Happiness
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
January 25, 2018
by Christine Holbrook
The inspiration for this sermon started with the song you just heard, by Pharrell Williams. As you may have guessed, the name of the song is Happy. It truly is one of the happiest songs I’ve ever heard. It’s about being happy, how it feels, and the optimism of being happy despite what life might bring. I have to say that the music and accompanying video are what initially drew me in, but the lyrics are pretty powerful. I’d like to read them for you:
Here come bad news talking this and that
Yeah, give me all you got, don’t hold back
Yeah, well I should probably warn you I’ll be just fine
Yeah, no offense to you don’t waste your time
Here’s why:
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you know what happiness is to you
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do
So what is happiness? I think it encompasses a lot, and has many levels. There’s the light happiness of simple pleasures, like enjoying a meal (particularly the dessert!), a great movie, an engaging book, being outside on a perfect day, making someone laugh.
Behind all of those is a deeper level of happiness. In my experience, it’s the feeling of connection that lies underneath everything we do and are. Connection with other people, with work, with nature, with animals, with music and art, with ideas, with spirit – Everyone connects in different ways, through different channels, but the experience of connection is what I think motivates all of us. It’s as though you feel you’re resonating with life, with spirit. To give a physical example, I remember how exciting it was when I was learning how to play guitar, and discovered harmonics – if you hold your finger just above a string while it’s vibrating you can make a really unique sound that’s very different than the sounds strings usually make. For classic rockers, it’s the opening to Yes’s song “Roundabout”; for classical music fans, it’s in Erik Satie’s “Gymnopedie” suite. Other examples are when you’re talking with someone and realize that you truly understand a similar experience and don’t have to explain all the details – you just “get” each other. Or you have an “ah-hah” moment and figure out something that either you’ve been puzzling over for a long time, or didn’t even realize was in the back of your mind. Or you have a moment of calm that comes with a quiet mind.
Children and young animals mostly seem to lack many of the filters that can make the connection to “happy” so murky. Unless there are exceptionally difficult circumstances that intervene, their connection to joy is right there and easily accessible. Recently I watched one of our cats, who happens to be 10 years old, become fascinated by and then engage in full chase behavior with his own tail. You could argue that it’s because his brain is the size of a pea, but that’s beside the point. If you make eye contact with a toddler, and play “peek-a-boo” or just make a goofy grin, chances are that you’ll make a connection with each other within seconds. Maybe it’s because I’m so childish, but I feel like I can connect with toddlers easily and relish those moments.
Life applies layers of hurts, wrongs, inconsistencies, loss and pain. The older we get the more we see how much needs to be fixed, and that all our actions contribute to the state of the world, regardless of our intentions. The same connection we have with the world that brings such joy also brings angst and unhappiness because there is so much that needs our attention. There’s one example that immediately comes to mind for me; I currently work in a research lab at UMass Medical School that’s looking for a cure for intestinal worm infections, which I found, when I started in the lab, affect 2 billion (that’s billion with a B) of the world’s population, primarily children and pregnant women who are in the most poverty-stricken parts of the world. The infections result in horrible symptoms, including cognitive and physical stunting in children, which is irreversible. If there were access to proper sanitation, i.e. toilets and clean water, and even something as simple as shoes, these infections wouldn’t occur in the numbers they do. The people who are affected have so few resources that it seems incomprehensible that they’ll be able to live any kind of comfortable or fulfilling life.
Honestly, I often don’t know how to approach problems like these with a positive attitude. Circumstances and events can be so overwhelming that we respond by just checking out: with distractions – TV, computer games, social media – or blotting out that awareness with the substitute of alcohol or drugs – or just giving in to apathy, and the depression that most often results. I don’t think I’m alone in having resorted to those types of behaviors, or given in to hopelessness; as much as I’d like to say I don’t anymore, I still do, when I’ve reached my capacity for coping with or trying to make sense of events. It’s as though the joy I wish for is something I’m not worthy of, given the state of the world. Or that I’m not “good enough” to feel that joy. Or just that all the hard things that we have to deal with gang up to obliterate joy, and connection. There are all kinds of reasons to deny ourselves, and all kinds of circumstances that seem to conspire to disconnect us from everything that’s meaningful and essential to our best selves. But when we give in, we deny everyone we come in contact with the possibility of connecting with us, and in turn, we can feel separated from that which sustains us.
