Pop 89: Running Together Toward Joy
By Madonna Hamel
I woke to a riot of bird song at 4:15 this morning. Various denominations of the ornithological choir gave it their all: a hover of robins followed by an exaltation of larks over a steady bass line provided by a cote of mourning doves. I found myself wondering, once more, if each species understands the songs of the others? Or do they at least know who’s who? Are they better than many of us humans who, though we belong to the same species, more often than not, do not speak each other’s language? (Although we can all hum the same melody without knowing the lyrics.)
These are the things I think about when awakened at 4:51 by birdsong. And I’m not complaining. It’s a lovely thing - to wake to song. To want to leap out of bed and into the fresh morning air and marvel at the dives and darts and busy little bodies of birds as they start their new day.
So many of us in the world are not happy upon waking. For many reasons - from mistrust to tragic loss, from illness to the creakiness of aging, from worry about work, children, politics, or plastic, we just want to roll over and duck under the covers.
And I’m not even talking about all the wars going on in the war, so many we risk becoming insensitive to the images children crying, bleeding or dead. Thousands of them, their lives only just getting started, perish when caught in the crossfire of the cruel and maleficent energies of war. And others are being used as trading chips, human barter for a transactional game of hostage-taking and exchange as if this were all a card game, a football game, a real estate deal.
I’m reading a book called: “Living Gently in a Violent World.” Its subtitle is brave in its countercultural tone: “The Prophetic Witness of Weakness.” What? How can weakness be a good thing? What place is there in our contemporary world for weakness? The authors, Stanley Hauerwas and Jean Vanier say, over and over again, it takes true suffering to break the illusion that we have some kind of control over life. And to ask for help. It’s not a new idea - 12-step programs are built around this acknowledgement.
The idea of the book is taken from the idea behind L’Arche, a community for disabled adults. We may think we are helping them, the authors say, but they are teaching us to be wiser, more real, more true to our humanness. When we turn to the lived example of people “who are weaker than us,” they say, we see people who “long for authentic and loving relationships more than for power.”
I remember how I clung to the word “empowerment” when I was a young woman, how I craved strength and power to be seen, heard, respected, taken seriously for my ideas and reflections. To be constantly overlooked in classrooms, workplaces and social settings simply because I was female was the most disheartening fact of life. Engrained in the culture was the prejudice that a woman’s voice in the media or politics was derided as “shrill” or strident”. A voice of leadership and authority was that of a deep male voice; a woman’s words were dismissed simply because of a higher vocal register. Can I be blamed for wanting strength, power, control? In order to survive, I had to be firmer, tougher, and make male ways of being my model; the world did not value gentleness and soft-spoken voices. I had to speak up or bow out. Be part of the transaction or be transacted, without say of my own. I couldn’t begin to imagine what life must be like for the women and children being used as pawns in war-torn places, running for cover while men shoot and bargain over their bodies?
Perhaps that is why, when the white smoke came pouring out of the Vatican chimney, everyone men, women and children, Catholic or not, ran for St. Peter’s square. For the first time in a long time they weren’t running away from hurt and hate and bad news. They had something marvellous to run toward. Together. What joy to have something to run toward in a time when the world sends us to our rooms, when we can’t seem to to get up enough enthusiasm to face a day that broads and bombards us with indignities and obscenities.
Yes, I would have loved to have been there in St. Peter’s Square, to run, not alone but as a collective, for happy and hopeful reasons. To run not away from bombs and gunfire, but neither toward a pop star or Hollywood actor, mistaking themselves for something larger than life, when actual size is plenty enough.
To run toward the sublime choir and hum along to an ancient hymn, to cheer for whomever steps out on that balcony because they are there to remind of the eternal powers of Mercy and Love. As Pope Leo himself said, obviously emotionally moved by the cheers, “May we always be this joyous, this hopeful, this filled with spirit.”
Having lost our way in search of riches and reputation, we can recalibrate our route and run toward joy. We can prefer to give love, make peace, and lend an ear over striking a deal. The new pope is being lauded for his ability to unify a room full of disparate personalities with calm, and concentrated caring - qualities traditionally perceived as feminine. Maybe finally, all of us, myself included, are appreciating these qualities and talents as manifested in gentle people who, instead of asking, “What’s in for me?” ask, “How can I help?”
Surely, it’s past time we dropped the lonely pursuit of self-interest and embraced, unchecked, an unguarded and genuine love of life. It’s time to drop the strong man stance and break into a collective run toward joy.