Humor Me - Part 10, The Ironic Grumbler

Here we go again. I haven’t had time lately to be profound – hopefully profundity is just around the corner. So, once more, we will have to survive on the thinner gruel of humor. The subject at hand is a word or two about my imminent arrival at the big “five-oh.”

I was born August 3^rd, 1959. I was a large baby – right at 9 pounds. My mom likes to remind me that I nearly killed her when I came screaming, gasping and grasping into this world...........She remembers seeing Jesus.

Even then I preferred to be left to myself in confined spaces – a trait that would prove useful to the future student, teacher & scholar I would become. I create private library annexes wherever I go – a living room, a closet, the bathroom…someone else’s bathroom – and I still do not like to be disturbed. When the “bother” of labor came knocking, mom tells me that I tried to grab a kidney on the way out. She had to undergo emergency surgery to reattach that which I had dislodged. I no longer go for kidneys, but I do grumble when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

And grumbling is something you just find yourself doing the older you get – a sort of: “You kids- get off my lawn!” mentality. I loved the movie “Gran Torino” not so much for its stellar acting, but for the grumbling. Clint Eastwood may be one dimensional in his acting, but the man can grumble. He has made an entire career of it – all the way back to “Dirty Harry.” I am just getting the hang of it. My wife would like everyone to know that I am making good progress.

I have practiced my grumbling recently over the following e-mails: “Would you like to meet hot, single, senior women in your area?’ “The AARP wants you!” And, “Make an appointment now to plan your funeral.”

I believe that there are two kinds of grumblers. One type of grumbler is humorless, mean-spirited and toxic. The other is what I would call an “ironic” grumbler. An ironic grumbler has lived long enough to see the short shelf life of trends, tastes, fads, fashions, political stars, “big ideas” and such. With wry grin, twinkle of eye and subtly lifted eyebrow he chuckles at the human condition – and at himself. I am firmly in the camp of the latter. “Vanity, vanity – all is vanity” observed Solomon from his kingly perch. The ironic grumbler says: “Hear, hear…harrumph, harrumph…guffaw, chuckle.”

One of the great mistakes we make is to relate chronological age with either wisdom or maturity. I have met wise and mature people who were in their teens. I have met people in their 60’s & 70’s who were terribly immature and unwise. But, one of the other great mistakes we make is to assume that those who laugh easily are immature - that somehow, a grave countenance signals maturity. Hogwash! (Grumble)… According to Scripture, Solomon was one of the wisest persons ever to walk the planet. He said this: “A merry heart makes a happy face…” Proverbs 15:13a; and this, “…for the merry heart, life is a continual feast.” Proverbs 15:15b; and also this: “A merry heart is good medicine…” Proverbs 17:22a. I like to think that Solomon wrote this after riding around in his chariot and saying to one of his buddies, “Hey, get a load of that…”

And this is really encouraging to me -a neophyte, ironic grumbler. For those who study comedy – irony is considered the highest form of humor because of its observational and subtle quality. (On the same comedy scale, the pun is considered the lowest form of humor, but I think that was before anyone saw a Carrot –Top routine).

And finally this - there is just the “guy thing” as it relates to humor. I have not broached this subject yet in any of these writings because of some fear of being considered crass or immature. But you know, now that I am approaching 50 – I just don’t care. A fart is just as funny to me now as it was at the age of five. A man who cannot appreciate a good blast, to him I say: “Good day sir! I said, ‘GOOD DAY.’ We have nothing in common.”

Grumble, grumble…

Humor Me, Part 9 (I can't stop)!

So…I have decided that no matter the subject on which I am blogging, I will continue to add “product” to the “Humor Me” posts – out of sync though they might be - because I cannot help myself. I am consistently amused. A good friend of mine, former NBA player and now author, Jay Carty, once said to me, “I use humor as an anesthetic to allow the scalpel of truth to cut deep.” Let’s go with that…

I was praying with a group of people some time ago and was struck once again by how we often use pre-prayer warm-ups – known as “sharing time” - to hammer someone not in the room. I just heard yesterday about a study conducted by a hearing aide company that found people’s hearing ability becomes more acute when listening to gossip. In the control group, gossip focused their attention and their auditory abilities like nothing else. It is perhaps one of the most overlooked, well-received, and readily excused and justified sins – inside and outside of the church. Although Scripture ranks gossip right up there with infidelity and murder – we tend to assume that it is talking about someone else. Our own sun-burned tongue is just sharing helpful bits of “truth” about a situation or individual.

