II Corinthians 4:1, 5-11, 16-18, 5:1, 5 20 January 2008
"A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE CEMETERY"
This quote from the wise curmudgeon G. K. Chesterton really goes to the heart of things: "Man is more himself, man is more human, when joy is the fundamental thing in him, and grief the superficial. Melancholy should be an innocent interlude, a tender and fugitive frame of mind; praise should be the permanent pulsation of the human soul. Pessimism is at best an emotional half-holiday; joy is the uproarious labor by which things live."
I really like that last bit, describing joy as the uproarious labor by which things live. That is what we are about today, Jazz Sunday. Celebrating life as the "uproarious labor of joy". Today’s pulsations may not be permanent, but they stir from deep within us, from our longing for joy. And this longing for joy has a specific context. The holidays have passed, Christmas and New Year’s. We’ve returned the gifts we didn’t like. We are getting our income tax forms. We have seen fuel oil bills like never before. We weary of waiting to move back into our spiritual home. The sun is certainly on an “emotional half-holiday”.
Today is our chance for an outburst of joy, late in Epiphany before sober Lent begins, as days begin to grow longer, light shining out of darkness, or as Paul put it, “who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.” My advice, today or any day, is: if you have a shot at joy, take it and apologize to no one. And we advance that bright school of thought today by the whole Jazz Sunday concept.
The thing I really like about joy is how much greater and stronger it is than happiness. Joy is grander and more purposeful than happiness, less dependent on circumstance, rooted instead in the one who gives is to us as a gift. God gives us the gift of joy and that is the one gift we never want to send back. Because as we receive God’s gift of joy, we find a platform for everything we do, everywhere we go, anything the world throws at us.
Happiness is not so expansive and enduring. Katharine Hepburn once said of happiness that someone gives her a box of chocolate turtles, she is happy. She finishes the box of chocolates, and she is not happy any more. She gets another box of chocolate turtles, she is happy again. Happiness is like clinging to debris swimming in a sea of large swells. It is better than nothing, but we need a larger vessel to navigate life’s great vicissitudes.
That vessel we ride is the community of faith that is the body of Jesus Christ in the world. Paul wrote about the joy we discover living our shared faith together in face of many tests.
Did you hear the language he used? Sharing the joy of this ministry, we do not lose heart. Yes, of course, for now, our treasure is in earthen vessels, it can break and disintegrate at a moment’s notice. But God possesses transcendent power to assure that all is not lost.
So joy carries the day despite our mortality. Did you hear Paul’s words? We are afflicted, but not crushed. Perplexed, but not despairing. Persecuted, but not forsaken. Struck down, but not destroyed. As things on the outside suffer wear and degradation--our bodies foremost among them--the things inside only get stronger and better, more vital and alive. He who prepares us for this thing is God, who gives us the Spirit as guarantee.
Do you find joy in this promise? I can’t always describe it, because it so vast. But I warm myself by this joy every bleak winter morning as I awaken and my feet hit the cold floor. Living in relationship with God, things are made possible for us we can’t have on our own. So the story of life, the saga of surviving and surmounting, is something bigger than what meets the eye. We look not to the things that are seen, Paul writes elsewhere, but to the things unseen, because the things seen are transient, but the things unseen are eternal.
This is joy, God’s uproarious labor by which things are made deathproof to live forever. It is not a joy that can be had apart from struggle. It cannot be separated from the hardship, the discouragement, the frailties, and the attacks that we face in our daily lives. Unlike mere happiness, the joy God gives us is so strong it doesn’t get intimidated by despair.
Of course, being human, we want to have the joy without the tribulation, the ecstasy with-out the suffering, the bliss without the anguish. But that is not how this life is put together. Both of the sides must be held together. Apart from each other they make no sense. One of the biggest parts of living a spiritual life is finding imaginative and creative ways to keep a healthy tension between those sides. That is where jazz helps us. What does jazz have to do with these spiritual rhythms? I am so glad that you asked. I know that many of you already understand the roots of jazz. But today it is worth a reminder that jazz roots go deep into themes of despair and hope, suffering and vindication, death and resurrection.
What we today call jazz actually got its start in funeral processions around
After committing the body at the graveside, hearing from the clergy, and bidding farewell to the departed, the band picked up their instruments, and led family and friends in a festive parade home. Because they had just heard the promises of the Gospel at the graveside, because they had heard God’s good news over those most beloved to them when it mattered most, the music was radically different. It was the sound of unbridled joy:
This shift in tone was the transition from Good Friday to Easter. At this turning the music suddenly grew bright, lively and happy. With laughter and gaiety and dancing, joy was released in what amounted to nothing less than a festive Easter parade. Have you ever noticed how riotously cheerful, how exuberant, early Dixieland jazz is? It is cheery music. You start grinning, you don’t know why, but you can’t stop. This joyous Easter music is the soundtrack for the second half of the pilgrimage, from the cemetery back going home.
Today jazz invites, in Chesterton’s words, joyous praise which is the pulsation of our soul. If the solos seem uproarious, it is the uproar of joy by which we become glad to be alive. Yes, grief is acknowledged. It’s real and should not be denied. But it must give way to joy. Sometimes we need a little help accessing this joy, don’t we? Especially this time of year.
So despite its shady reputation, O people of God, jazz has deep roots in our faith. And it remains is a faithful way for us to cut loose. So many people outside the church get the idea that Christianity is long on obligation and short on celebration. They need Jazz Sunday more than we do. So many people perceive the Church as staid and stiff instead of the kind of buoyant crowd that everyone wants to be around. Tell them about our DUC.
We are more ourselves when joy is the basic thing and grief the interlude. God saw that for Jesus’ followers and gave them a vision of glory to restore their joy despite everything. Praise is the permanent pulsation of the soul. Let joy’s uproarious labor carry the day. Amen.