To reverse course here - I don’t know if anyone knows or remembers the story of Pollyanna. If you Google Pollyanna, the definition that comes up is “an excessively cheerful or optimistic person.” I grew up listening to the story, on an actual record player - it was in a 2-tone case (red & white) that could be closed & carried by a convenient handle. The story is about Pollyanna, a young orphan who goes to live in Vermont with her wealthy but stern and cold Aunt Polly, who takes Pollyanna in only out of duty to her late sister. Pollyanna's life philosophy centers on what she calls "The Glad Game," that consists of finding something to be glad about in every situation, no matter how bleak it may be. It started one Christmas when Pollyanna, who was hoping for a doll in the missionary barrel, found only a pair of crutches inside. Making the game up on the spot, Pollyanna's father taught her to look at the good side of things—in this case, to be glad about the crutches because she didn't need to use them. With this philosophy, and her own sunny personality and sincere, sympathetic soul, Pollyanna brings so much gladness to her aunt's dispirited New England town that she transforms it into a pleasant place to live. The Glad Game shields her from her aunt's stern attitude: when Aunt Polly puts her in a stuffy attic room without carpets or pictures, she exults at the beautiful view from the high window; when she tries to "punish" her niece for being late to dinner by sentencing her to a meal of bread and milk in the kitchen with the servant Nancy, Pollyanna thanks her rapturously because she likes bread and milk, and she likes Nancy.
Soon Pollyanna teaches some of the town's most troubled inhabitants to "play the game" as well, including a querulous self-proclaimed invalid named Mrs. Snow who rants about “pills and bills, pills and bills” and goes into rapture imagining the white satin lining of the coffin she wants to be buried in. Aunt Polly herself gradually starts to thaw, though she resists the glad game longer than anyone else.
Eventually, however, even Pollyanna's optimism is put to the test when she is struck by a car and loses the use of her legs. At first she doesn't realize the seriousness of her situation, but her spirits plummet when she’s told what happened to her. After that, she lies in bed, unable to find anything to be glad about. Then the townspeople begin calling at Aunt Polly's house, eager to let Pollyanna know how much her encouragement has improved their lives; and Pollyanna decides she can still be glad that she at least has had her legs. Aunt Polly marries and Pollyanna is sent to a hospital where she learns to walk again. Frankly, the ending seemed a little too tidy to me, but the important part of the story was summed up in a quote that was attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but is actually from the original book: "When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will."
After the novel's success, the adjective "Pollyannaish" became a popular term for a personality type characterized by irrepressible optimism evident in the face of even the most adverse or discouraging of circumstances. It is sometimes used pejoratively, referring to someone whose optimism is excessive to the point of naïveté, or who refuses to accept the facts of an unfortunate situation.
However, my best antidote to the most painful and difficult things in life is to search for “the one good thing”, or just resort to finding anything to let joy in, often in the form of abject silliness. This is something that I’ve learned to perfect, with the help and guidance of my family, and we all recognize and very much appreciate and admire that quality in others. Personally I’ve found that silliness, while of course used with discretion, can bring a lot of light and joy to all kinds of situations, sometimes especially the ones that are really difficult or challenging.
In fact, while planning this service, I was getting a little daunted by all the details, even though I had lots of help from several people. I met with Lila to choose the hymns and during the meeting, but had forgotten to bring my notes. I got the hymn numbers confused, as well as mis-remembering the order in which the hymns should be placed in the service. When I suggested #361 as the closing hymn, Lila looked at me completely straight-faced, and said “Enter, Rejoice, and Come In”? The ensuing laughter definitely left me with a better perspective and less stressed.