As I was turning this over in my mind, I began to wonder what would happen if we replaced the word “gospel” with “gossip.” This is how an A.D.D. minister sometimes amuses himself in prayer meetings. I got to thinking how skilled we are at one (gossip) and how anemic we are at the other (sharing the gospel) – that perhaps we had misheard or misinterpreted the great commission. Let’s have a go at it shall we?

THE GREAT COMMISION
“Go into the entire world and preach the gossip…”
CHURCH BILLBOARDS
“We are a gossip preaching church…”
“Our church is a member of the Full Gossip Association…”
CHRISTIAN-EZE SPEAK
“Dude, I had an awesome time at the coffee shop sharing the gossip with a guy who had never heard the gossip.”
“The gossip changed my life!”
PAULINE QUOTES REDACTED
“I am not ashamed of the gossip…”
“I thank God for your fellowship in the gossip…”
“All the churches praise him as a preacher of the gossip…”

You get the point? The word “gospel” simply means “good news.” Gossip, generally speaking, infers “bad news” – and about someone else. When we measure our lives and the river of words that flow forth from our pie-holes, we need to self-examine and ask ourselves this question: which comes more easily to us – speaking the gospel or speaking the gossip?

Hey everyone – eternity awaits us and Jesus said something very noteworthy in this regard: “And I tell you this, you must give an account on judgment day for every idle word you speak. The words you say will either acquit you or condemn you.” Matthew 12:36, 37

The Psalmist David once prayed that God would set a guard over the door of his lips. We should pray no less…

Be well blessed,
-CJ

Solid, Part One

Truth always carries with it an “about.” And, we live in an “about” culture. There are experts who can tell us the truth “about”: clothes; shoes; watches; organic gardening; climate change; mufflers; fair trade coffee beans; birds; astronomy; journalism; the Rolling Stones; the Buddha; video-gaming; sunscreen; almonds; tidal waves; Mars; the Second Coming of Christ; marriage; fine wines; education, and Jessica Alba; – you name it. In the past few years, nearly any question that I have had in regard to a car repair, how to record my old vinyl records to CD, or, “What is the difference between an age-spot and melanoma?” have been answered with a few clicks of my mouse and a search of the internet.

Truth “about” subjects and objects necessarily grows exponentially, concentrically and tangentially. That is a rather complicated way of saying: the more you know, the less you know. When we accept that as a premise – and I will show you why we should - then it also follows that: the less we know because of knowing more, the more there is to know. Confused? Let me give you a simple analogy from the ancient philosophers.

Once there was a farmer who had a son. The farmer never once ventured beyond a two mile circle of his farm. Within the confines of this circle, he knew every tree, every bush, every rise and every fall of the land. As his son grew, his father passed this knowledge about “everything” on to his son. One day, the son decided to see what, if anything lay beyond the circle. As he tenuously ventured out he expanded his knowledge another 2 miles. Over his lifetime, he became an expert in regard to this four mile circle. But, he also had a son who ventured out…

This analogy demonstrates the humbling nature of the pursuit of “about”. The more we discover about the universe, whether it is through a microscope or a telescope, in a spaceship or a submarine – the more we realize that our newfound knowledge has simply placed us at the very foot of a newly unscaled mountain - and the mountains never end, nor do the inside of those mountains, nor what lies beneath them, ad. inf. According to scientists, the corpus of human knowledge doubles every 18 months. That means, by the time you finish reading this blog, you will be measurably more ignorant than when you began – as will I after having written it.

One of two things can happen to a culture that is living during a time of exponential “about” increase. We can become more humble, or, we can become enamored of our own little circle of knowledge and grow increasingly narrow and arrogant. In previous cultures, the philosophers and the prophets were honored - at least posthumously - for the very fact that they kept us humble, or at least attempted to do so with stories about farmers and circles and such. But we do not live in a time where prophets and philosophers capture either the heart, the imagination or the affection of popular culture. Things are moving too fast to slow down and consider that which we do not know. We are a culture of drive-by intellectuals.

