Joy to the World?

by

Lev Raphael

Back in my public junior high school choir, one of the songs even us snarky kids loved was an adaptation of Psalm 100. It was really rousing, and decades later, I can still remember how much fun it was to not only sing “Make a joyful noise” but to also do that, and how exciting it was at the end to return to “come before his presence with singing, with singing, with singing.” As our voices went up the scale and soared, it was a moment of transcendence.

Though of course we wouldn’t have put it that way. We were just having fun. And anyone getting serious about the class or the music would probably have been mocked and fake-punched in the shoulder.

I loved to sing. I was happy to be part of a group, safe from bullying, free of classes that either bored me (English) or stumped me (Chemistry). And free of worrying about zits and my parents and fighting with my brother and that whole stinking stale bouquet of teenage angst that’s only gotten worse with Twitter and texting.

Of course, the words I sung in that song were just notes and phonemes, and what I felt through and in them had nothing to do with religion. Those words were no more real than “Hit the Road, Jack” or any of the other tunes we listened to on our transistor radios with their leatherette covers and hand straps. Pretty and maybe even fun, but remote.

In my own religion, I associated joy mostly with Jewish holidays letting me off from school. I certainly never heard any of my Jewish friends express anything positive about going to synagogue—it was something their parents made them do.

I also never heard any of my non-Jewish friends talk about being happy to go to church. That was an obligation, too. If anyone had told me joy could be intrinsic to worship of all kinds, I wouldn’t have believed it then, though I’ve found much joy in learning about and observing Judaism when I began exploring it deeply in my late twenties.

Watching preachers on TV, which I did sometimes as a kid out of morbid curiosity, I remember faces and voices that were anything from doleful to angry. As Tom Wright puts it in Luke for Everyone, “Much that has called itself by the name of Jesus seems to have believed instead in a gloomy God . . . whose only concern is to make life difficult.”

James Martin’s entertaining, humorous new book, Between Heaven and Mirth, tackles a major split that speaks to this whole question: there’s so much joy expressed in the psalms and throughout the Bible, yet much contemporary worship, especially in the Catholic church (but not only there), seems anywhere from dour to grim.

With a hearty smattering of jokes, some at his own expense, Martin makes the case that joy is more than words. It's a central part of worship—or should be—and many figures in many different religions have urged this message. Martin’s reach across the religious aisle, so to speak, makes this a book for all kinds of readers. And even if you’re phobic about organized religion, this book will still be worth reading because Martin is such a wonderful raconteur. He weaves together stories from various faiths and utilizes his own fascinating biography to illuminate the subject. Interviewing him made me an even bigger fan of his writing.

Lev Raphael: One of the things I most admire about your books is your tone: it’s witty, warm, conversational, and intelligent without being dry. Does this come naturally to you as a writer?

James Martin: Well, I try to write the way I speak. The best writing, particularly when it comes to spirituality, is inviting and accessible. Besides, Jesus was straightforward when he was trying to get across difficult points. When he was asked about forgiveness or about the “Kingdom of God” he rarely resorted to complex theological constructs. Instead he used simple stories and easy examples drawn from nature and everyday life, talking about seeds, birds and clouds, and telling tales about a father and his son, a woman sweeping her home, and a shepherd losing some sheep. There’s no need to be complicated when it comes to God.

Lev: When you write, do you picture anyone specific as your audience?

James: Yes, I sometimes picture myself at age twenty-seven, someone who knew almost nothing about religion or spirituality, couldn’t have told you what a Jesuit was, and yet felt this deep longing for something more. I don’t presume anything about my readers except their intelligence and desire for God, a desire that may or may not be conscious.

Lev: You’re very productive, but do you ever get blocked?

James: Oh I never get blocked. But I never write unless I have something to say—so that makes things easier. My big problem is carpal tunnel syndrome. So I’m always happy that I can write physically. But having something to say is not a problem if you only write when you do.

Lev: Your father was a gifted joke teller. Have you yourself always been a natural story teller?

James: I’m not sure if everyone would agree that I am now! I think I have a taste for funny stories, and I also enjoy reading a variety of funny authors, some of whom I mention in Between Heaven and Mirth: Jean Shepherd, Fran Lebowitz, Bill Bryson. And I’m a big fan of David Sedaris. And I think the common thread with all these writers is that they find humor in the everyday. Plus their use of language is extraordinary.

Lev: You have a keen sense of how to tell stories about yourself to illustrate your points and you introduce a lot of anecdotes about your own experience. Have you ever regretted telling a story, wishing you had kept it to yourself? Or even saved it for another book?