Another example from a more difficult time was a joke that a most wonderful priest, Father Herb, told at my father’s funeral service. My father and Father Herb had a special relationship. My father had emphysema, and toward the end of his life, was frequently in the hospital, sometimes for long periods, where Father Herb visited him regularly. They both loved REALLY bad jokes, and were very good at telling them. They totally got the power of humor and both had the gift of being great story-tellers, which made them good and fast friends.
They were both what I’d fondly describe as “nutty” individuals, eccentric and wonderful in a great way, and total charmers. My father took any opportunity to join in a conversation; I remember a family dinner at a restaurant, during which he started to eves-drop on the table next to us. After listening in for a little while, he gradually started turning more & more in his seat to face that table, and eventually turned completely toward them and proceeded to just join in their discussion. He was so enthusiastic and charming about it that no one seemed at all offended. And Father Herb, my dad’s friend, was equally charming – when making the rounds at the hospital, he was often known to do things like pull out a lollipop from behind a child’s ear. Father Herb told the most wonderful joke at my dad’s eulogy, and it was a perfect example of the silliness and joy they shared. It was about a new priest who was trying to learn how to comfort family members after a loved one had passed away, but he didn’t know how to describe death in spiritual terms that they could understand. The young priest struggled with this but was at a loss to know what to do. An older priest he sought advice from suggested he describe it in concrete terms that the family could easily relate to. He told the young priest to describe the body as the shell of a peanut, and the inner part as the person’s soul or essence. So the young priest took his advice and when he went back to the grieving family, he told them to imagine the body of their loved one as the outer shell of that person, like a peanut shell, and then continued, “When the soul leaves the body, it’s as though the shell has fallen away, and the nut has departed.” This is the type of humor that connected my father & Father Herb, and in turn connected both of them with my family at a time of great loss.
While I wouldn’t describe going through that loss as a happy time, that simple joke was a way for all of us to connect to each other in a shared joy that we had all experienced with my father, in the best way I can think of. Connection/joy is not only the endpoint, but the means to the endpoint – the road and the destination at once.
It’s taken me a while to figure this out. When I was young, I got stuck in periods of depression and couldn’t find my way out. I was so focused inward that I isolated myself a lot. I actually found a lot of things on the ground because I was generally looking down. While I found some wonderful things, overall it didn’t make up for feeing alone and disconnected. I know that in many regards, I had a pretty easy life, but emotionally it was often very tough, something most people experience in one way or another. I credit the tough times with giving me a deep understanding of compassion and a desire to be of service, and care for others. In simplistic terms, it’s what the “glad game” is all about.
I believe that faith is the hope or belief (depending on my level of optimism) that we are truly connected to each other in ways we don’t always comprehend or understand; the believing, without necessarily exactly understanding that connection, is what “faith” is to me. I tend to believe in things that are within my realm of direct experience, and I’ve been fortunate enough to feel connection that is immediate, powerful, sustaining, and essential to my well-being. In fact, it’s one of the things that drew me to this church; from the start I’ve felt that I’ve been among kindred spirits.
Back to Pharrell’s song – though I didn’t play the video that accompanies the song for you, I highly recommend that you watch it if you have a chance. The link is in the Order of Service, or you can just Google it. It’s clip after clip of people dancing – people of different ages, races, shapes and sizes, dancing in their own style and each one putting their all into the dance. It’s the ideal that a lot of us hope for. Just to celebrate and express our joy without any judgement, and by doing that, connect.
In closing, we all look for the strategies/philosophies/mindsets that inspire us and help us navigate the world in a way that feels meaningful. My method is looking for happiness/joy/”the one good thing” in whatever situation I find myself. Sometimes it’s a real long-shot. But when you equate happiness with connection, there’s infinite possibility there.
