Real Happy

If you know these things, happy are you if you do them. –Jesus of Nazareth In the opening sequence of the black and white film Stardust Memories, fifteen to twenty people sit in a train car awaiting their departure. The glum Sandy Bates surveys his fellow passengers—a yawning toothless woman, a cynical academic in round Windsor glasses, a stodgy retiree occupying two seats. Down the row from Sandy, a whimpering man wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve. Sandy’s eyes shift to the young professional sitting across from him, who returns his glance with a what¬-are-¬you-¬looking-¬at glare. Behind Sandy, two middle¬-aged sourpusses glower with soulless gazes. The economy car is cursed with bored, vacant-eyed and miserable passengers. Tick-tick-tick, tick-tick-tick, the train clocks belabor the gloomy atmosphere. Glimpsing out his window, Sandy spies a private, first-class train car on a parallel track, also awaiting its departure, but heading in the opposite direction. Inside, important men and beautiful women laugh, toast champagne, and enjoy the life of privilege. A flirty socialite giggles at him and blows a kiss his way. The passengers gleefully chat and backslap. Sandy despairs. He glances around once more, drawing comparisons between the two cars; the clocks seem to tick faster and louder. Why isn’t he in the sparkling car with sparkling people? Then his train lurches to a start. A look of panic comes over his face. He jumps up and frantically scrambles for the exit. Too late. Sandy realizes he is stuck in the lifeless bore, banished to the economy class, and exiled from the first-class happy car. The scene and ticking clocks together describe the kind of anxiety we have about happiness. When we look around at our dull or hapless life, we feel time is running out on any hope of a happy life. We spy another family laughing at a restaurant while our kids cry and complain, or we observe a couple holding hands walking down the street, noting we have not yet found a soul mate. Tick, tick, tick, tick . . . . We frantically look around at our dull, worn economy seats and think, if only I were talented, gregarious, or came from a family of privilege, then I would be in the happy private train. The locomotion drags our unlucky life in a direction we do not want to go but feel powerless to stop. If Jesus Gave a TED Talk These days, most people would see God and happiness in separate train cars. We tend to think that God is more about holiness, justice, or compassion and that happiness is an unrelated extra, a frill. But did you know that the Bible speaks directly about happiness? And no, it’s not tucked away in some cryptic, hidden passage. Happiness is front and center and makes up Jesus’ “big idea worth spreading,” which today we might liken to a TED Talk. Jesus debuted his happy message in what we know more commonly as the Beatitudes.[i] To emphasize his big idea, Jesus chose the Greek word, makarios, which we translate as “blessed.” Makarios even sounds like bobbing cheerios. In a simple and straightforward translation, the word means “happy.”[ii] The Greek word originated to describe the worry¬-free, high life of the Greek gods. By the time of Jesus, makarios had become a pop culture reference for the one-percenters who were happy because they didn't struggle or worry like the impoverished and working class. In effect, Jesus seized a word monopolized by the gods, the wealthy moguls, and landowners and redistributed it to common folk. Of all the topics one might have expected from his first public discourse, religion topping the list, Jesus’ big idea worth spreading was an idea on happiness. Here is how the farmers, bakeshop owners, peasants, homemakers, servants, fishermen, seamstresses, and students heard it that day (Matthew 5:3-11) Happy are the poor in spirit... Happy are those who mourn... Happy are the meek ... Happy are those who hunger and thirst for justice… Happy are the merciful... Happy are the pure in heart... Happy are the peacemakers... Happy are those who are persecuted for righteousness... Happy are you when others revile you and utter falsehoods against you... Rejoice and be glad... Makarios rang as a surprising word choice to a crowd mainly comprised of working-class Galileans (today’s northern Israel) living under Roman occupation. National oppression, religio-political corruption, human trafficking, censored speech and monitored public behavior darkened day-to-day life for Galileans. Extreme economic inequality plus the weight of Roman taxes created unfavorable living conditions such as physical sickness, poor mental health, poverty, and homelessness. In short, the average person was desperate, depressed, and hoping for a revolution or liberator to rally the public and overthrow the false narrative of Rome’s peace propaganda. In this tenuous and sensitive social climate, Jesus makes the risky decision to launch his public debut on happiness. Delivered in poetic pentameter and set off with the phrase, “Happy are the…,” he holds the gaze of a people hungry for justice, fairness, and relief from oppression with a talk on happiness. Then, in another risky choice, he upsets the stigma of all that we typically associate with cursedness and unhappiness— poverty, hunger, oppression, sadness, and powerlessness—by using those very words to describe happiness and joy. He proclaims a new truth; your external status cannot take hostage your internal happiness. Reimagine the Stardust Memories scene. You sit in the hapless economy train car, but this time instead of wanting to flee to the first-class car for happiness, imagine something happening in you, in the same seat, with the same people. A no¬-strings¬-attached joy pops and fizzles wildly within. You are the happiness the world wants to know, not a train car.