Note - this is an adapted version of an address I used at Lewisham Unitarian Meeting for a service back in 2010. I came across it again recently and decided it was worth sharing. I didn't use the Emma Goldman quote at the time but it expresses the general thought of the piece well.
When
I was 18, I went to my first outdoor music festival. Back then, for a
quiet, bookish kid who was just getting into music seriously, this
was a real adventure. And as I look back, the impressions I received
are still surprisngly clear in my mind. Not just the endless array of
different musics over the four days, but the tailbacks on the tiny
country roads leading to the festival site; the cheap plastic
sunglasses I bought at the festival stall; the weather, which in the
fine English tradition ranged from bakingly hot to sudden downpours.
Above
all, it is the dancing that I remember. In full-to-the-brim tents, on
stages, in small circles – it was everywhere. I remember throwing
myself around one lunchtime alongside a small but ecstatic crowd to
Underworld on the main stage as the rain came down, the frontman of
the band pogoing from left to right across the stage, urging his
bandmates and ourselves onto greater heights.
That
weekend remains one of the most remarkable experiences of my life.
Apart from perhaps the contemplation of nature, listening to music,
dancing and singing are still the closest I've come to a sense of
overpowering joy. A religious feeling, if you like, where emotion
temporarily surpasses logic, where all that matters is the moment and
celebrating the moment with others. I doubt I'm the only person to
have experienced this as one of the times when they've felt most
alive.
So,
my starting point is that joy – an active, participatory joy – is
not only tremendously important for us as human beings, but that
spiritual practice ignores it at its peril. And my question is –
what does this mean for us as people gathered here for worship in that very temple of rationalism, a Unitarian meeting house?
Performance,
and participation in performance, has been a key part of religion
around the world. Let's look at the Christian tradition. You can find
sanction for letting your hair down and having a good time in the
Bible; from that old time joyful singer and dancer King David of
Israel to the parties which Jesus and his disciples attended in the
New Testament. Both the Catholic and Protestant traditions – each
in their own way – build space for joy and participation into their
services, whether that's the timeless ritual of mass or the call and
response script of a modern high-tempo evangelical service.
Islam,
often associated with austerity, gives us festivals in Egypt where
the very recitation of the verses of the Qu'ran has been elevated to
an art form, where the best performers are lauded for their work. And
dancing is a part of religious celebration wherever you go, from the
South London wedding to Diwali to Sufi whirling dervishes.
Here
in this Meeting House, singing is a central part of what we have in
Sunday worship. We're also fortunate to have not one but two very
skilled organists, and our young people are also musically talented.
The luckiest meetings have whole choirs of their own.
However,
there's been another side to religious practice which looks upon art
and joyous practice as a threat, a distraction or a 'barrier to God'.
Most of the successive divisions in established religions have been
accompanied by new lists of things to disapprove of, whether
seventeenth century Puritans, nineteenth century American
fundamentalists, or the extremists of all faiths of today. Music and
dancing have and continue to feature highly on these blacklists.
It
may surprise you to hear I have on the one hand some understanding of
this position. I think of what I call the Wizard of Oz argument –
if you take away the song and dance show from life and religion then
ultimately what's left behind the curtain has to stand and fall on
its own merits. When I was dancing in a field, I wasn't thinking
about anything other than dancing – it is not a particularly
rational experience, and the nearest thing to an ethic of dancing is
not to stand on your partners feet or to jostle the other dancers!
On
the other hand, I side firmly with those who see in joyous practice,
music, art, ritual and dancing – part of what makes human life and
sprituality so richly rewarding. As someone who comes at life from a
cerebral, rationalist point of view – one of life's right brainers
– I think I value it all the more because it doesn't come easy to
me. As with indiviudal human beings, I don't think the solution to
the mind/body problem in religion is to deny either but to try and
reconicle both.
Now,
you'll be relieved to hear I'm not going to play loud
four-to-the-floor techno music at you, nor am I going to suggest that
suddenly all get out of our seats and start dancing. But what I am
going to do is close by answering my question: what does talking
about joy, about music and dancing mean for us here as people
gathered here this morning .
One,
is that I believe that as individuals finding ways to connect with
joy through - music, dance, art, singing – whatever works for you –
is really important.
Second,
as I've suggested, we can have our cake and eat it in these services.
In other words, we can have all the ethical discussions, rationalism
and contemplation we need and also connect with joy through singing,
music and art . To express this in terms John (our lay leader) used
last week, joyous communion is what we do and what we should be
aiming for.
Third,
and finally, I do want to issue a gentle challenge to us all –
including myself. making time to connect with art and joy takes more
time and effort than you might think. Let's all make some time in the
coming days to remind ourselves why these things matter and make time
for them in our lives.
