The Hilarity of Heaven

Actually, I don’t know that much about the hilarity of Heaven, but it sounded like a thing. In fact, I believe it is a thing, contrary to what some of you may have supposed I thought, after you read last week’s post.

I should probably state clearly, while this blog is still relatively new, that I have not the ability, inclination, nor authority to blog forth new doctrines, so when I start saying things like, “I wonder if humans ever would have found things funny if we hadn’t sinned first,” I’m doing just that: wondering. I do think that, in a loving relationship with God which I never even initiated, it’s both safe and even important to ask questions and wonder about things, and I guess I’m inviting the so inclined to wonder along with me. Part of why I do this in public is because, while I believe God’s Word is the final authority on life and practice, and that the Holy Spirit helps us to understand it over time, we need the Holy Spirit in each other to help us understand it, too. That’s part of what the Church is for…but I digress.

This totally happened. Funny, right?

All that said, I can see why people might have gotten a little twitchy about that last post. For one thing, I guess it could have sounded like I was saying all humour is bad. If the only reason we can have jokes is because we sinned, and sin is not good, then does that make all jokes not-good, too–even the seemingly innocent ones? Is it a negative effect of the fall like death, and futility in our God-given work, and pain in childbirth, and lording things over each other? Of course it isn’t!


Not that any of us were there to really know, but sometimes it kind of seems like it has take the Church the better part of two millennia to acknowledge that humour can be good, and so I guess it’s not too surprising that we might get a little defensive about it. There’s enough in this world about which to be serious. It would be entirely unbearable if we couldn’t laugh some of the time.


My favourite Bible meme–which pleasantly startled a few of the members of the OSFGroup a couple of months ago.

Then, of course, there’s the other reason people might have gotten twitchy. It could have sounded like I was hypothesizing that, if humans wouldn’t have found things funny if we hadn’t sinned, and humour can be good, then maybe sin isn’t so bad? Or maybe it was good that we sinned? But that isn’t what I was saying, either. I do believe, however–and this isn’t a hypothesis or original with me–that there are things that are true about God and ourselves that we would never have been able know experientially if we hadn’t sinned.

One of those things, the thing, The Main Thing, is grace. Grace, like humour–or really, like any of God’s good gifts–can be abused or made into something it isn’t. Grace can become meted out, regulated, conditional–in which case it isn’t grace. Or it can gloss over or redefine what is, in fact, something that needs to be acknowledged for what it is. That’s not grace either.

What I know is, I’m not proud of my rebellion against God. I’m not proud of giving the authority of my life to things that aren’t Him. I’m not glad when I put myself ahead of others. But I wouldn’t have even the tiniest glimpse of the loving forgiveness that is part of the essence of who God is, if I didn’t need it so desperately.

I guess I think there’s something about humour that is part of God’s nature, too. I guess I wonder if humour isn’t itself sometimes a manifestation of His grace.



The Enunciation

This afternoon, after church, my Paul (that’s my husband, for those of you who haven’t been around a Jenn blog before) and I went for a drive in the windy sunshine. We were talking, as we tend to do, about a strange mixture of topics both serious and frivolous, and at one point I started thinking of a song we had sung in the church service that morning.

I like almost all the songs we sing at our church, but I have a long-standing objection to this one in any context. You might think said objection would be theological, or at least stylistic, but it isn’t either. “The thing about it is,” I said to my Paul, “that it doesn’t matter who sings it–it always ends up sounding like everybody’s saying, ‘How grey is our Gah.'”

He laughed.

“It drives me crazy,” I went on. “So then I spend the whole song–which can also often be very repetitive–trying to over-enunciate ‘greaT’ and ‘GoD,’ and then I realize that I’m not worshiping at all, but I just can’t because it’s so annoying.”

“So,” he said, deadpan, “Articulation is your golden calf.”

There was a pause. Then he said, “Moses comes down from the mountain, with his two stone tablets, and there’s Jenn, going ‘t-t-t-t-t! d-d-d-d-d!'” We both burst into laughter, and then at intervals over the next probably fifteen minutes, I continued to giggle.

Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to find this as funny as we did. We spend most of our down time cracking each other up, but I understand that in most cases, “you had to be there,” and in most of those, I’m not sure even being there would help. I’m telling you all this because a question arose afterward.

We started talking about whether we would feel free to engage in this kind of humour if Jesus were visibly and physically present in the car with us (we were pretty sure we would). But we also acknowledged that there might be something not quite right about it that we just aren’t aware of in our not-yet-fully transformed or sanctified state.

Then I started thinking about humour itself–and started wondering if what makes something humorous in the first place is that something is “not quite right.” CS Lewis (among others, probably) talks notably in the Screwtape Letters about various kinds of humour, some of which is free and good-hearted and some of which is mean spirited, and I think there’s validity to that observation. Also it’s a pretty well-worn cliche–which, like many cliches, I may resent for being a cliche, but also basically agree with–that God has a sense of humour. But it seems to me that what makes things funny is the element in the joke or the circumstance of something being “off.”

If you read the story about the golden calf in the Bible, you can see that God did not find that episode very funny. I guess He probably doesn’t find my idolatries all that funny either. But I sense that He does have a pretty highly attuned sense of irony, if for no other reason than that He so deeply loves such easily distracted and inconsistent creatures, and I feel like if He were riding in the car in the physical person of Jesus, He would have found our joke funny for the very reason that it gently and humorously pointed out both the frequent ridiculousness of human nature in general, and my own foibles and idols in particular.

So then what I started wondering was this: if humanity had never become enticed away from God by other created beings and objects and even ideas–if nothing had ever become out of joint, or “off,” would humour be human? Would it even be a quality we possessed, let alone could get our brains around?