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
January 25, 2018
by Christine Holbrook
The inspiration for this sermon started with the song you just heard, by Pharrell Williams. As you may have guessed, the name of the song is Happy. It truly is one of the happiest songs I’ve ever heard. It’s about being happy, how it feels, and the optimism of being happy despite what life might bring. I have to say that the music and accompanying video are what initially drew me in, but the lyrics are pretty powerful. I’d like to read them for you:
Here come bad news talking this and that
Yeah, give me all you got, don’t hold back
Yeah, well I should probably warn you I’ll be just fine
Yeah, no offense to you don’t waste your time
Here’s why:
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you know what happiness is to you
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do
So what is happiness? I think it encompasses a lot, and has many levels. There’s the light happiness of simple pleasures, like enjoying a meal (particularly the dessert!), a great movie, an engaging book, being outside on a perfect day, making someone laugh.
Behind all of those is a deeper level of happiness. In my experience, it’s the feeling of connection that lies underneath everything we do and are. Connection with other people, with work, with nature, with animals, with music and art, with ideas, with spirit – Everyone connects in different ways, through different channels, but the experience of connection is what I think motivates all of us. It’s as though you feel you’re resonating with life, with spirit. To give a physical example, I remember how exciting it was when I was learning how to play guitar, and discovered harmonics – if you hold your finger just above a string while it’s vibrating you can make a really unique sound that’s very different than the sounds strings usually make. For classic rockers, it’s the opening to Yes’s song “Roundabout”; for classical music fans, it’s in Erik Satie’s “Gymnopedie” suite. Other examples are when you’re talking with someone and realize that you truly understand a similar experience and don’t have to explain all the details – you just “get” each other. Or you have an “ah-hah” moment and figure out something that either you’ve been puzzling over for a long time, or didn’t even realize was in the back of your mind. Or you have a moment of calm that comes with a quiet mind.
Children and young animals mostly seem to lack many of the filters that can make the connection to “happy” so murky. Unless there are exceptionally difficult circumstances that intervene, their connection to joy is right there and easily accessible. Recently I watched one of our cats, who happens to be 10 years old, become fascinated by and then engage in full chase behavior with his own tail. You could argue that it’s because his brain is the size of a pea, but that’s beside the point. If you make eye contact with a toddler, and play “peek-a-boo” or just make a goofy grin, chances are that you’ll make a connection with each other within seconds. Maybe it’s because I’m so childish, but I feel like I can connect with toddlers easily and relish those moments.
Life applies layers of hurts, wrongs, inconsistencies, loss and pain. The older we get the more we see how much needs to be fixed, and that all our actions contribute to the state of the world, regardless of our intentions. The same connection we have with the world that brings such joy also brings angst and unhappiness because there is so much that needs our attention. There’s one example that immediately comes to mind for me; I currently work in a research lab at UMass Medical School that’s looking for a cure for intestinal worm infections, which I found, when I started in the lab, affect 2 billion (that’s billion with a B) of the world’s population, primarily children and pregnant women who are in the most poverty-stricken parts of the world. The infections result in horrible symptoms, including cognitive and physical stunting in children, which is irreversible. If there were access to proper sanitation, i.e. toilets and clean water, and even something as simple as shoes, these infections wouldn’t occur in the numbers they do. The people who are affected have so few resources that it seems incomprehensible that they’ll be able to live any kind of comfortable or fulfilling life.
Honestly, I often don’t know how to approach problems like these with a positive attitude. Circumstances and events can be so overwhelming that we respond by just checking out: with distractions – TV, computer games, social media – or blotting out that awareness with the substitute of alcohol or drugs – or just giving in to apathy, and the depression that most often results. I don’t think I’m alone in having resorted to those types of behaviors, or given in to hopelessness; as much as I’d like to say I don’t anymore, I still do, when I’ve reached my capacity for coping with or trying to make sense of events. It’s as though the joy I wish for is something I’m not worthy of, given the state of the world. Or that I’m not “good enough” to feel that joy. Or just that all the hard things that we have to deal with gang up to obliterate joy, and connection. There are all kinds of reasons to deny ourselves, and all kinds of circumstances that seem to conspire to disconnect us from everything that’s meaningful and essential to our best selves. But when we give in, we deny everyone we come in contact with the possibility of connecting with us, and in turn, we can feel separated from that which sustains us.
