Holy Humor

Beginnings are such delicate things. Now and again, I know exactly how I want to begin an article, right down to the very order of the words themselves. At a gut level, some words and phrases just seem right in certain cases—as though they were always meant to be. And other times, I won’t so much as even start a piece for days or weeks—or years!—because I am at a complete loss as to how I can properly open it.

And in case you haven’t already guessed it: I did not know how to begin this article. Despite having made several notes for this piece over the better part of the past year,—a jot here, an appropriate Scripture reference there—I remained at an utter loss on not only how to begin it, but at how best to bind together my scattered thoughts on something as ubiquitous and yet staggeringly complex as humor—much less holy humor. (Sorry, my fellow Canadians, as I’ve deferred to the American spelling of humor—forgive me!).

I think the hesitancy on my part to actually begin writing on this topic largely rests in the fact that, though we all know, almost instinctively, what humor is, it is actually quite difficult to define it clearly. We can describe things that are or are not humorous easily enough, while never actually putting our finger on why some things are very clearly funny and others are not.

So, as I said only a moment ago, I did not know how to begin this article. “Maybe I just need to get up, stretch my legs, and make a fresh coffee,” I thought to myself. I had today off, and so my wife suggested that I drive her in to work so she wouldn’t have to make the lengthy commute on her own. As a Biblical counselor, Elaina does the vast majority of her work from home but will drive in once a month for her office’s monthly staff meeting. It’s a far drive, and day by day she grows increasingly more pregnant—so, it seemed as good of an excuse as any to spend the day together. No complaints here. All that to say, I am not in my normal writing space today, tucked away as I am in the office of one of her co-workers.

As I was looking out the window waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, I observed a curious sight. Some twenty feet away from me, in broad daylight, a large raccoon was teetering and tottering along the top of the chain-link fence that surrounded the property. Between the fence line and the detached garage running parallel to it was a narrow laneway of about three feet in width. Swaying back and forth on the fence like some drunken pirate, the raccoon finally arrived at the end of the fence and then attempted to climb onto the garage’s roof. Whether this was his first time attempting such a thing or if this was a regular occurrence, I know not. Going about casually with the dim-witted confidence only a raccoon could muster, the animal narrowed his focus as he leapt across the narrow laneway and grasped onto the eavestrough of the garage on the other side. To my disbelief, the raccoon was now swinging completely suspended in open air with nothing below him but a short drop and a sudden stop, not unlike Indiana Jones or Nathan Drake. Almost without effort, the raccoon then lifted his sizeable bulk from this suspended state—his little feet swirling below him uselessly—and then proceeded to dottle upon the roof lazily before, to my surprise, squeezing that same bulk of his into a small opening he discovered that lead into the garage. It would appear this particular raccoon was well-accustomed to breaking and entering. It’s only fitting, then, that he looked the part of a burglar or bandit, as all raccoons do.

All through this ordeal, entirely unbeknownst to the raccoon, I stood beaming with a smile on my face only a stone’s throw away. Caught between joy and laughter and another sensation approaching a warmth of some kind, though hard to isolate on its own, I found myself quietly thanking God for this little moment, seemingly curated for my own eyes and entertainment alone. It would appear, I thought, that the Lord had an idea for how I should start this piece. Then, as though stirred from a pleasant dream, the coffee maker beeped and I left the window to grab my cup and, well, I’ve been here ever since.

Have you ever stopped to consider what makes something truly funny? What, for example, makes my encounter with the raccoon humorous? If you were to analyze the situation and break it up into its constituent parts—a fat raccoon, a narrow fence, an equally narrow laneway, a jump of supposed bravery or foolishness between said narrow fence and narrow laneway, the dangling of pink little feet, an act of breaking-and-entering—you might be hard pressed to isolate exactly what about this story makes it funny.

Think about it. At a gut level, without anyone ever having to tell us so, we know such a story to be incredibly humorous despite the fact that no one was there to experience it save myself. Doubtless a smile drew across your face as you were reading—or, at least, I hope so! But why was it, and such stories like it, funny? Why do we find anything humorous at all? In the grand scheme of things, in a world bent out of shape by the Fall, what’s so entertaining about a fat ol’ raccoon practicing gymnastics out in the cold?

Not everyone is funny, but everyone can appreciate a good laugh. Indeed, if you ask me, I truly believe that humor is one of God’s sweetest gifts to His creatures. Indeed, even if we aren’t funny, we all love to laugh. There is something very good, very human, and very right about sharing in a good, hard laugh with those whom you love—“A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones” (Proverbs 17:22).

