6 Enjoying One Another
Our most natural state is joy. It is the foundation for love,
compassion, healing, and the desire to alleviate suffering.
—DEEPAK CHOPRA, PIONEER IN THE FIELD OF MIND-BODY MEDICINE
WE USE THE WORD work so often in connection with community: community work, working to deepen community, working together for a better world. The word is valid, but there is something deeper behind successful community work, something that energizes the work, something that makes the work work, and that something is joy: the joy we feel when we are together. I feel privileged to have had an epiphany that brought all this home to me. I would like to share it with you to describe enjoying one another as the second act, after sharing our stories, of deepening community.
Ten Thousand Pies to Heal the World
It was early morning, but since it was May, the sun was already rising. I reached over to turn off my radio alarm, which was playing Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues.” I got up and took a quick shower, grabbed a coffee, jumped into my car, and headed out for the half-hour ride to the village of New Hamburg, Ontario.
The Mennonite Relief Sale, which raises money for relief efforts around the world, is an annual event. Think of it as a small-town fair without the rides. A greater difference, though, is that thousands of volunteers have been working together all year, making quilts, storing fruit to make pies, and collecting items to sell on this day as a fundraiser for the less fortunate. The result is one of the largest quilt auctions in the world, a never-ending feast of homemade foods, and a series of smaller auctions that showcase everything from crafts and furniture to antique tractors.
Thousands of people, many from Toronto, descend on New Hamburg every year for this incredible event. Since its inception in 1967, the relief sale has raised more than $15 million for international development and disaster response.
When I arrived that morning at the fairgrounds, where the sale takes place, things were unusually quiet. When I checked the time on my cell phone, I realized that I must have set my alarm for the wrong time; I was an hour early for my 7 a.m. shift at the quilt auction. I had been to many of these sales and had volunteered even as a child, but I had never arrived at 6 a.m. before the crowds.
There was a quiet energy about the place as booths were being set up. I had learned as a member of the sale’s board of directors for several years that no one is really in charge. Year after year, people just show up and do what they have committed to do.
On this beautiful, sunny spring day, I walked away from the grass parking lot and across a field toward an arena on the far side of the fairgrounds. To my right was a row of food stalls, where volunteers were bringing carloads of buns, meat, flour, and sugar. Others lit fires to start the barbecues and stoves that would cook the borscht, pork-on-a-bun, apple fritters, and doughnut holes.
Past the stalls were the tents for educating people about the work of Mennonite Central Committee and the projects that the money raised that day would fund. To my left was a grandstand, where busy volunteers were setting up tables in preparation for the massive pancake-and-homemade-sausage fest that would feed thousands of early visitors. Families and friends make it a tradition to meet the last Saturday in May for these very special pancakes. The volunteers never disappoint.
Directly in front of me was the arena, where the two grand events of the fair would take place. The first was the quilt auction. Nearly three hundred quilts are auctioned every year, and some of them sell for as much as $10,000. These special ones are made by groups of women, most often in churches, and highlight special events or celebrations of landscape.
More than merely functional, the quilts are works of art. It takes more than a thousand hours, collectively, for the loving hands of dozens of expert quilters to make some of them. The painstaking work is communal and is a celebration of a faith commitment made to one another. As someone once said, “It takes a community to make a quilt; the more beautiful the community, the more beautiful the quilt.” These quilts are some of the most beautiful in the world.
The same folks who auction cattle during the week (their regular jobs) volunteer on this day to sell the quilts. I am struck by the matter-of-fact way in which they sell these works of art. No emotion, no comment—just a lot number and the opening bid. This simplicity echoes the practicality of the people. The quilts may be art, but they still have a function.
My job at the relief sale was to make things easier for collectors or resellers who came from across the United States and Canada to buy the quilts. Some would leave with a dozen quilts or more. While most others were subjected to a cash-and-carry policy, they were allowed to pay for the quilts all at once after the bidding had concluded. I ensured that their quilts were safe during the auction.
Our hope was that providing special conditions to multiple-quilt buyers would drive the prices up. I seemed to have a special gift for saving prime chairs and talking up buyers as they arrived. I gave myself the unofficial title of Chief Bum Warmer.