James: Honestly, I’ve never regretted putting down anything in print that might be seen as embarrassing. In The Jesuit Guide I even talk about being “delayed” for theology studies during my Jesuit training. Which is pretty embarrassing for a Jesuit. But when you write about yourself in a book on spirituality you need to be both honest and self-deprecating. Those two qualities draw the reader in; and it also reminds the reader of your essential humanity. And his or hers, too.

Lev: Is irreverence an essential balance to reverence, or even a component of it?

James: Yes, there are some things to revere. If you don’t take anything seriously, you’re missing an essential part of human life: reverence and awe. Not everything is a joke, or should be treated as one.

Lev: Do you see a connection between joy and inner peace?

James: Yes, the more at peace you are—with yourself, with others, with your surroundings and with God, the easier it is to relax and find joy in life. Of course, joy is deeper than happiness; it’s about a relationship with God. So you can be both disquieted and joyful. But it’s certainly easier to be joyful when you’re at peace.

Lev: Can joy make us cry?

James: Of course! People weep out of happiness, and when I saw my sister’s child for the first time—my first nephew—I went home and wept out of joy. It’s a state of being unable to contain one’s joy.

Lev: How often have you personally encountered people who find your message about joy subversive or offensive?

James: Not often. And here’s why: Funny enough (pun intended) most people think that they are joyful types. They say, “Well, I’m glad you’re writing about this, because I know a lot of other people who aren’t joyful!” So people tend to find the message an easy one to digest.

However, one overt area of resistance is that some people think it’s not an important enough topic to write about. That’s one reason, as I say in the book, that there’s so little written about things like humor and laughter. (The literature on joy is a bit more comprehensive.) It’s not seen as, to coin a phrase, “serious” enough. One theologian asked me, “Why didn’t you write on suffering?” My response was that there had been plenty written on it—and I’d written on it myself. But his comment was revelatory: it told me that he felt suffering was more important than joy, when the Christian life is both. As a say in the book, it betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of Jesus. He was not just a “Man of Sorrows,” he was a “Man of Joys.”

Lev: There’s so much joy and celebration in many of the Psalms, as you point out—how is it possible for people to not resonate to those messages when they hear them in church? Are they not really listening?

James: We tend to overlook passages that we’ve heard over and over. It’s like watching a movie that you’ve seen too many times: your eyes tend to glaze over. In this case your heart glazes over—which is a good metaphor: your heart freezes. Another reason for the “non-resonance” is the way that the lectors read the psalms in church. A few months ago, the refrain of one of the psalms was “Alleluia,” and the lector said it with all the enthusiasm of an undertaker. So it’s a problem with how the psalms are received and how they are communicated.

Lev: You quote Barbara Ehrenreich speculating that celebration and humor can pose a potential threat to the powers-that-be. But what about individuals? Are there people who are afraid of joy?

James: Yes, it can be very threatening. If people are stuck in a joyless environment or are embittered in some way, the idea that someone else could be joyful is a sort of implicit threat. It says: things don’t have to be this way, and can I invite you to change? And change is always a threat.

Lev: In connection with Ehrenreich’s idea, are you familiar with the book The Battle for Christmas which charts how Christmas used to be a wilder holiday more along the lines of Carnival?

James: So I’ve heard. Although in the United States we had originally a Puritan tradition that found excessive revelry on the Feast of the Nativity excessively “Catholic,” and so therefore suspect. Of course now the main wildness is in the department stores around Christmas.

Lev: I went to a Jesuit college and many of the priests I met there could have been stand-up comedians. Are Jesuits funnier than other orders, Franciscans, say?

James: Well, I wouldn’t want to get into a “Who’s funnier?” battle. Both groups harbor some naturally funny guys, though the humor in the Franciscans might be gentler. Which reminds me of my favorite Jesuit/Franciscan/Dominican joke.

Three priests, a Franciscan, Dominican and Jesuit, are on retreat together. Suddenly they receive a mystical vision and find themselves at the Nativity scene. They’re kneeling in the manger and the Dominican says to Mary, “Oh the joy of seeing the Word made Flesh, of seeing the Incarnation of God, of seeing the union of the human and the divine!” And the Franciscan says to Jesus, “Oh the joy of seeing how the Son of God identifies with the poor, and chooses to be born in poverty and among the dear animals that he loves!” And the Jesuit puts his arm around Joseph and says, “Have you considered sending him to a Jesuit high school?”

Lev: As a priest, how do you balance the competing demands of writing, editing for America magazine, and your religious duties? Or do they all somehow interconnect?

James: All of these duties are about the ministry of the Word, which is an essential part of any priest’s life. Most priests exercise that by preaching, communicating the Word to their parishioners. My own work includes not only that kind of preaching but the communication of the Word through the written word, and occasionally the media. So they all interconnect. Even more broadly, the goal of the Jesuit is to “help souls,” as our founder St. Ignatius once said. So everything I do is oriented towards that end.