This cultural arrogance has the unpleasant effect of creating many experts in all things trivial. To know all of the truth “about”, say… the Stick’em notepad on my desk (vis. - who invented them, how many are produced each year, the various colors in which they come) is fascinating and helpful only to a person suffering from Savant Syndrome. (Savant Syndrome, sometimes abbreviated as Savantism, is defined as a rare condition in which persons with developmental disorders - including autism spectrum disorders - have one or more areas of expertise, ability or brilliance that are in contrast with the individual's overall limitations. -Wiki) I have met both expert educators and expert drug dealers who could only seem to speak about their respective areas of expertise. Each knew the truth of their craft. Each appeared to me one dimensional in her or his own way. While one contributed to society and one fractured society – from a philosophical standpoint – both were impoverished. Their lives were defined by a mere speck of the earthbound.

I apologize for all of the heavy wading thus far, but it is important that we lay a foundation for what is ahead. One of the problems we can run into with all of this truth specialization is the “non-metaphysical” nature of it all. The main point I wish to drive home is that each of us runs the risk of defining our reality, our reason for existence, and our sense of identity, by our mastery of a tiny slice of truth. It bespeaks a culture that may have lost its imaginative stamina to search for ultimate meaning in regard to the classic philosophical question: “What is truth?” Even that question carries with it an “about.” The question actually implies: “What is the truth about truth?”

So, what of the person who sets out to find the truth about the truth? That is another matter entirely because the search itself suggests the possibility of an end reality - a solid, or form - to use the language of philosophy. However, the hope of grasping a solid begins with a metaphysical leap into the unknown. Anyone who sincerely and honestly – and most importantly, humbly – asks the question: “What is truth?” senses implicitly the metaphysical, “beyond-ness” of the question. Somehow we know that the answer will not be found merely in things we touch, taste and see. At best, these things are shadows or suggestions of the ultimate.

To find the truth about truth - which everyone from scientists to theologians seek - will be the substance and the pursuit of where we are going in this series. It is a question that brings us to the very point of ultimate concern, humility, and from the Christian faith – a unique solid. Much more to come…

Be well blessed…
-CJ

Humor Me, Part 8

“Baby, I’m alive…” - Jackson Browne, Lyrics from song, “I’m Alive.” Yes, the blogger C.J. still exists. After a mind-bendingly busy month or so, I promise now to wrap up these humble thoughts on humor. Here we go…

Foxe’s Book of Martyrs seems an odd place, perhaps a blasphemous place, to dig around for humorous things to write about – but “gallows humor” is a well-documented phenomenon. And, as I go about lifting some passages from this celebrated book of antiquity, I find myself encouraged by the good cheer these heroes of the faith demonstrated in their resolve unto death.

We begin with a chap by the name of Dr. Rowland Taylor. Dr. Taylor was an Anglican Bishop and a scholar who became the third “auto-de-fe” enacted by Queen Mary of England during her participation in what was known as the counter-reformation. An auto-de-fe (act of faith) was an actual service prescribed during the inquisition and involved the saying of the Catholic Mass; a prayer; a reading of the sentence against the purported heretic; a parade, with the condemned being marched through the streets; followed by a public execution – usually a burning at the stake. I will quote the account with a few updated words and commentary.

As Dr. Taylor is being led by horse through the town on his way to his execution, the Sheriff is pleading with him to repent of his heretical (Protestant) views, when Dr. Taylor appears to concede by saying: “Master Sheriff, and my masters all, I heartily thank you for your good-will: I have hearkened to your words, and marked well your counsels. And to be plain with you, I do perceive that I have been deceived myself, and am like to deceive a great many of Hadley of their expectations.” A great excitement ensues because the Sheriff and the Queen’s minions all believe that this great man of God is about to recant his faith. The sheriff asks if this is indeed his intent by saying, “Good master Doctor, tell it to us plainly.” To which Dr. Taylor replied, “I will tell you how I have been deceived, and, as I think, I shall deceive a great many. I am, as you see, a man that has a very great carcass, (the dude was fat), which I thought should have been buried in the Hadley churchyard cemetery. If I had died in my bed, as I well hoped I should have done – but herein I see I was deceived - there are a great number of worms in Hadley churchyard, which should have had jolly feeding upon this carrion (my dead, obese body) – which they have looked forward to for many days. But now I know we are both deceived, both I and the worms; for this carcass will be burnt to ashes and they shall lose their bait and feeding that they looked forward to.” Fox goes on to write this: “When the sheriff and his company heard him say so, they were amazed, and looked at one another, and marveled at the man’s constant mind that without any fear, made but a jest at the cruel torment and death now at hand prepared for him.”

