Remembrance Sunday (evening), 11 November 2018
Austwick
At the end of Remembrance Sunday, here’s a German word for us to consider: schadenfreude.
Schadenfreude. You know what that means… It describes the enjoyment we take from other people’s misfortunes.
Schadenfreude. It’s what makes us laugh so hard when the buffoonery of Stan Laurel punctures Oliver Hardy’s pomposity; it’s the fuel for so much classic comedy, from the abject failures of Tommy Cooper’s magic tricks to the misfortunes of Frank Spencer.
Schadenfreude, of course, is not all light-hearted fun. We’ve all done it occasionally: sniggered when we’ve seen a waiter drop a tray of food or someone walk into a plate-glass shop window thinking it was an open door. And maybe we’ve felt a little shame in those moments after.
This ungenerous schadenfreude is sadly all-too familiar in public life; knowing how much we, the consumers of news, relish seeing the mighty fall, showbiz media feeds us gossip about the misfortunes of struggling celebrities; and so-called serious journalism fixates on the failings of those in public office, this reporting itself often contributing towards their downfall.
The Oxford English Dictionary actually describes schadenfreude as the “malicious enjoyment of the misfortunes of others,” and this is where it gets quite grim. It’s sadly easy to find examples of this everywhere, not least on social media. You may have seen reports this week of a film posted online of a group of people standing around a bonfire on which they burned a cardboard effigy of Grenfell Tower, replete with images of people of colour at the windows, the crowd making gleeful comments as the flames engulfed it. [1]
And in our sober remembrances of war and its victims today, we must acknowledge that schadenfreude plays its part in war crimes, not least where we see the torment and torture meted out to civilians, women and children and the most vulnerable ones, for no military purpose and so seemingly purely for the macabre delight of the perpetrators, themselves brutalised by conflict.
Now, there’s a long distance between laughing at Stan Laurel and torturing innocents in wartime; somewhere along this line of schadenfreude we find the prophet Jonah, whose story is bang up to date when we look at it this way. For when Jonah cried out, “Forty days more, and Ninevah shall be overthrown!” we can sense a certain relish in his voice at the prospect of a vengeful God punishing the people of a wayward city.
Never mind the distracting matter of the whale: if you read the beginning of his story it’s clear that Jonah wasn’t keen on going to Ninevah to ask them to turn to God; and if you read the end you see him sulking because that’s just what the people did, and they got God’s forgiveness. “I knew you’d forgive them,” said Jonah, miserably. “That’s the sort of God you are. Give me an angry punishing God anytime, one who will give me pleasure in watching him punish evildoers.”
This sorry episode of scripture shows us a merciful God denying his prickly prophet Jonah the satisfaction of schadenfreude. Clearly God is not entertained by the prospect of maliciously delighting in the misfortunes of others, although his people, being - like Jonah - only human, sometimes can’t help ourselves, and even get miserable when we’re denied that pleasure.
We’re all somewhere along that line of schadenfreude, all of the time. I’m sure God understands that, still loves us as we are. I’m glad about that because, although I’m no longer a football-obsessed teenager and haven’t held an Everton season-ticket for well over a decade now, nevertheless last Tuesday I couldn’t conceal my delight when I heard about our rivals Liverpool’s first defeat of the season [2]: and then I remembered what I’d be preaching about tonight. God help me.
Somewhere else along that line of schadenfreude is Jesus, the way he lived towards others and his teaching about the values of his kingdom. You know, I think there may be a hint of schadenfreude in the way Jesus deals with people: when the rich man came to him asking how he could inherit eternal life, did Jesus, just a little bit, enjoy making him squirm by telling him to sell up and give it all away? Likewise when he surprised the woman at the well by telling her he already knew all about her chequered history with men… [3]
In these and many other encounters, Jesus does seem to set out to make the other person feel uncomfortable. But not to revel in their discomfort, though; I think more to provoke them into another way of seeing themselves, to create space which wasn’t there before, for these people to hear the good news of his new way and understand how it applied to them. If we catch Jesus smiling in the midst of these exchanges we won’t sense him being malicious; more empathetic; illuminating.
Now consider the rich man - in any society - and how many people, through jealousy or a perverted sense of justice, just love to see him fall and lose it all. And consider the woman - in any society - who is now on her sixth husband - and how many people love to gossip gleefully about how on earth she could have lost the previous five.
Jesus treats people differently; and as ever puts a twist on the way that conversation can be used, not to diminish people but to build them up; not to pigeonhole and limit them but to open their eyes to good news about themselves and their lives. The woman at the well went on to proclaim with missionary zeal the good news of the Christ she had encountered. [4]
As we try to live faithful Christian lives, our backdrop is a turbulent public realm where delight in others’ troubles is commonplace. And so in the private realm the lesson from Jonah is that we all need to be aware of what we are saying about others and the effect our words may have. For the private and the public are along the same line - in our remembering war and its effects, at this time, we must acknowledge that when ordinary people are minded to scapegoat others, then doors open for opportunistic leaders who will exploit popular attitudes to their own ends; a live issue close to home and throughout the world today, just as it was back in the 20th Century.
Jesus invites us to see ourselves and the world in a new way. This is what he means by ‘the good news’ of his ‘kingdom’. Peace-making and peace-building begins with you and me; it pivots on how we think and talk about others who are different to ourselves: not revelling in their misfortunes, but rejoicing in opening up conversations based on empathy, care and understanding.
Notes
[1] Robert Booth, Simon Murphy and Caroline Bannock, Grenfell bonfire video: six arrested men released under investigation. Guardian, 6 November 2018.
[2] Emma Sanders, Red Star Belgrade 2-0 Liverpool: Reds 'lost mojo' in shock defeat. BBC Sport, 6 November 2018. Sorry, I couldn’t resist putting that in these footnotes.
[3] The rich young man: Matthew 19.16-22; Mark 10.17-31; Luke 18.18-30. The Samaritan woman at the well: John 4.1-30.
[4] John 4.28-30.
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