Lev: Does being an editor influence your writing?

James: Oh yes, I edit as I write. And I edit and re-edit and then re-edit again. Editing has also taught me to value the insights of those who edit my work, say, at the publishing houses. One of my favorite experiences came when my book My Life with the Saints was when she said, “You know, this chapter starts off with three funny stories from your life, when you only need one.” And I said, “Oh no, people like those funny stories.” And we went back and forth and she said, “If I, who am getting paid to read this think you only need one, what will others, who are paying to read it, think?” I laughed out loud. The moral is: Listen to your readers. Especially your editors!

Lev: On a technical note, I’m curious about your use of the term “Old Testament” when so many theological writers now use “Hebrew Scriptures,” “Hebrew Bible” or even “Torah.”

James: Oh I know. There are so many terms! I went back and forth. You know, even “Hebrew Scriptures” is somewhat controversial, since some scholars say that includes more than the books of the Old Testament. Basically, I decided to use the most common term, one that most readers would understand.

Lev: You did a lot of research for this book. What was your happiest discovery?

James: What a great question! Frankly, the happiest discovery was the life of St. Philip Neri. I knew that he was a joyful fellow, but even in his lifetime he had a reputation for joy. Some of the stories I’ve read about him were hysterical. On the way to a ceremony in his honor, for example, he shaved off half of his beard, as a way of inviting people to poke fun at him. His life shows the ridiculousness of the idea of the saints as gloomy, depressive, morose people.

Lev: Speaking of joy and its antithesis, do you have a favorite version of A Christmas Carol?

James: I suppose that as a writer I should say that I prefer the original Dickens, but I actually like the musical version “Scrooge,” with Albert Finney, from 1970. I saw that as a boy so that’s always been my idea of Scrooge. The scene on Christmas morning, when he calls out to the boy in the street and says “Merry Christmas” is another great example of joy.

Lev: Now something really serious: how did Young Frankenstein not make it onto your list of the top ten funniest movies of all time?

James: Mel Brooks didn’t pay me nearly as much as the other directors did to make it on that list. On the other hand, it was my dad’s favorite comedy. I tell the story in my book that while he was on his deathbed (literally, the hospital bed he died in, from lung cancer) my sister brought him a copy of the movie Young Frankenstein, which she played on her laptop computer. Mel Brooks’s comedy was one of his favorite films; his favorite scene featured the “Monster” (played by Peter Boyle) doing a tap dance with Dr. Frankenstein (Gene Wilder) in a top hat and tails, the two of them belting out the song “Puttin’ on the Ritz.” Humor eased my father’s life and eased his passing from this world to the next.

Lev: And this: what advice would you give a young priest who wanted to be a best-selling author like you?

James: Well, write simply so that people can understand you. Write so that you might always “help souls.” Edit, edit, edit, and then edit some more. Don’t be afraid to show your writing to someone else. Trust that if you’re writing to help souls, that God will help you.

Then when the book is out, to quote Alec Baldwin in “Glengarry Glen Ross,” “Always be closing!” Part of selling books is, well, selling, so you really need to promote. (As I’m doing now.) I tell priests who write that writing a book and not promoting it is like preparing and homily and delivering it without a microphone. They get the point very quickly!

Books mentioned in this column:
Between Heaven and Mirth by James Martin, (HarperOne, 2011) 
The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything by James Martin, (HarperOne, 2010) 
Luke for Everyone by N.T. Wright, (Westminster John Knox Press, 2004)

Lev Raphael grew up in New York but got over it and has lived half his life in Michigan where he found his partner of twenty-six years along with a certain small fame. He escaped academia in 1988 to write full-time and has never looked back. The author of twenty-one books in many genres, and hundreds of reviews, stories and articles, he's seen his work discussed in journals, books, conference papers, and assigned in college and university classrooms. Which means he’s become homework. Who knew? Lev’s books have been translated into close to a dozen languages, some of which he can't identify, and he's done hundreds of readings and talks across the U.S. and Canada, and in France, England, Scotland, Austria, Germany and Israel. His latest book Pride and Prejudice: The Jewess and the Gentile is his second e-book original. You can learn more about Lev and his work on his website. Lev has reviewed for the Washington Post, Boston Review, NPR, the Ft. Worth Star-Telegram, Jerusalem Report and the Detroit Free Press where he had a mystery column for almost a decade. He also hosted his own public radio book show where he interviewed Salman Rushdie, Erica Jong, and Julian Barnes among many other authors. Whatever the genre, he's always looked for books with a memorable voice and a compelling story to tell. Contact Lev.