Hilariously Holy, Part 1

Decades ago, while serving on a pastoral search committee, I listened to hours of sermons from people all over the country.  One young applicant was certainly earnest, and he clearly aimed for conviction.  His resume hit the benchmarks we were looking for, so I eagerly listened to his talk.  The first sermon seemed very heavy, but it was a Good Friday sermon so I expected no less.  When I listened to another one, however, he evoked the same heaviness.  I listened to a third, and even the start of a fourth, wanting to embrace his ministry for our congregation. 

But I just couldn’t.

As the committee discussed his sermons, there was a general agreement that he wasn’t a good “fit” for our congregation.  I finally put our uncertainty into words: “I wonder if he has any joy in life?  Where is the joy of life in Christ, the satisfaction of living in worship and relationship with God?”

He was good on preaching for conviction, reminding us of responsibility and duty and obligation—but on the scale of living an inviting life, he was a 2 or 3 out of ten.  Why would somebody want to follow such a somber, almost dreary, persona?

Even Teresa of Avila, who became feared, controversial, and indeed hated in her day for attempting to bring discipline and asceticism to a lax convent of Carmelite nuns that had become more of a social club than a religious order, once said, “God save us from surly saints.”  She believed in self-discipline andself-denial—but self-discipline and self- denial without joy and pleasure become warped walls.  Over time, the rain is going to get through the cracks, and eventually compromise the entire structure.  Teresa taught her followers that embracing God’s simple pleasures is what prepares us to endure ascetic self-denial. Discipline without joy eventually leads to cruelty, arrogance, and condemnation. 

The Ministry of Laughter

A friend of mine was under the kind of stress that could send weaker souls into a nervous breakdown.  He was going through a spiritual crisis, a relational crisis, and a vocational crisis all at the same time.  We were part of a small group, and one evening somebody shared a hilarious story; we all started laughing until our sides hurt, which reminded someone else of an equally funny story.  This went on for a good 45 minutes until our diaphragms were worn out with laughter. 

 “Well, this meeting got away from me,” I thought to myself.  “We should have been praying for this guy and giving him some counsel.” 

 But as he stood up, he looked at all of us and said, “You have no idea how much this ministered to me tonight.”

Ministered? 

With laughter? 

The truth is, he got exactly what he needed.

There is certainly a place for earnest counsel and fervent prayer, but sometimes people who are hurting need to laugh.  Effective ministry is about discovering the fine line that knows what is most appropriate and when.

Admittedly, if somebody relies on humor to cover up a lack of spiritual insight and studied wisdom, his or her “ministry” is a sham.  Laughter should illustrate, prepare for, and point to truth, not substitute for it.  But when humor can serve Christ’s cause—bringing people in, lightening their heavy loads, creating little mental “rests” for the next convicting point—it becomes God’s servant.

After all, God is the one who created laughter.  And we, the only creatures created in his image, are the only creatures who genuinely laugh. Why can’t we celebrate him as we use what he created to help make his points?  Laughter, in this sense, is a glorious reflection of being made in God’s image.

Lighten Up

In spite of Scripture’s occasional use of humor, there is still a certain element within the faith community that thinks all “true” ministry must be somber, or that the “holiest” people will also be the most serious.  Extreme and inappropriate levity can be a spiritual failing and a way to escape, rather than confront, life, but lacking a sense of humor is also a poor reflection on the image of God—who himself laughs and who created laughter.

It’s not just about your ministry; it’s about self-care. In his marvelous book Leadership from the Inside Out, author Kevin Harney states:

I need to laugh more often.  I sat with a woman whose husband, the man who said, ‘For better and for worse,’ ran off with a woman half his age.  I cared, prayed, and felt helpless to relieve her deep pain.  I battled through a board meeting with a gifted group of leaders who couldn’t resolve a critical issue.  I did a funeral for a seven-year-old boy whose body had been ravaged by leukemia.  I processed ministry challenges with a volunteer who does not really fit where she is serving.  Have you ever had to fire a volunteer?  As the week comes to a close, I could really use a friend who will talk with me, laugh with me, go see a comedy with me.  Sometimes I feel that if I can’t laugh, I’ll lose my mind.  And some days laughter is hard to come by.”

All of this led Kevin to conclude, “If we can’t open the pressure valve with laughter, we just might explode. So laugh or die. It’s up to you.”

Are you in a tough marriage, or supporting someone else who is in one?  Is your heart broken by a rebellious child?  Is your boss, or the lack of a job, tempting you toward anxiety, worry and stress?  Are you a young person, trying to find your way in this world, but feeling all too alone and sometimes even lost?  Has your heart been broken into a million pieces through disappointment after disappointment?  Because we are human, not gods, heavy responsibility devoid of laughter and pleasure can destroy us. God has created a healing balm—laughter.  Spiritually, it will lift us up and give us the strength to face life’s serious challenges.

 I once ran a marathon in the middle of June.  It was a “black balloon” day.  Race organizers flew the black balloon to warn people of the heat and humidity index, telling runners to slow their pace, and runners with health issues to consider dropping out.

I flew in for the marathon from the Pacific Northwest where I had lived next to the Bellingham Bay for over a decade.  A couple times of year, the temperature may stretch to reach 80 degrees or more, but then it usually pulls back into the seventies after about 90 minutes.  Heat and humidity cover Seattle about as often as commonsense politicians get elected there.  My body wasn’t even close to being prepared.

After thirteen miles at a decent pace, I knew I was in trouble.  Though I entered the race in the best shape of my adult life, the marathon collapsed into a pursuit of each water stop.  The aid stations stood like oases, about two miles apart from each other.  Volunteers showered us with cold wet sponges, ice cubes, and drinks.  I forgot about the finish line, and just focused on making it to the next aid station. That was the only way I finished the race (after which I was promptly escorted into the aid tent and shot full of saline solution).

For ministry and life, laughter is like an aid station during a hot marathon: there’s a lot of work to be done between the aid stations, but laughter gives us a mental, spiritual, emotional, and even physical break to face the challenge ahead.  The more serious your situation, the more strenuous your work, the more you need to laugh.  I’ve blown by aid stations during cool Seattle marathons; I didn’t skip a single one in Duluth.

Accepting laughter as a blessing and necessary part of spiritual growth is part of our series on embracing a more biblical view of pleasure. If you’d like to read more about this topic, check out my book Pure Pleasure: Why Do Christians Feel So Bad About Feeling So Good?

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