Outbreak of Joy

We were standing in a sparsely populated underground area. These days it is used primarily as a thruway for foot traffic, though it had the look of an old Roman portico and was being remodeled for use as a commercial space. Such is the life and fate for historic sites being used and reused for contemporary purposes. New cities build on old foundations. Churches, mosques and synagogues build and rebuild on holy sites. Yesterday’s horse stable houses tomorrow’s chic restaurant.

Huddled with our guide, Amit, as he informed us of the future plans for the space, our small group learned of what once was and what soon would be. While he spoke, a young man bearing a guitar ambled over to where we stood. He had a “have guitar, will travel” kind of look. Was he a street performer? A roaming artisan? An under-employed person looking to make ends meet? A husband or father? Perhaps he was any, all, or none of those things. In that moment he was a person looking for an audience.  

To his credit, rather the burst into our group strumming at full volume he went directly to our guide where it became obvious they were acquainted. Amit gave his blessing for him to play in the background as he continued his talk. I rarely like being accosted by street vendors—remember my experience at Jericho?! (See https://jaymarshallonline.com/by-the-sycamore-tree/) Musicians who drop by unannounced to serenade your moment usually then expect to be compensated as though they’d delivered a special-ordered pizza. What if you preferred silence? What if you have no money? What if you didn’t like the music? It has a pesky feel, for me at least. But our guide gave him space, and I’m so glad he did.

He began with a song I didn’t know. I probably couldn’t recognize if I heard it again, but it was a nice piece. It calmed and deepened the moment. Next he sang the well-known Israeli folksong Hava Nagila (Here’s a link to the song if you’re unfamiliar with it). It is a peppy little tune whose words simply mean, “Let us rejoice.” As he played, strangers began to join our group. The passing traffic slowed and lingered. Our little group swelled to the size of a small crowd as people stopped and paid attention. Then the darnedest thing happened. There was an outbreak of joy, as contagious as the common cold. As though the song’s words themselves were a Pavlovian command to all who heard them, individuals began to rejoice. Clapping led to bouncing which led to singing which led to dancing and before you knew it a party broke out under the street in Jerusalem. Strangers smiled at one another. They sang and danced together. Of course, a dozen or so iPhones captured it all and forwarded it somewhere out in cyberspace.  

There was nothing particularly wrong or sour about the mood in the area before the song began. No trouble. No tenseness. No incivility. But the atmosphere noticeably shifted and improved thanks to the encouragement of a single individual sharing his gifts. It is probably the closest I’ve been to a flash mob experience. Even if his motive was in part an effort to secure his own monetary needs for survival, what he gave us was a gift nonetheless. I look at my photo of that impromptu party from time to time. Sadly, it is the only one I took and it doesn’t do the occasion justice; but the memory of that joyous moment always makes me smile.

I am grateful when I see groups of people rejoicing and enjoying their time together. While that is generally always true, it is even truer these days. Several religious traditions remind us of our interconnectedness. Science has its own reasons for reminding us that our small global village depends upon one another. And some occasionally invoke the “butterfly effect” to introduce not only global connectedness but also unintended consequences caused by seemingly disconnected people and regions. I don’t know if it is true or not, but as a metaphor it is useful. If, in spite of all of those voices, you have still managed to think you are really a self-sufficient island unaffected by the actions and attitudes of others, the events of recent weeks should have challenged that thinking.

The impact of the coronavirus has been psychological as well as physical. As fast as the disease itself may spread, stories about it move even faster thanks to 24-hour news cycles and social media that never sleep. Individuals who are simply pursuing their self-designed plans share a bus, a stairway, or a plane and unknowingly become participants in its circulation. It is nothing short of amazing how something like a well-planned vacation can ultimately create havoc for multiple communities as travelers return to their respective homes unaware of the souvenirs they are carrying.

Worry about sales and earnings or supply disruptions leads to revised earnings forecasts and the next thing you know the world markets are in a downward spiral, exacerbated and exaggerated by fear and panic rather than facts. Where I grew up, we used to joke about there being a run on bread, milk, and eggs at the grocery store every time a half inch of snow was predicted. This week we witnessed bare shelves in the stores where toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and flour were usually stocked. When I saw people carting three 12-roll packages of toilet paper to their cars, I wanted to ask just what kind of party they were having! It is a similar response to the ½” of snow forecast, though admittedly much riskier.

I understand the need to plan for the possibility of being confined to our homes for a period of time.  There are a few things I’d hate to have to do without. I like to think we are adequately prepared to wait out brief disruptions should such an occasion arise  What strikes me more than the urge to stockpile is the mood I notice when we are out in public. It is different. In many places, people are more somber. Less playful. Slightly tense. It is as if they are keeping their heads low, hoping not to be noticed by the pandemic.

It is moments like these when we find out exactly what we are made of. I don’t know about you, but I like to believe that I am of strong, trustworthy character grounded in the love of the Divine and committed to the greater good. Is that the person I’ll be when five of us are reaching for the last package of chicken breast in the display freezer? Or when the person in front of me coughs uncontrollably? Or when panic selling batters my retirement portfolio? Or when I realize that I really am in control of much less about my life than I like to believe?

Our challenge may be to ask if we can continue to affirm the value and humanity of others even in these chaotic moments, especially if it seems we are competing for the same resource while trying to take care of ourselves. Or can we be a calm presence when others are anxiety ridden? Along with that, I wonder can we possibly contribute to an outbreak of joy as one useful antidote to the condition that is befalling us? Not to minimize the importance of this current crisis, but my musical friend in Jerusalem reminds me that small gifts can lift spirits and transform moods. We find great strength and energy in the joy of collaboration and celebration. We experience great relief in discovering where our true treasures really reside. That alone won’t eliminate important parts of the current crisis, but it may improve our odds of a successful outcome.