God, part 4: Laughter

I woke up one Sunday morning and started writing this God series. It felt important and right, so I went with it. Then the clock noted the passage of time, and I tried to wrap up ideas, make notes so I didn’t forget my intended direction, and got ready for church.

Arriving, I noticed the sanctuary was barely half full – perhaps the weather kept people away – for it was sunny but a bit cold – or there was some other problem unknown to me. I personally adore attending sparsely-populated services. There’s less distraction, more internal focus, the ability to hear your voice in the song or readings because there isn’t much of a chorus around you. Though I was upbeat when I arrived, I tried to settle myself into seriousness that often accompanies worship for me.

It was a happy day though, and I let the somber slip away as the choir bounced to their recorded background music, so obvious in their joy of the song. Silly, I thought, but let my lips curve.

Then the children came forward for their sermon. It’s often my favorite part in my new church – unscripted, organic, and sometimes profound.

“We can’t play what’s in the box today, because someone isn’t here.” Reverend told the children as they gathered around him on the 3 steps or the floor. Then he explained that they normally had one of the children bring an item in a box, then he would give a sermon about whatever it was.

“So what should we talk about?” He asked them, scrunched up on the steps himself, so much a part of their little group.

“Ghosts!” A young girl piped up, her dark hair shining. She looked around happily as a low murmur of laughter spread through the room.

“You usually just make something up.” The little girl with the ponytail solemnly informed him as she looked up from her seat on his right, and he nodded while the rest of us smiled.

“Well, I’m going to talk to the older people about parts of the body today. So maybe we could talk about that too. Does anyone have a favorite part of your body?”

“My bottom!” yelled one of the boys, a little blonde angel who was crouched on part of the railing around the altar.

There was a brief huff of laughter for all of us – unintentional, then quickly controlled. Then, after the briefest of moments and in unison, we all laughed. I looked around and people had their eyes closed, shoulders shaking, heads dipped forward as we, as a congregation, let joy flow through us unreservedly. It didn’t last long. Through his own chuckles, Reverend broke through the roar of our mirth to say,

“Moving rapidly along!” Then we all laughed for a little longer. Completely full of joy and completely lacking in malice. It was absurd, really, and I appreciate that some of you may raise your eyebrows with a guess you had to be there shrug. Perhaps you did have to be there - open to joy, safe in a community, ready to receive whatever was offered to you.

Unexpected moments of pure joy. Sitting with Mom and Aunt in a packed auditorium-like sanctuary, hysterically laughing over the background of a PowerPoint presentation. Going into a coughing fit to cover giggles when I watched a bug makes it way across a church floor, lost in the wonder of loving all God’s creatures from my peaceful mindset. Then watching the man in front of me stomp on it 5 times in rapid succession, thinking that perhaps not all people loved all creatures. Really funny stories? Not really. But in the moment, there was laughter that's somehow different than when it occurs elsewhere.

Faith to me is serious, deep and personal. I’ll only be able to make a dent in how I view it in my life. In a way, that’s good. It’s dynamic and fluid and grows with me as I expand to make room for the new revelations.

Part of it though, a vital and moving and divine part, is the absurd, and the laughter.