On the "Joy" of Festivals: From Rural Rituals to Spiritual Homecoming
The Lantern Festival arrives, and thousands of lights illuminate the night. Some are captivated by the dazzling modernity of urban lantern fairs, while others fondly recall the playful games of their rural childhood. When we ask, "What makes a Lantern Festival truly joyful?", we are not merely touching upon a sentimental, nostalgic recollection. We are, in fact, engaging with a profound cultural proposition concerning the very essence of festivals: Where does the "joy" of a festival originate, and where is it headed?
The "joy" of a festival first stems from a sense of genuine participation. The rural Lantern Festival memories—the wild, carefree "Dog Chases Rabbit" game, the clumsy but earnest act of shaking a簸箕 (bò ji) to roll glutinous rice balls, the solemn ritual of jumping over a straw fire to "burn away misfortune"—all these are deemed "joyful" precisely because they transform people from mere onlookers into active participants. A child is not just an observer of lanterns but the protagonist of the game; the tangyuan is not a commodity on a shelf but a symbol of completeness, rolled into being by one's own hands; the bonfire is not a stage prop but a ritual that one must physically cross. This hands-on involvement makes the festival no longer just a mark on the calendar, but a tangible and sensory life experience. In contrast, when the Lantern Festival is reduced to a single lantern photo on a social media feed, or a bag of frozen tangyuan from the supermarket, we become mere bystanders. From where, then, can "joy" possibly spring?
Furthermore, the "joy" of a festival lies in the collective memories and emotional bonds it carries. The charm of a rural Lantern Festival lies not in the sophistication of its activities, but in the invisible web of emotions it weaves. "Dog Chases Rabbit" connects the village's children; rolling tangyuan involves the whole family in collaboration; jumping over the fire unites generations in a shared blessing. These rituals become anchors for collective memory, strengthening the emotional ties between people year after year. Sociology teaches us that festivals are special junctures in societal time; one of their key functions is to reinforce collective identity through shared rituals. As urban Lantern Festivals become increasingly individualized and private, we gain more freedom, yet we also lose that sense of warm certainty that comes from being "together."
The "joy" of a festival is also deeply rooted in its dialectical relationship with daily life. All the rituals of a rural Lantern Festival—the games, the food, the bonfire—draw from the most ordinary local products: soybeans, glutinous rice flour, sesame stalks. Yet, it is precisely these common things that, at a specific time, are imbued with meaning beyond the everyday. Fried soybeans transform from a simple snack into "bait"; glutinous rice flour evolves from a staple grain into a vessel for blessings; bean stalks become not just fuel, but sacred objects for warding off misfortune. This "defamiliarization of the familiar" makes the ordinary magical and elevates the everyday. Ironically, in our pursuit of festival "innovation," we often fall into another kind of banality: replacing the warmth of handmade goods with industrial products, substituting localized, adaptable creativity with standardized entertainment. We forget that the deepest "joy" often grows from the most familiar soil.
This is not to say we should return to the past or negate the modern forms of urban festivals. Rather, it emphasizes that no matter how the form evolves, the soul of a festival always lies in human participation, emotional connection, and the bestowal of meaning. Urban Lantern Festivals can also be joyful—if neighbors make lanterns together instead of just buying them, if communities organize shared meals instead of everyone eating alone, if families preserve the ritual of co-creation rather than just consuming finished products.
"May we all live long, though miles apart, and share the moonlight's beauty, heart to heart." These famous lines by Su Shi move us precisely because they reveal the true essence of festivals: forms may change, time and space may separate us, but as long as the genuine feeling of participation, the desire for connection, and the ability to imbue the ordinary with the sacred still exist within us, festivals will forever remain our spiritual homecoming.
From the countryside to the city, from tradition to modernity, the form of the Lantern Festival is ever-changing. But humanity's quest for "joy" remains unchanged. This "joy," in its essence, is a love for life, a cherishing of reunion, and a hope for a better future. When we light a lamp on the night of the Lantern Festival—whether it's made of paper or powered by electricity—as long as its glow reflects our smiles and warms our hearts, the "joy" of the festival has already arrived.