A woman is sitting at her husband’s funeral when his best friend comes up to her.

“Do you mind if I say a word?”

The woman replies, “No, go right ahead.”

The man stands up, clears his throat, and says, “Plethora,” and then sits back down.

“Thanks,” says the woman. “That means a lot.”

Pastoring has funny moments. It’s a good gig if you can get it. I highly recommend it… most days. Other days… well. Those days are tough. And right now, I’m in a season of tough. Thank you for your support and understanding. This season has shown me the importance of laughter.

I’m reminded of when I first thought I wanted to be a pastor. I was meeting with my pastor at the time, the Rev. Bill Federicci, who said, “It’s good you’re discerning a call. I’ll tell you this: if you think you can do anything else, do it. Otherwise, this job will chew you up and spit you out.” I wonder if any other profession says that to their potentials.

Yet, this warning has proven true. Pastors get a front-row seat for everything human. The good, the bad, the petty, and the holy. Sometimes on retreats or at clergy gatherings, we talk about you, church. About this odd and wondrous calling[1] we share.

A friend once witnessed an argument between two friends over the color of the church carpet that nearly became a fistfight. They both agreed the carpet should be red. One wanted scarlet; the other wanted coral. It was one smart aleck who broke up the fight by saying, “Thus saith the Lord: thou shalt pick thy carpet through Robert’s Rules and Robert’s Rules alone in thy council or consistory. And thy carpet hexadecimal shall be #FF0000.”

Another friend pastors a large Presbyterian church in California. They have a thriving food bank. They do significant mission work. And yet every October, he hosts a large gathering of goths. Goths, for those unfamiliar, are people who wear black, a lot of makeup, and look sad on purpose. Some resemble nineteenth-century ghosts. It’s a whole aesthetic.

Every October, these goths descend on his church because it was the filming location for My Chemical Romance’s music video Helena.[2] This cracks me up because my friend is a California surfer. Upbeat. Optimistic. And there he is, hanging out with hundreds of mournful goths dressed in black.

Another pastor, not known for their singing, was belting out their favorite hymn, only to realize their mic was still on. The congregation gave them a standing ovation. Whether that was for the singing or the fact that the singing stopped remains unclear.

I once told the story of a funeral in Sylvania that turned into a roast.[3] The deceased was a man named John Weed. With a name like that, you know he was going to be a good human. He was an every-Sunday churchgoer with a relentlessly positive attitude. His witty one-liners and personable demeanor made his dementia hard to spot.

John was in his late seventies when I was his pastor, and he often spoke of his career as a real estate agent. As the dementia progressed, that era of his life became the one he clung to most tightly.

He began wandering. His family took his car keys. They tried to get him into a memory care unit, but there was a waiting list. So they moved him to the third floor and installed an “office phone.” John stayed in his apartment in case any calls came in for showings.

When I called to check on him, he thought I was a client and began selling me a house. If that’s what it took to check in on John, that was fine by me.

Until one day he sold me my own house. “Rev. Lindon! Do I have a house for you!” He gave me my own address. “It would be perfect for your growing family!”

“The big red colonial?” I asked.

“That’s the one! I think we can get you a great price. What do you say?”

I bought it on the spot. We agreed to go over the paperwork over coffee the following week. And I bought that house each time I checked in on John until I told that story at his funeral. Then I turned things over to the family.

Cousin Johnny stood up. He shared that he was named after Uncle John and that John had shown up for everything: kindergarten graduation, school plays, tee-ball games. When Johnny got his driver’s license, Uncle John took him out to dinner. When Johnny got his first job at the deli counter, Uncle John was there.

“Johnny, want to know how to impress customers?”

“Sure, Uncle John.”

“Come with me.”

“Uncle John, I can’t leave the counter. I’m working.”

“You want to impress people or not?!”

John took him outside and said, “This is top secret. This was my first job too. You gotta snap the paper bags.”

He licked his fingers, grabbed the bag, and snapped it open with a loud WAH BAM! Johnny jumped and laughed. And it worked. Johnny became sought-after at the deli counter.

Johnny reflected on how important it is to show up. How being quirky and funny isn’t a flaw. How Weeds keep popping up no matter how much spray you use. At graduations, baptisms, weddings, tee-ball games, and deli counters everywhere.

Then Johnny said, “This one’s for you, Uncle John.” He licked his fingers, reached into his jacket pocket, and WAH BAM! snapped open a paper bag. We all jumped. We laughed. We cried. It was one of the best funerals I’ve ever been part of.

I shared that story with fellow pastors, and it unleashed ten more just like it. Picture a room full of clergy, telling stories about you, church. Sharing our love for you. Our hopes for you. Our shared future.