To reverse course here - I don’t know if anyone knows or remembers the story of Pollyanna. If you Google Pollyanna, the definition that comes up is “an excessively cheerful or optimistic person.” I grew up listening to the story, on an actual record player - it was in a 2-tone case (red & white) that could be closed & carried by a convenient handle. The story is about Pollyanna, a young orphan who goes to live in Vermont with her wealthy but stern and cold Aunt Polly, who takes Pollyanna in only out of duty to her late sister. Pollyanna's life philosophy centers on what she calls "The Glad Game," that consists of finding something to be glad about in every situation, no matter how bleak it may be. It started one Christmas when Pollyanna, who was hoping for a doll in the missionary barrel, found only a pair of crutches inside. Making the game up on the spot, Pollyanna's father taught her to look at the good side of things—in this case, to be glad about the crutches because she didn't need to use them. With this philosophy, and her own sunny personality and sincere, sympathetic soul, Pollyanna brings so much gladness to her aunt's dispirited New England town that she transforms it into a pleasant place to live. The Glad Game shields her from her aunt's stern attitude: when Aunt Polly puts her in a stuffy attic room without carpets or pictures, she exults at the beautiful view from the high window; when she tries to "punish" her niece for being late to dinner by sentencing her to a meal of bread and milk in the kitchen with the servant Nancy, Pollyanna thanks her rapturously because she likes bread and milk, and she likes Nancy.
Soon Pollyanna teaches some of the town's most troubled inhabitants to "play the game" as well, including a querulous self-proclaimed invalid named Mrs. Snow who rants about “pills and bills, pills and bills” and goes into rapture imagining the white satin lining of the coffin she wants to be buried in. Aunt Polly herself gradually starts to thaw, though she resists the glad game longer than anyone else.
Eventually, however, even Pollyanna's optimism is put to the test when she is struck by a car and loses the use of her legs. At first she doesn't realize the seriousness of her situation, but her spirits plummet when she’s told what happened to her. After that, she lies in bed, unable to find anything to be glad about. Then the townspeople begin calling at Aunt Polly's house, eager to let Pollyanna know how much her encouragement has improved their lives; and Pollyanna decides she can still be glad that she at least has had her legs. Aunt Polly marries and Pollyanna is sent to a hospital where she learns to walk again. Frankly, the ending seemed a little too tidy to me, but the important part of the story was summed up in a quote that was attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but is actually from the original book: "When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will."
After the novel's success, the adjective "Pollyannaish" became a popular term for a personality type characterized by irrepressible optimism evident in the face of even the most adverse or discouraging of circumstances. It is sometimes used pejoratively, referring to someone whose optimism is excessive to the point of naïveté, or who refuses to accept the facts of an unfortunate situation.
However, my best antidote to the most painful and difficult things in life is to search for “the one good thing”, or just resort to finding anything to let joy in, often in the form of abject silliness. This is something that I’ve learned to perfect, with the help and guidance of my family, and we all recognize and very much appreciate and admire that quality in others. Personally I’ve found that silliness, while of course used with discretion, can bring a lot of light and joy to all kinds of situations, sometimes especially the ones that are really difficult or challenging.
In fact, while planning this service, I was getting a little daunted by all the details, even though I had lots of help from several people. I met with Lila to choose the hymns and during the meeting, but had forgotten to bring my notes. I got the hymn numbers confused, as well as mis-remembering the order in which the hymns should be placed in the service. When I suggested #361 as the closing hymn, Lila looked at me completely straight-faced, and said “Enter, Rejoice, and Come In”? The ensuing laughter definitely left me with a better perspective and less stressed.