The Fall may have twisted and warped humor, as it has with many other good things, but it has by no means eradicated or taken it from us—at worst, sin has only diminished humor. Much like how sin has tampered with sex or food or entertainment, all of which are good gifts from God, so too has sin soiled much of what passes for humor in this world. Humor is not a product of the Fall. Only wicked, crude, and rotten humor is: “Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving” (Ephesians 5:4). Like all of the Christian’s speech, our humor and joking ought to be seasoned with salt: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear” (Ephesians 4:29).

True humor is from the Lord. For remember, evil cannot create anything: it has only the capacity to corrupt. For all of Satan’s twisted genius, he yet still remains a fool: a proud, despicable, unhappy fool who is utterly incapable of producing anything approaching humor, joy, or laughter. And in his foolish pride, Satan seeks not to make, but to destroy. Everything evil does is a pale, warped imitation of that which is good; of that which the Lord God has made.

As it is with all good things,—whether it be nature, humor, or even fat raccoons—one day the corrupting effects of sin will be done away with entirely by Christ and we shall then see and taste all good things as God originally intended them. Indeed, we as God’s people ought to daily groan inwardly for the redemption of all that which has been tarnished by the Fall.

We have established that humor is not only not evil, but that it is good—very good, holy even. Some of the dearest folks in all the world to me also happen to be some of the funniest. Thus, if the Lord be the very dearest to us, why then can we not also expect Him to be the most humorous? We were made in the image of a God who laughs (Psalm 2:4). God made humor: it belongs to Him. And because God is holy, every attribute of His is also holy. His love is holy love, His wrath is holy wrath, and His humor is holy humor. God’s boundless holiness adorns all His other attributes in a transcendent, beautiful otherness that is far above and infinitely removed from the attributes of the creatures He has made. God is, without question, the holiest, happiest, and most humorous Person in all of existence. There is no one funnier than God.

Because holy humor is so closely bound to that which is pure, true, and quite simply good, we can then comfortably say that sarcasm, cynicism, are flippancy are not only lesser forms of humor, but hardly authentic varieties of humor at all. This type of joking is so often far from holy: it is typically predicated on untruths, and often thrives at the expense of another.

Individuals who are truly funny—in a good, pure, and righteous kind of way—also tend to be among those who are the warmest and most joyful. They know when and how to take things seriously, without taking themselves too seriously. Truly funny people are humble, but not self-deprecating; witty, but not cruel towards others. We all know the type, I’m sure. Maybe we are the type; and if so, be sure to steward this gift of humor well for the Lord’s glory and the sheer joy of others.

Perhaps we aren’t the type to be witty or humorous. But, hopefully we all know what it’s like to be the source of at least one great, boisterous roar of laughter—even if it be only once or twice in our lives. Though, hopefully more often than that! Indeed, for as good as it is to laugh, there is a joy sweeter still in making others laugh: “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

The very fact that we love to laugh and that laughing is best done in the presence of others reveals humor’s obvious relation to community. Indeed, things are always funnier in community. Case and point: Have you ever tried to watch a funny movie on your own? The audience (or lack thereof) can either make or break the experience of humor. And, as soon as we see or hear about something we deem to be hilarious, what is so often our first course of action? You guessed it: we want to share it with others. Indeed, it’s as though the joy is incomplete or lacking some crucial element until we have brought in others to share in the joy with us. Thus, humor is not only tied closely to community, but it seems as though it is also inseparable from joy and happiness as well.

And as far as definitions of humor go, I for my part could scarcely do much better than this: True humor is a joyful expression of that which is good, pure, happy, holy, and true being communicated in some form of playfulness, whether it be physical, linguistic, or otherwise. But again, we all know funny when we see it. Nonetheless, hopefully my definition is helpful.

Life here below in a fallen, sinful world is hard. So often our tears flow from hearts swelling with sorrow rather than laughing. The Lord understands this reality well, and offers us supreme comfort such as only He can provide: “Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh” (Luke 6:21).

As we anticipate the age to come, I am fully convinced that the bedrock of our joy in Heaven will be our sweet, joyful fellowship with God Himself. And I have all the confidence in the world that much of this joy will be the direct result of God’s own infinitely overflowing joy as it bursts forth from Him who is the supremely holy, happy, humorous Being. God made humor, it belongs to Him: the very best laughs and joys trickle down from Him and cascade back upon us. There is no one funnier than God—a truth of which we will become joyfully aware as the endless ages roll.

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Image by Simon Infanger, Unsplash

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