I took great joy in knowing that the women who had spent so many loving hours creating these works of art would receive maximum return, which validated that their work was the prime attraction that day. Because of their painstaking devotion, we were raising extraordinary funds to fight famine and help victims of war and natural disasters. Many of the quilters themselves were once refugees; each of their stories was woven into the final products.
The arena was relatively empty when I arrived. The hundreds of chairs where buyers would sit were unoccupied. The quilts displayed in neat rows just outside the bidding area were attended by a smattering of serious buyers and volunteers who were prepping them and admiring the handiwork of their friends.
Just beyond the quilts were the pies. Women were already lined up in front of the left wall slicing fresh strawberries from California into bowls. These would be mixed with a sweet sauce, placed into prebaked shells, and then cut for serving—fresh, with a dollop of whipped cream. This treat is a fair favorite. Each year, thousands of pies are consumed in this way.
On the right was a booth where you could buy fruit pies to take home, though the pies hadn’t arrived yet. This morning, an unusual number of young people were milling around. Some were laughing, while others were just trying to wake up. I was curious why so many were there, so early in the morning. I soon had my answer.
I heard the sound of a vehicle backing up and then the whoosh of a large truck’s air brakes. An eighteen-wheel semitrailer was pulling up to the side door of the arena. It was full of pies, the work of dozens of volunteers who had gathered the day before at a commercial kitchen with huge baking ovens. My mouth dropped open. How do you make a semitrailer full of pies all by hand?
Without hesitation, one of the teenagers opened the back of the truck, jumped into it, and brought out half a dozen pies, which had been packaged in white cardboard boxes. He passed these down to a friend. Several more teenage boys jumped up into the truck and started doing the same.
Few words were shared. Obviously most of the young people had done this before, and anyone who was new fell right into line. Soon enough, a line of fifty youths reached from the truck through the back half of the arena and up into the bleachers. They passed the pies one to the other until all those white boxes reached their destination and were stacked on the bleachers, organized according to the fruit they contained.
Though it may have taken them some time to shake off their sleepiness, these young people had risen early that morning with joy and hope. They were going to meet their friends; they were going to do something important; they were going to enjoy the day together. Many of their parents joined me as I stood there watching the magical unloading of what must have been ten thousand pies.
Tears formed in my eyes. That moment—with those fifty young people unloading ten thousand pies—symbolized for me the work of the day. In that line was merged the doing of good for the world and the enjoyment of neighbors and friends. It was a place where work and play mingled nimbly, where doing what was right was amplified by the joy of doing it together. It was a celebration of community that nurtures and cares.
As I stood there with moist eyes, I felt so honored to be part of that day, to belong to this community, to have volunteered for this work that represented so much to so many. That day, through the hard work of thousands of volunteers, we raised $300,000.
I often feel that when I volunteer, I receive more than I give. This day I was given something so much more precious than the time and skills I gave. By working together with others, I received an affirmation of the person I wanted to be and the people I wanted to be with.
Four Strong Winds of Joy
In the days, weeks, and months that followed, I tried to discover the components of joy in community as I had witnessed it. I came to characterize the phenomenon as being four strong winds of joy.
The Joy of Being Together
First, I sensed the joy these young people had in being together. Yes, joy is common when young people are together, so this is not a surprising observation. What felt different was that the joy increased as the activity progressed. Knowing that they were doing something special, and that something special was happening to them, stretched their joy almost to the breaking point.
The joy radiated not only as fun but also as a deeper joy. I see and hear this same joy expressed by volunteers in organizations such as Habitat for Humanity and disaster relief organizations. It is a joy that brings a feeling of satisfaction, of knowing that you are part of a good thing.
The Joy of Collective Accomplishment
Second, there was a deep joy in the sense of collective accomplishment. Can you imagine moving thousands of pies in just over an hour and feeling so good about it? But it was even more than that.
The sense of collective accomplishment that I observed seemed similar to what we feel when playing team sports as opposed to what we feel in most of our workplaces. A collective energy built up as the work progressed, with each participant knowing the role he or she was to play. This collective energy gives energy to each individual and can draw the best out of each one. The collective action enables large-scale impact in a relatively short time, providing even more impetus and motivation. It helps us overcome the individual-level powerlessness we often feel in the face of those large-scale problems. Climate change, economic doom and gloom, and other such problems often feel overwhelming because we are so little, and nothing we individually do can change them. But we can change them by working together, especially when the energy behind our efforts is a natural, growing sense of joy.
