Br. Robert Leo Sevensky, OHC
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:8(9-23)
Many of you will be familiar with The Name of the Rose either as the novel by Umberto Eco (1980) or the movie based on the novel and starring Sean Connery and Christian Slater (1986). The movie is, in my opinion, nearly as good as the book, and in some ways better since you get to avoid a whole lot of medieval Latin, though the critics disagree. The novel takes place in an imposing Benedictine abbey in early 14th century Italy where an alarming number of mysterious deaths are occurring. A Franciscan friar, William of Baskerville (played by Sean Connery), is sent to investigate, and one emergent theme in the story concerns laughter. Friar William and the Venerable Jorge, a blind and dour senior monk, engage in several impassioned debates over the role and legitimacy of laughter, all ultimately having to do with a secret text from Aristotle’s Poetics. I won’t spoil the mystery for those of you who have not read the book or seen the movie. But the debate is fascinating and not at all surprising for its time.
I think it safe to say that Jorge is no fan of laughter. He contends that laughter is a subversive power that promotes doubt, undermines authority, and upends the truth, distorting the image of God in us and making human beings look and act like monkeys. His strongest argument: The Bible nowhere says that Jesus laughed. And of course, he is right about that.
But Friar William, who is a kind of scientific Enlightenment precursor, is having none of it. He argues that the Bible omits many things about Jesus, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t do them or approve of them. God, William says, “…demands that we apply our reason to many obscure things about which Scripture has left us free to decide.”[1] Moreover, if laughter is part of our created humanity, then our fully human Lord must surely have laughed. Further, the good friar argues, humor and laughter play a pivotal role in undermining the false authority of what he calls absurd propositions that offend reason. And perhaps most important, laughter is among the most effective ways to point out that an opinion holds no water or that an emperor has no clothes.
If we look to the Bible, we find precious few references to laughter. And the references that we do have do not generally esteem it highly. For example, as we pray the psalms day in and day out, we see that many references to laughter view it primarily in terms of ridicule or scorn, as in Psalm 2: “He whose throne is in heaven is laughing; the Lord has them in derision” or Psalm 59: “But you, O Lord, you laugh at them; you laugh all the ungodly to scorn.” Though we do read in Psalm 126, a psalm celebrating the return from exile: “Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy.”
And of course the Rule of St. Benedict speaks rather harshly about laughter and its inappropriateness in a monastic setting, though I hasten to add that almost every modern commentator stresses that the Latin used in the Rule refers to ribald, loud or boisterous laughter or outright obscenity and not the laughter that comes from joy or surprise or delight. Even our own Fr. Hughson who has the reputation of being, shall we say, severe, quotes approvingly the following ditty in noting the gales of laughter that come from the monastic common room during community recreation:
“A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the wisest men.” [2]
I’m sure the Venerable Jorge would disagree vehemently.
So what shall we make of laughter? And why exactly did Sarah laugh? First, let’s be clear about one thing. Sarah wasn’t the only one who laughed. In the previous chapter of Genesis, when Abraham first hears of God’s plan for Sarah and him, it says:
Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed, and said to himself, “Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?” (17:17)
Then Abraham immediately asks God to get real and make Ismael, his surrogate son, his covenant descendant and heir. But no, God insists: “It’s you and Sarah I’m talking about.”
We know that laughter serves many purposes. It can be a way of deriding or dismissing our adversaries, as we see in the psalms and in real life. Most of us know what it is to be laughed at derisively and probably have engaged in our share of it. Sometimes childhood and adolescence seem to be nothing more than a stream of either laughing at others or being laughed at oneself. And then there is nervous laughter, a mechanism designed to cover our own embarrassment or fear or discomfort. Laughter can be polite and even required in certain social situations. But there is also laughter that issues from joy and delight, a spontaneous bubbling forth of emotions that express and bring pleasure to us and those around us. Laughter can be a way to build community and relationships. And it can also be contagious in the very best sense, bringing strangers together and deepening friendships.
Laughter helps us release stress. And even at the most solemn or weighty of times—during religious rituals, at the deathbed, or in the face of less than favorable circumstances—a certain type of gallows humor can help us to cope and even open up avenues of escape via other as yet unseen routes. And perhaps most critical, laughter can help us see the bigger picture, putting people and events and ourselves in a more adequate and truer perspective.
And yes, laughter can heal and help reduce pain and lift our spirits, even if only temporarily. The breathing involved in a good belly laugh releases endorphins that affect our moods and our biochemistry. And the sharing of laughter can help us feel less isolated in our pain. I have a little pill box that is engraved with the words, “Laughter is the best medicine.” Well maybe it’s not the best medicine, but it is surely medicinal. However, I digress.
Why did Sarah laugh? And Abraham? And why do we often laugh like them, figuratively, if not actually, rolling on the ground? I believe they laughed because they were presented with what seemed to them an impossibility: a husband a century old and a wife of ninety and the ridiculous promise of a son. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I can hear them saying. “Is this some kind of a joke?” And indeed, it is. The very incongruity and unexpectedness of the entire proposition and its surprising, indeed outrageous, absurdity elicits laughter, just as does any good joke. But of course, with God this isn’t a joke, or at least not simply a joke. It is a promise made from love which surpasses all human expectation or hope. And when that promise is fulfilled and Sarah bears Abraham’s son, the child is named Isaac, which means He Laughs. The story continues in Genesis, chapter 21:
The Lord dealt with Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah as he had promised. Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the time of which God had spoken to him. Abraham gave the name Isaac to his son whom Sarah bore him…. Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.”
Sarah’s hidden laughter at the door of the tent has now become public and shared. Now everyone will laugh with her and no longer at her in her childlessness. Her joy becomes a vindication as well as a gift to the whole community and the whole world.
In these difficult times, laughter can sometimes be scarce. In the nursing home or at an ICU bed or during a protest march, the sound is more often lament or concern or demand. But we need laughter now as well, even in these days, especially in these days. We desperately need to see the bigger picture. We need to be able to say that the emperor has no clothes. We need to relax our tense grip, so that we can find a way forward. Laughter facilitates that.
God’s promise to us is Shalom, which though usually translated as Peace includes much more: health, wholeness, justice, mutuality, interdependence, right relationship. Such a promise can and does seem impossible. And we laugh, or perhaps sneer or snort or shrug our shoulders or roll our eyes. But God’s promises are nonnegotiable, and they will find their fulfillment. We need to be prepared to be both surprised and challenged.
As one pastor prayed:
…Creator and Lord: Often when we are presented with opportunities beyond our own imagination, we laugh and disbelieve. Sarah’s laughter is no different form our own now. When you present us with some amazing new possibility, be it love, faith, trust, or any of your many and manifold blessings, often we disbelieve. We disbelieve because we cannot imagine success outside our own expectations. Help us Lord to see not what we can be, but to see what you would have us do, and help us to trust you, so that your will for us is successful.[3]
We need to be bold enough to imagine success outside the boundaries of our own expectations:
- Through our lives and our ministries, however limited they may now seem.
- In our communities and our relationships, however wide or narrow, shallow or deep.
- In our worship and work and rest.
- And as the Great Litany so eloquently puts it: “In all time of our tribulation; in all time of our prosperity; in the hour of death, and in the day of judgment.”
Can we join with Abraham and Sarah in giving birth to one who laughs? Can we trust that like Sarah, we will know a laughter that comes from promises fulfilled, hopes realized, transformations that will astound us? Are we ready for a laughter that will become a gift to the whole world, such that everyone who hears will laugh with us?
May the God, who takes delight in all created things, bless us all our laughing days. Amen.
