On the Laughter of Holy Men.
I really should be writing my master’s thesis. I’ve placed myself in exile until the end of the quarter, when it is actually done and I can put the letters “M.A.” after my name with pride. But I wanted to write this while it is still fresh in my heart and mind.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu has a wonderful giggle.
When I first heard it at today’s roundtable discussion in Seattle on youth and compassion, I was amazed. Here is a person with a considerable amount of gravitas — a man who vehemently crusaded against apartheid, someone who mediated South Africa’s transition to democracy, the chair of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission — and he has a giggle? It was just so unexpected. It was very high pitched and slow — “hee hee heh heh hee.” He would giggle, and that would get the Dalai Lama started with his own low, quick laughter that made his whole body shake “ha ha ha ha ha!” Because we were all tickled with the joy in the laughter of these holy men, we laughed, too.
Love, laughter, and the divine were the themes of the day. Rabbi David Rosen, another participant in the discussion, said that we need to love ourselves in order to be able to love others. He saw this not as an egotistical thing, but as the ability to recognize the divine in ourselves. Once we recognize the divine within, we can recognize the divinity in others. This reminded me of the word “namaste,” which my yoga teacher translated as “the divine in me recognizes the divine in you.”
I wonder if my choice to live passionately is a way of recognizing the divine within me. I can’t remember if I wrote about this here or not, but after recognizing just how deeply unhappy I was last summer — in my relationships, in my graduate school program, really in my life — I listened to the voice in the back of my head telling me to make some changes. I have a tendency to overthink things (many graduate students do — we are analytical types), and realized that my brain was overruling my heart on one too many matters. What I needed to do was to live passionately — to trust my heart, to set the joyful passionate person I am free (and not compromise my passion for fear of frightening people), and to bravely jump into a brand new life. I can definitely say that it has not worked out perfectly — that I have been disappointed by things, and I know I will be disappointed by things — but I am a happier person. The path I am on will lead me to a position at a liberal arts college, where I can teach about the things that truly excite me — Eastern Europe, the history of communism, the Balkans, how societies made the transition to democracy after the Cold War. I feel like I am finally fully present on this road I travel down. I’m not simply along for the ride anymore.
Archbishop Tutu acknowledged that the path to compassion and love is not easy. We live in a world of war — a world where we must sometimes get angry. He mentioned that he gets very angry at God for letting awful things happen — in Darfur, in Burma, in Tibet. He said that he laughs easily, but he cries a lot too. Archbishop Tutu reminded us that “God does not say ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ when we make mistakes. God says to keep trying. God is walking at our pace, at three miles an hour.” He said that while we do have an enormous capacity for evil, our capacity for good is infinite — and mentioned some of his own extraordinary work with the Truth and Reconciliation commission. The stories of atrocities brought before this commission made people want to explode — and then someone would speak words of compassion, generosity, and forgiveness. This reminded him that “we are all carriers of God.”
We all carry the divine within us.
These two holy men reminded me of that with their laughter. They have both witnessed horrible atrocities. One was expelled from his country at a very young age. The other survived apartheid. At times they would just look at each other and laugh.
At one point, Archbishop Tutu interrupted the conference to tell us something about the Dalai Lama. “How can he maintain this bubbling joyousness fifty years into exile?” he asked. He then said that it’s not just joyousness — the Dalai Lama is actually quite mischievous as well.
“Sometimes I have to remind him — the cameras are on us! At least try to behave like a holy man!” Archbishop Tutu then giggled, and we all broke out in peals of laughter. Sitting up in the choir, I laughed so hard that tears came to my eyes.