Often, clergy and church walk together through the valley of the shadow of death. And yet today’s reading proclaims that “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” Light in bleakness. Hope.

The passage continues with a hymn to a promised leader. A Prince of Peace. A Wonderful Counselor. One who breaks the rod of oppression and lifts the yoke from weary shoulders. “They rejoice before you with joy at the harvest.” And one of the most visceral expressions of joy is laughter. You can’t carry your burdens while laughing. Laughter makes you lighter. That’s why it matters. Especially in hard times.

I remember watching stand-up comedy at a friend’s sleepover when we were maybe eight or ten. Much of it was humor we were probably too young for. But one comedian had us howling. We laughed so loudly that my friend’s mom came downstairs to hush us. Instead, she sat down and laughed with us.

Comedians matter right now. They notice absurdity. They point to truths we all recognize. They remind us that the jester can say what no one else dares say to the king.

Many holy people had a sense of humor. Voltaire’s critiques of the church were sharp and funny. Erasmus of Rotterdam combined wit with wisdom. Teresa of Ávila mocked gloomy saints and herself. By the way, I once saw a sign at a church named “St. Gabriel of the Sorrowful Mother” which read, “A Gloomy Christian is a contradiction.” Well, so is your sign.

Rob Bell tells a story of meeting the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu.[4] Two spiritual giants who entered the room laughing, hugged each other, teased each other about weight, and then tickled each other. These are not people who lack reasons to grieve. Tutu endured apartheid. The Dalai Lama lives in exile. And yet they laugh. Because joy is a form of resistance.

Audre Lorde wrote, “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of transforming “the fatigue of despair into the buoyancy of hope.” This makes me think that despair is a tool of domination. Joy is not. Joy makes us light. Free. Untethered.

God, I think, is funny. Penguins and the platypus prove that. Puppies and kittens are why YouTube was invented. Jesus told parables with absurd twists. The absurd grace of the father in the prodigal son. The twist of the good guy being the Samaritan. Those would have landed with humor before they landed with conviction.

Comedian Pete Holmes is one of the few faith-based comedians I find funny. He once said, “My God is not an old man in the sky. It’s a metaphor for a mystery that absolutely transcends all categories of human thought, including being and nonbeing, but that’s too many words for the back of a quarter. That’s Joseph Cambell. I got all the best teachers later in life! Like Barry Taylor, the road manager for AC/DC, said, ‘God is the name of the blanket we put over the mystery to give it shape.’”

Then he asks…. “Shouldn’t I have learned that in church? Why am I learning this from Barry Taylor, the road manager for AC/DC?”[5]

Well, now you have. One last story.

Ann Nagy’s memorial was hard. And yet within the hard, there was grace and synchronicity.

Her memorial was January 10th. 1/10. The Marching 110 at Ohio University, where Kate and I attended, and where Ann’s son Cameron attended. Green and white, like her beloved Michigan State Spartans. The same color as the banners.

As I researched Ann’s sermon on synchronicity in 2024, she spoke of pulling over to help out a car crash she witnessed.[6] The person she helped was Jen Vilimonivic’s eldest daughter Samantha. Ann mentioned to me that her sermon was based on her favorite of mine from 2019. When I looked back, that sermon’s title was called… Car Crash.[7] Go figure. Even the Worlde that day was MANIC. A mental health word, and one which Ann had and dealt with. I wouldn’t believe this stuff if I didn’t see it.

At the graveside, under a cloudy sky, we said our final amen. And that’s when the rain began.

These moments grounded me. They made me laugh. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was long. And yes, it was a production. But Ann loved a production. It was uniquely her. God was present before, during, and after.

Martin Luther King Jr. said in his I Have a Dream speech, “With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.” And the tool that cuts deepest, that breaks chains and loosens what binds us, is laughter.

So may you find laughter this week. Revisit an old comedian. Call your funniest friend. Let yourself laugh. Laugh so hard that you say, “Oh God!” For that’s the name of the blanket we put over the mystery to give it shape.

May the laughter you seek out help lighten the load. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Works Cited

[1] Here’s a fun book to read about it! https://www.amazon.com/This-Odd-Wondrous-Calling-Ministers/dp/0802864759/

[2] https://youtu.be/UCCyoocDxBA?si=9F16Zrh4v36-pZnc was filmed at Immanuel Presbyterian Church.

[3] If it’s worth preaching once, it’s worth it again: https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/community-harvest-people/

[4] Introduction to Joy: https://youtu.be/sA7LmEn3xyc?si=V17mKWiSJj3NeWbY

[5] https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1CFpjKPZDK/

[6] https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/love-kindness/

[7] https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/a-car-crash/