How I Learned Who Really Belongs

I have a confession to make that may make some of you dismiss me as having neither taste nor class. Judge me if you will:

I like the Three Stooges.

There. I said it.

Photo Credit: twm1340, Creative Commons

When Larry hits Curly on the head with a sledgehammer and it makes a metal clanking noise, I think it’s hilarious. And when Moe tries to eat lobster bisque and a huge lobster claw comes out of the bowl, grabbing and twisting his nose with a loud crunching sound, it cracks me up.

Aside from the fun of slapstick, what I love is the way these guys always show up at the wrong place at the wrong time.

They’re never appropriate and are always misfits.

Find me a party filled with snooty elites, and Larry, Moe and Curly will arrive as waiters. Within minutes they’ve instigated a pie fight. Bejeweled women in evening gowns and men in suits are covered in whipped cream. The smack of a pie to the face remains one of my favorite sounds.

When Curly’s pet mouse runs up the leg of a guy’s pants or down the back of a woman’s dress, causing a flailing domino effect of chaos in the ballroom—how great is that?

Somehow, in their foolishness, they end up exposing the crooks, the arrogant, and the self-important. Bumbling their way through situation after situation, the stooges make us laugh, and if we’re honest, we see ourselves in the people they expose.

Recently, our family was visiting an old church in England.

The parish church had been active since 1777 when it was built. Benedict Arnold was buried in the basement, which I thought was a nice touch.

The church, festively decorated with holiday trimmings, was stunning. The service, a quiet and solemn liturgy, was punctuated by music performed with perfection.

At one point during the service, the choir began to sing their anthem. Half way through it, a lone figure shuffled down the aisle. It was a young man in his 20s with Downs Syndrome. Under his arm, he carried a bongo drum.

Making his way to the front of the church, he sat down at the grand piano, stage right.

By this time, he had everyone’s attention, particularly the members of the choir. There was this “What is he going to do?” fear in the room. I’m sure there were some that felt the night could be ruined—this night that took many hours and much energy to prepare.

Pulling his drum into position, he began tapping it with his fingers, as quietly as a mouse walking across the floor.

Then his lips began to move, his singing as silent as his drumming.

I think it hit us all at the same time.

This young man woke us up to the fact that we were out of place, not him.

While we were worried about having an uninterrupted service of worship, he was actually experiencing it, living it, embracing it, and loving it.

I thought about Jesus who was always inviting the wrong people to the party and freaking everyone out. And by His invitation, Jesus said to the outcast, the misfits, and the marginalized: “You belong”