Photo by Meg Marshall

By Micah Bucey

You are trying to kill our joy,
But you have no idea
How strong disaster makes us.

Joy is permanent, not temporary or erasable,
As it seems civil rights are.
Joy is sturdy, not weak and shifty,
As it seems our leaders are.
Joy is deep, not shallow or fleeting,
As it seems our democracy is.

You are trying to kill our joy,
But we are a country of first responders,
And deep in our souls,
We’ve already begun triage
To stanch this tragic flow,
Even as the shock of you
Gives us temporary amnesia.

Joy is not happiness,
And if it were, we’d be up a creek.

Joy is the confidence
That as we sit paralyzed in fear today,
Our memories are coming back
To remind us that we don’t give up joy
Or rights
Or one another’s lives without a fight.

In the face of disaster,
As Saint Mister Rogers said,
We look for the helpers.
And in the midst of the search,
We become them.

Amen

Rev. Micah Bucey is Minister at Judson Memorial Church in New York City.