The Joy of Collective Altruism
Third, the joy of working together for the betterment of others deepened the resolve of each person for the cause. The young people came to the work for many reasons—many of them, I am sure, were peer driven, because most of them belonged to church youth groups. There was first a shared sense of purpose.
The simplest observation is that they co-identified, or adopted, the purpose that each brought. Groups have a way of doing this when they work for, or even against, something. Psychologists call this social identity. People learn to identify with a group and, in turn, shape their sense of self within the context of the group. This becomes problematic only when a group identifies against another group in order to strengthen its own identity.
But this working together, when it is for the good of others (collective altruism), can create an almost metaphysical reaction that is more magical than the shared identity created by the act itself. The unloading of the pies had the feel of committed believers singing a hymn or chanting together. The collective act seemed to deepen the resolve of the many.
The Joy of Collective Lightness of Being
Fourth, working together was a powerful testament to the aphorism “Many hands make light work,” which is a way of saying that when everyone gets involved in something, the work gets done quickly. I saw a deeper meaning that day in New Hamburg, that when we work together with purpose, the work feels light and the accomplishment extraordinary, resulting in joy.
Whether it is unloading pies, serving as part of a disaster relief effort, or building a Habitat for Humanity home, the work feels significant and each role feels important. The collective experience seems to transcend the reality of the work. You are not just another set of hands in a line unloading pies; you are part of an important mission to help those in need all over the world. Therefore, the work is purposeful, regardless of the task.
These are the four strong winds of joy that communities doing good, working together for the betterment of the world, generate. I liken them to strong winds because they seem to propel a people to greater action; they are the energy that is generated, providing us the opportunity to do and be more together than we can do and be alone.
Stumbling upon Joy
My dad always said that I smiled with my eyes. My hairdresser Christine makes me laugh when she says, as she trims my mustache, “Try just for a minute not to smile.” I was born happy, and I consider this a true gift.
I often wonder how “my people” (Mennonites) were able to cultivate joy, given the amount of pain they had experienced and carried as refugees in a new country. The joy we felt as a family didn’t come from spending a lot of money or taking big trips, which my family couldn’t afford until I was a teenager. It was a great treat for us to take two hours off from chores on the farm on a hot Saturday afternoon a couple of times a year to go for a swim. I hold ridiculously wonderful memories of the times we stopped for a cold jug of A&W root beer on the way home from these swims, a rare and joyful experience for us.
Even when we were more settled and had more money and time on our hands, buying happiness was not a priority. My memories of happiness come from spending time with my extended family and going to church and helping one another. Every big event was an excuse for us to get together and eat and enjoy one another’s company.
The search for happiness can be elusive, especially when we mistake it for the search for feeling good or having fun. Staying happy as I age has become a bit more difficult. I’m not sure exactly why that is; for me it just is. I would not say that I am unhappy very often (though memories of sadness are near), but I can tell that I am on a more even keel; I am more balanced about life. I still find it hard to welcome sadness, but I no longer shun it. My sense is that this is part of the journey toward wisdom.
Growing “wise” (“older” might be the more accurate word) has given me a small measure of perspective and patience. I can see the world better through the eyes of others, and this has allowed me to better feel what others feel, including sadness, confusion, fear, and, yes, happiness. Age and wisdom provide the opportunity to suspend my own observations for a while and see the world through the eyes of those with whom I come into contact. This is how I stumbled on the notion of joy and community, a theme that is sounded so well in the stories of many people I have met. I have often heard it said that what counts is not how much money you have but how you spend it. Similarly, these people are brilliant in taking what life gives them, or where life puts them, and making the most of it, not just for themselves but for the joy of many around them. A little creativity, courage, and desire can go a long way.