Another example from a more difficult time was a joke that a most wonderful priest, Father Herb, told at my father’s funeral service. My father and Father Herb had a special relationship. My father had emphysema, and toward the end of his life, was frequently in the hospital, sometimes for long periods, where Father Herb visited him regularly. They both loved REALLY bad jokes, and were very good at telling them. They totally got the power of humor and both had the gift of being great story-tellers, which made them good and fast friends.
They were both what I’d fondly describe as “nutty” individuals, eccentric and wonderful in a great way, and total charmers. My father took any opportunity to join in a conversation; I remember a family dinner at a restaurant, during which he started to eves-drop on the table next to us. After listening in for a little while, he gradually started turning more & more in his seat to face that table, and eventually turned completely toward them and proceeded to just join in their discussion. He was so enthusiastic and charming about it that no one seemed at all offended. And Father Herb, my dad’s friend, was equally charming – when making the rounds at the hospital, he was often known to do things like pull out a lollipop from behind a child’s ear. Father Herb told the most wonderful joke at my dad’s eulogy, and it was a perfect example of the silliness and joy they shared. It was about a new priest who was trying to learn how to comfort family members after a loved one had passed away, but he didn’t know how to describe death in spiritual terms that they could understand. The young priest struggled with this but was at a loss to know what to do. An older priest he sought advice from suggested he describe it in concrete terms that the family could easily relate to. He told the young priest to describe the body as the shell of a peanut, and the inner part as the person’s soul or essence. So the young priest took his advice and when he went back to the grieving family, he told them to imagine the body of their loved one as the outer shell of that person, like a peanut shell, and then continued, “When the soul leaves the body, it’s as though the shell has fallen away, and the nut has departed.” This is the type of humor that connected my father & Father Herb, and in turn connected both of them with my family at a time of great loss.
While I wouldn’t describe going through that loss as a happy time, that simple joke was a way for all of us to connect to each other in a shared joy that we had all experienced with my father, in the best way I can think of. Connection/joy is not only the endpoint, but the means to the endpoint – the road and the destination at once.
It’s taken me a while to figure this out. When I was young, I got stuck in periods of depression and couldn’t find my way out. I was so focused inward that I isolated myself a lot. I actually found a lot of things on the ground because I was generally looking down. While I found some wonderful things, overall it didn’t make up for feeing alone and disconnected. I know that in many regards, I had a pretty easy life, but emotionally it was often very tough, something most people experience in one way or another. I credit the tough times with giving me a deep understanding of compassion and a desire to be of service, and care for others. In simplistic terms, it’s what the “glad game” is all about.
I believe that faith is the hope or belief (depending on my level of optimism) that we are truly connected to each other in ways we don’t always comprehend or understand; the believing, without necessarily exactly understanding that connection, is what “faith” is to me. I tend to believe in things that are within my realm of direct experience, and I’ve been fortunate enough to feel connection that is immediate, powerful, sustaining, and essential to my well-being. In fact, it’s one of the things that drew me to this church; from the start I’ve felt that I’ve been among kindred spirits.
Back to Pharrell’s song – though I didn’t play the video that accompanies the song for you, I highly recommend that you watch it if you have a chance. The link is in the Order of Service, or you can just Google it. It’s clip after clip of people dancing – people of different ages, races, shapes and sizes, dancing in their own style and each one putting their all into the dance. It’s the ideal that a lot of us hope for. Just to celebrate and express our joy without any judgement, and by doing that, connect.
In closing, we all look for the strategies/philosophies/mindsets that inspire us and help us navigate the world in a way that feels meaningful. My method is looking for happiness/joy/”the one good thing” in whatever situation I find myself. Sometimes it’s a real long-shot. But when you equate happiness with connection, there’s infinite possibility there.
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