraid of using my days poorly.
But I'm not really afraid of death. I'm not really afraid that my plane will fall from the sky, or that the economy will collapse. Close calls from asteroids and comets don't worry me even a little bit.
There are a lot of things I don't want to lose - my job, my health, and especially my friends and loved ones - but I don't see the point of spending a lot of time worrying about that, especially since losing them is inevitable.
In his Ethics, Aristotle reminds us that courage is not the absence of fear. (The absence of all fear is just another kind of foolishness.) Courage is being afraid of the right things. Like living badly, or bringing shame and dishonor to oneself, to one's family and friends, to one's nation.
So I admit it: I'm a little afraid of wasting the time I'm given, of not living a life of love, of failing to live joyfully. I'm a little afraid that today I'll squander time on things that don't matter while not giving myself to those I love. I'm afraid of worshiping things that don't deserve my worship.
Thankfully, I'm not in charge of all time. I'm only in charge of what I do right now. Which means I have something positive I can do with that little fear of mine: I can fight it by doing something that matters. Right now.
∞
Run For My Life
Yesterday I went for a run. I'm not much of a runner, but it seemed like a good response to the Boston Marathon.
The Boston Marathon is a huge gathering for the sake of doing something none of us needs to do. It's a race, and yeah, someone will be fastest, but everyone who finishes it wins. A Marathon is an exuberance.
When the bombs go off and the guns fire, we all duck for cover. And we know what happens next: first the media run the same film loops dubbed with the same breathless commentary. And then someone announces that we're taking new security measures.
I'm sure all that's good. We need media, and it's just prudent to take security measures.
But it's not enough. If our response to terrorism is to feel afraid, the terrorists have won.
Which is why I am going to respond with joy. And more exuberance.
So here is what I will do: this Sunday, I am going for a run - I'm calling it a Joy Run - and I'm inviting my friends to join me. We'll run 2.62 miles (a tenth of a marathon - I'm not a great runner, so don't ask for more) and I'm going to ask them all to make a donation to the Red Cross or the United Way or another organization that exists to promote the public good and cares for people who are suffering.
If you know me, you'll know where to find me. If not, rather than having you call me and ask if you can donate, let me just urge you to do the same thing wherever you are.
There will always be people who want to limit life, who say no to life, who mail suspicious packages and kill strangers. I feel sorry for them; may God bless them by helping them learn to say yes to life, love, and wisdom. Because they exist, we'll always need to be vigilant.
But because we exist, we should not forget to live. Brightly, joyfully, exuberantly.
And so, this Sunday, inspired by those who ran exuberantly in the Boston Marathon, my friends and I are going to run. For my life, and for theirs, and wishing life and joy to everyone, everywhere.
The Boston Marathon is a huge gathering for the sake of doing something none of us needs to do. It's a race, and yeah, someone will be fastest, but everyone who finishes it wins. A Marathon is an exuberance.
When the bombs go off and the guns fire, we all duck for cover. And we know what happens next: first the media run the same film loops dubbed with the same breathless commentary. And then someone announces that we're taking new security measures.
I'm sure all that's good. We need media, and it's just prudent to take security measures.
But it's not enough. If our response to terrorism is to feel afraid, the terrorists have won.
Which is why I am going to respond with joy. And more exuberance.
So here is what I will do: this Sunday, I am going for a run - I'm calling it a Joy Run - and I'm inviting my friends to join me. We'll run 2.62 miles (a tenth of a marathon - I'm not a great runner, so don't ask for more) and I'm going to ask them all to make a donation to the Red Cross or the United Way or another organization that exists to promote the public good and cares for people who are suffering.
If you know me, you'll know where to find me. If not, rather than having you call me and ask if you can donate, let me just urge you to do the same thing wherever you are.
There will always be people who want to limit life, who say no to life, who mail suspicious packages and kill strangers. I feel sorry for them; may God bless them by helping them learn to say yes to life, love, and wisdom. Because they exist, we'll always need to be vigilant.
But because we exist, we should not forget to live. Brightly, joyfully, exuberantly.
And so, this Sunday, inspired by those who ran exuberantly in the Boston Marathon, my friends and I are going to run. For my life, and for theirs, and wishing life and joy to everyone, everywhere.
∞
Rejoice!
When I was an undergraduate studying Classical Greek, one of the first Greek words I learned from Professor Eve Adler was chaire! It's the common greeting in Attic Greek, the "hello, there!" of the ancient Greek world.*
We can translate it as "Hail!" or "Hello!" but it literally means "Rejoice!"
There are a lot of ways to greet someone. You can announce your own presence, or acknowledge the presence of others; you can offer a command, or express a wish; you can arrive with a blessing.
I like the idea of greeting someone by wishing them joy. Wherever we're going, it's good to arrive with a desire to see others rejoice, with a blessing on our lips.
This Sunday the Gospel reading in the Revised Common Lectionary was the story of the Wedding in Cana.
The story goes like this: Jesus is invited to a wedding. The wedding guests drink all the wine, and it looks like the party might be over. Jesus' mother, Mary, tells him "They have no more wine." Jesus makes lots more wine. And it's good wine. The party goes on.
And people wonder why I'm a theist. This is a good God.
Because whatever else is going on in this story, this is a God that arrives with a desire to see people rejoice.
It's easy to forget that.
And then I think: would I even know how to throw a party that lasted for a whole week? What would such a party be like? I admit I don't know. But I like the idea of trying.
How would that change the way we saw the world? What if the aim of life was not prosperity but mutual enjoyment and living towards times of rejoicing? What if we made it our purpose to prayerfully complain, on behalf of others, "They have no more wine!"
So to you reading this, I have one word, a blessing on my lips for you: Chaire! Rejoice! And may you find joy that endures throughout your week.
We can translate it as "Hail!" or "Hello!" but it literally means "Rejoice!"
There are a lot of ways to greet someone. You can announce your own presence, or acknowledge the presence of others; you can offer a command, or express a wish; you can arrive with a blessing.
I like the idea of greeting someone by wishing them joy. Wherever we're going, it's good to arrive with a desire to see others rejoice, with a blessing on our lips.
******
This Sunday the Gospel reading in the Revised Common Lectionary was the story of the Wedding in Cana.
The story goes like this: Jesus is invited to a wedding. The wedding guests drink all the wine, and it looks like the party might be over. Jesus' mother, Mary, tells him "They have no more wine." Jesus makes lots more wine. And it's good wine. The party goes on.
And people wonder why I'm a theist. This is a good God.
Because whatever else is going on in this story, this is a God that arrives with a desire to see people rejoice.
It's easy to forget that.
*****
Miroslav Volf posted something on his Facebook page this week that reminded me that in some ancient cultures, wedding parties lasted a whole week. I wonder, how long had these people in Cana been drinking?And then I think: would I even know how to throw a party that lasted for a whole week? What would such a party be like? I admit I don't know. But I like the idea of trying.
How would that change the way we saw the world? What if the aim of life was not prosperity but mutual enjoyment and living towards times of rejoicing? What if we made it our purpose to prayerfully complain, on behalf of others, "They have no more wine!"
So to you reading this, I have one word, a blessing on my lips for you: Chaire! Rejoice! And may you find joy that endures throughout your week.
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* The Greek word is spelled χαῖρε, dual χαίρετον, plural χαίρετε. I've transliterated it here on the assumption that most of my readers don't know the Greek alphabet. The verb χαίρω, of which these words are several forms, means "rejoice."