Thirteen years ago, I arrived at Old Mission Santa Barbara and spent a month there praying, reflecting, sharing, and interacting with other friars who, like me then, were preparing to take solemn vows at the end of that summer. Over the course of a weekend, about half a dozen friars from across the country gathered at the retreat center. We began to get to know each other over meals and conversations, realizing that we had more in common than our differences in age, ethnic background, place of origin, and state of origin (the Franciscan Order has since been reorganized into a single U.S. state).
The last monk to arrive had experienced severe travel delays and was late to our first full day together. He settled in quickly, but after dinner, when we began our evening tradition of sitting together as a group to tell stories and play board games, this monk looked me straight in the eye and said, “You’re not the kind of person I expected!”
I was a little taken aback and confused. He went on to explain that he had read and appreciated several scholarly articles I had written on medieval Franciscan theology, and that he had imagined the author to be a more subdued character, perhaps even sombre and stiff, or typical of a “serious person.”
What he encountered was anything but. I often describe myself as a goofy guy who likes to laugh and make people laugh, who likes telling jokes and making bad puns. I like comedy in its various forms, but especially the more ridiculous ones. And while this monk liked that about me, it took him a while to reconcile what he had assumed about me in the abstract with the image of the hilarious, funny person he now knew.
Admittedly, I am a serious person in many ways: I take my work, my faith, and issues of justice and peace seriously, but I try not to take myself too seriously.
Even now, many years later, that encounter has stayed with me for a few reasons. First, it gave me a little insight into how quickly we assume we know someone based on limited information we have from afar. We sometimes assume we know someone quickly, even though we’ve never met them in person, simply because we’ve read their work, followed them on social media, or seen them on TV. It’s natural to want to evaluate, categorize, and judge people without making the effort to get to know them.
Another reason this exchange stuck with me is because it illustrates how some people think about the relationship between humor and spirituality. From this perspective, comedy and laughter are inherently non-serious and may be antithetical to the practice of faith.
I believe this view is mistaken and leads to well-intentioned religious people disparaging comedy movies and TV shows, stand-up comedy performances, and even the telling of jokes.
There is something inherently spiritual and relational about the act of laughing. Laughing, perhaps second only to eating, requires a unique vulnerability. You must let your guard down in front of other people—whether it’s a movie theater, a stand-up comedy club, or a stranger in the office break room—and feel comfortable enough to abandon yourself to a moment of shared lightness that results in an instinctive physical, emotional, mental, and (if I would argue) spiritual response.
There is something inherently spiritual and relational about the act of laughing.
Regular readers of my column will not be surprised if I am inclined to quote the great 20th-century Jesuit theologian, Father Karl Rahner, in a short essay I wrote about laughter. Like me, Father Rahner had reflected on his encounters with brother monks and had wondered whether laughter and humor were contrary to authentic spirituality. He was thinking about what he called “genuine laughter, resounding laughter, the kind of laughter that makes one bend over and slap one’s thighs, the kind of laughter that brings tears to the eyes, the laughter that accompanies a sharp joke, the laughter that reflects the fact that man is undoubtedly somewhat childish and infantile.”
With this sense of out-loud humor in mind, he writes:
The question is simply this: should a spiritual man rightly question this laughter, should he attack it as being contrary to his dignity? No, it is not! Let us explain and justify this laughter, and it will, with a smile, tell us something very serious.
Lanner further teaches that laughter is, above all, an affirmation of humanity: the Bible says, “A time to weep, and a time to laugh” (Ecclesiastes 3:4), and he points out that both of these acts are perfect expressions of humanity and forms of praise to God, because laughter makes us human.
He also says that laughter is a sign of love, because it requires a certain empathy: we must empathize with the person who tells the joke, who shares the story, who enjoys comedy and entertainment, and our response through laughter is an expression of solidarity and love.
God laughs too, Rahner asserts. He “laughs at the laughter of the easy-going, the self-confident, the fearless.” Of course, this makes sense, since God enjoys the world and gives us a divine joy that is reflected in the truly humorous and joyful experience of laughter. Laughter, Rahner says, is spiritual in this sense too, because our laughter is “a tender echo of God’s laughter.”
Laughter is a gift from God and reminds us that we should be witnesses to his joy in a world that is no more than an echo chamber of misery, division and gloom. This is necessary not only in the wider society but also in our Churches. Seriousness and sincerity are no obstacle to humor and laughter. Pope Francis has modeled this many times in his public speeches and in his natural interactions, especially with children (who never take themselves too seriously) and other joyful people.
There is abundant illustration throughout the Bible and Christian history of how humor and laughter have been an integral part of our spiritual tradition. An excellent introduction to some of these themes can be found in Jesuit Father James Martin’s 2011 book, “The Spirit of Laughter.” Between Heaven and Joy: Why Joy, Humor, and Laughter are Central to Spiritual LifeWhat Rahner presents as a fundamental theology of laughter is developed in an accessible and, of course, humorous way by his Jesuit brother Martin.
Today, in the world and in our faith communities, we continue to face many difficulties, divisions, and challenges, but I believe it is good to take time to laugh, especially with others.
Seriousness and sincerity do not exclude humor and laughter.
Maybe it’s during a summer barbecue or when your family gets together to tell funny stories about a loved one.
It might be nice to meet up with friends or colleagues for a drink after work and talk about silly things that happened in meetings or at the office.
Maybe you could go to your local comedy club and tell jokes and stories to strangers, embracing your shared vulnerability and laughing with joy.
Maybe it’s time to read a funny book, watch a comedy, or find some other form of entertainment that will help you let your guard down, be fully human, and laugh.
Whatever you do, remember that laughing is a deeply spiritual act and a form of glorifying God, and it’s something we should do as often as possible.