Mary is a good example of this. She lives in the Uptown West neighborhood of Waterloo, Ontario. As she got to know her neighbors, she learned that she lived in a unique neighborhood: one in which many people had musical skills. She had heard of porch parties and decided to take the idea to another level: she invited people to dust off their musical instruments and limber up their voices and entertain people on their front porches. As for those who were not musical, their job was to walk around the neighborhood, carrying food to share and listening to the music.
Thus was the Grand Porch Party born, which went on to attract people far beyond the immediate neighborhood. Not only did people enjoy music together, but they were able to reach out to many others and open up their neighborhood, sharing their talents with the entire community.
Sue lives on Pheasant Avenue in Cambridge, Ontario, a short street of only eight houses. She loves to cook, and, fortunately, so does just about everyone else on her street. It seemed only natural to her to bring people together through a progressive dinner. The idea is very simple: plan a four-course meal—appetizers, salad, main course, and dessert—and have four different households host one course each.
It happens several times a year on Pheasant Avenue. It takes a minimum of planning and provides a wonderful old-fashioned feeling of visiting neighbors door-to-door for special occasions. Cooking for one another, eating together—what a simple but powerful way to create joy.
The Community That Plays Together Stays Together
One way we can come to enjoy one another is by playing together. This can take as many forms as there are people. Stuart Brown, a psychiatrist and founder of the National Institute for Play, wrote the fascinating book Play: How It Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul. He believes that for humans, play is innate: we are built to play. His evidence is compelling; he relates study after study showing that when we are safe and have enough to eat, humans, like all mammals throughout history, will play.
Children need play to support the phenomenal growth of their developing brains. We adults need play because it evokes optimism, gives us creative energy, reduces stress, and provides the fuel to feel pleasure. Play also helps us to develop the emotional intelligence that is essential for community, as these enjoyable activities give us the opportunity to test relationships and human behaviors with fewer consequences than more serious undertakings. Play creates a sense of belonging and binds us together. As we play, we experience common activities, emotions, and thoughts.
According to Brown, the most compelling reason to play together as a community is that play helps us to develop skills that enable us to be adaptable. By playing together, we become smarter about who we are as individuals and a collective. As playful people, we are more flexible and pliable and are better able to make sense of the changing world around us.
Understanding Joy
Joy and happiness are closely related but are different pursuits. Happiness is a feeling that most often is personal and temporal, whereas joy is a way of being. I can feel someone else’s pain, or my own, and still live a life of joy. That is why, when I found the Deepak Chopra quote I used to begin this chapter—“Our most natural state is joy. It is the foundation for love, compassion, healing, and the desire to alleviate suffering”—it immediately resonated with me. Chopra’s interpretation of joy rings especially true for me when I consider the role of community in nurturing a life of joy. Joy is expressed through kindness, love, and compassion, and it evokes in us altruism, caring, and the desire to end suffering. For us to grow, the joy that is in us must connect with the joy in others; giving and receiving must be mutual. Namaste, an Indian term loosely translated as “The best in me greets the best in you,” may be the best foundational understanding of the life of joy.
Joy is most powerfully expressed in the desire to end suffering in oneself and others. Perhaps joy is the opposite of suffering, which is why collective altruism is such a powerful source of good. It feeds joy because as we give kindness, love, and compassion, we are also in the collective presence of joy and therefore receive the benefits of it.
Understanding the relationship between joy and happiness has been essential in my seeking (and finding) community. Happiness seems much easier to find and can be stimulated fairly easily. A piece of chocolate, a prayer, a warm coat on a cold day, a drink of whiskey to feed an addiction, or a hug from a friend—these can all bring happiness in the moment. Joy, however, comes from the way we live our lives. It is cultivated through the deep satisfaction that we are living a life of purpose and meaning with and for others. It is cultivated through showing and receiving compassion and kindness. Deep joy cannot be found alone or through individual pursuits. It can be found only in community, as we deepen our relationships with others.
This does not mean that going for a long walk by yourself or spending a week in silent meditation (two things I love to do) cannot cultivate happiness or be part of a joyful life. However, they do lack purpose and meaning in the absence of mutually caring and sustained relationships. We can cultivate joy only by giving and receiving kindness and compassion as we enter into community with others. Deepening community, therefore, is the gateway to a joyful life. And joy is the gateway into caring for one another.