I’m asking. What do you think? And can you think of anything funny that doesn’t reflect something “off”–a disconnect, or an absurdity, or an unmet expectation–in the human experience?

You GO

I just “got back” from a conference of a bunch of New England Christians. I put “got back” in quotation marks because I didn’t really go anywhere–it was right in Our Fair City. It was called the GO Conference, and was put on by and for mainly Christians who consider themselves to be Evangelical.

When I was in my 20’s or something, “Evangelical” used to be the the Jedi to the “Fundamentalist” Sith, but now the two seem to have merged, at least in the public consciousness, and it’s a little awkward (at best) to self-identify with that label these days. I haven’t fit into all aspects of Evangelicalism for probably over a decade, and I like to think I draw from all streams of Christianity in my self and my practice, but the Evangelical stream is the one I grew up in, and even though I discovered this weekend that it is really tough for me to worship with smoke machines and people telling me to raise or clap my hands (I’m more likely to do that without invitation)–though that might be my own problem–and even though I might have some other differences in certain other arenas, too, I still consider this people my people, and we still have a lot in common. By which I mean Jesus, mostly. He’s a lot.

I was impressed and in some cases pleasantly surprised by the speakers and the content of the plenary sessions and the workshops. The focus of the conference was a passage in the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament) book of Micah, chapter six, verse 8, which enjoins the people of God to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. Below are some of the speakers I heard and some of the particularly quotable things that they said.

“Don’t forget who you belong to.” Jesus didn’t tell you specifically what to do or give a list of rules—just a reminder of whose you are: Let mercy, justice, and humility mark you out. –Neil Hudson

IMG_5743.JPGThe role of the Spirit when it comes to racial healing…This is not a philosophical topic…It’s one thing to have a headache. It’s another thing to have chronic headaches and to be kicked in the head repeatedly. –Jo Saxton

Without the stories, all we’re left with is assumptions. –Jo Saxton

“When I heard you speak,” he said, “God convicted me of the hatred in my heart—my sin—and I’ve come to ask for forgiveness.” The healing for me came from hearing him call racism sin, instead of insensitivity. There is a Cross that can change and redeem sin… –Jo Saxton

IMG_5744.JPGWomen in the Church…It’s not just an issue—it’s people…Embody a way to disagree beautifully. –Sarah Bessey

The safest, and most emancipated, place for women in the first century was the Christian church…Paul cared about the gospel being preached, period. Including by women, not as tokens, but as powerful contributors to the work of the gospel. The church knew right from Pentecost, that the dehumanization and mistreatment of women in any way was not part of God’s plan—ever. –Sarah Bessey

IMG_5745.JPGWhat’s your standard of mercy to the repeat offenders, to the annoying, to authority, to spouse, to people on the opposite side of the aisle? –Ruth Graham

IMG_5747.JPGYour faith is the sum of anything you hang onto, and everything you’re willing to let go of. –Bob Goff

How you’ll know that God is really into you: Jesus. –Bob Goff

I’ve spent my whole life trying to make faith easy, and it isn’t. If you do it right, it’ll kill you, or so I’ve read. But I do want to make it simple. –Bob Goff

Nothing scares a terrorist more than a girl with a book. –Bob Goff

Love everybody, always…and start with people who creep you out. –Bob Goff (This guy was definitely the most tweetable.)

Just bring Jesus…Don’t dumb faith down. Don’t tickle people’s ears. But speak the truth in a way people can understand. Tell them who they are, not who they were…Make your faith simple, not easy. –Bob Goff

IMG_5748.JPGHanding them opportunities was only half of what they needed. The other half was love that they could trust. And when things got harder, I loved harder. –Lisa Fenn

IMG_5771.JPGI became a Christian when I realized that EVERY area of my life had to come under the Lordship of Jesus Christ…It’s not true that you convert to Jesus as Savior and then sometime later–maybe–you surrender to Him as Lord. He’s ALL LORD. –Neil Hudson

God has not placed us in His world just to get angry, just to bemoan what we think is happening, just to say it was better in the old days. He has placed us in His world that we may become His means of blessing. That YOU may become His means of blessing. –Neil Hudson

Do not try to impress God with your extravagance. Live the life to which He’s called you. The people in Micah’s time wanted the privilege of being God’s people without the responsibility. The 6:8 challenge is for the real world. –Neil Hudson

I’m going to be mulling these over for a while. Feel free to mull with me… May the mercy, justice, and humility of Jesus permeate my life–and, if you want it, yours, too.


Hide and Seek with Jesus

I used to have this friend who said,

“You know, you don’t have to try to see Jesus in everything all the time.”

He didn’t like Jesus very much.

He was right, though, in a way. I didn’t have to try. I can’t help it. I “see” Jesus everywhere. Where most people might see a bucket of broken, potentially dangerous, shards of glass, I see beautiful colors coming together to make a sun-catcher in a vase. Then I see people I know–myself included–who are also broken and potentially dangerous, but through whom the light of Jesus can shine so that together we’re beautiful. And so is He.

I don’t think this way of seeing makes me anything special. I don’t think I’m the only person who sees Jesus everywhere. But I also know that some people don’t, or can’t. The Pilgrimage might be the culmination of a middling-length life of noticing Jesus more and more, in the mundane and the extraordinary, and the desire of that life (seriously, I’ve wanted this since I was a little girl) for all people–myself included–to see and know and experience and love Jesus “in everything all the time.” Maybe the Pilgrimage is a work in hope, an attempt at gathering more and more of us broken and dangerous pieces of glass into the sun catcher, so Jesus can shine through us and show that we are beautiful. And so is He.

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