Another story involves the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer. Cranmer was the first to compile the first two versions of the Book of Common Prayer – still in use today after many revisions. As Thomas stood before the Pope to answer charges of heresy, he still had the presence of mind to record this humorous incident. (I will have to supply a lot of editing for this old English to make sense). “When the time came that they should declare the cause of their [visit], the Pope, sitting on high in his rich apparel, offered his foot to be kissed…The Earl of Wiltshire, (a companion of Cranmer) disdaining this offer, stood still, and made no motion to the offer – so that all the rest of our company kept themselves from this idolatry. [Yet], one thing is not to be omitted, which when then chanced (came), a spaniel (dog) that belonged to the Earl of Wiltshire. He stood directly between the Earl and the Bishop of Rome. When the Bishop had set forth his foot to be kissed, the spaniel went straightway to the Pope’s feet and not only licked the same unmannerly, but took fast with his mouth the great toe of the Pope, so that in haste, the Pope pulled in his feet: our men smiling in their sleeves.” You gotta love that – you’re getting ready to be sentenced by the Pope as a heretic and: your faithful dog sucks the Pope’s toe. The soon to be condemned shove their heads into their long sleeved robes and bust out laughing like a bunch of school boys and the entire scene is recorded for posterity. Nice. If I am ever martyred for the faith, I am sure I will record something amusing as well. Cranmer’s life ends with a kind of spiritual hokey-pokey – literally. As he is condemned to be burned as a heretic, Cranmer decides to have another look at the Catholicism that he has rejected. To the surprise of everyone, he recants his Protestant faith and says, “Sign me up.” The Catholic bishops rejoice and basically say, “Welcome back brother! But you know, since we have gone to all of this trouble of booking a burning and all – we hate to disappoint, so what the heck – we’ll go ahead with our plans.” Cranmer, then being highly annoyed with himself, recants again and in effect says, “Psych! I was only kidding.” This really angers the clerics and the burning is commenced with gusto. In a last bit of irony – which is a form of humor – Cranmer offers his right hand to the fire first and lets it cook in order to demonstrate his sorrow and his repentance at having used this hand to sign the first document of recantation.

There are numerous such portraits offered in Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. One man, while already having been burned to a crisp, raises his hands in praise and begins clapping. Another preaches joyful and loving forgiveness as he is being consumed. One martyr kisses the pole on which he is to be chained and then roasted. A woman martyr smiles and notes that she is being martyred on the very day of her wedding anniversary and welcomes the flames as her second wedding ceremony as she is now about to be joined to her true bridegroom, Jesus Christ. If one can get past the macabre scenes of barrels of pitch, chains, beatings and flames – not a simple task mind you – what emerges is a consistent theme of joy and even playful jest. Each martyr has for so long meditated on the hope of heaven that the immediate prospect of suffering gives way to the joyful reality that is within minutes of consummation.

What is it we can conclude from all of these chats about humor? I can think of several things. Let’s take a last walk through on this topic…

In the ancient world, the word humor was used by physicians to describe either good blood or bad bile. If one was in “good humors”, it simply meant one was healthy. If one was in “bad humors”, it meant one was full of bile. It is easy to see how the physical root of the word humor morphed into the sense of one’s attitude toward life. A person with a good sense of humor – even at death’s door – appears healthy. While a seemingly physically healthy person – who has lost his or her sense of humor – is seen as unhealthy. As so often happens, medicine bends back on itself and our own chronological snobbery finds itself once more listening and learning from the ancients. That is especially so in regard to humor. Doctors have noted the following benefits of laughter: a good hearty laugh can help; reduce stress, lower blood pressure, elevate mood, boost immune system, improve brain functioning, protect the heart, connect you to others, foster instant relaxation, and, make you feel good.

C.S. Lewis once said that, “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” As believers, we are called upon to pray heaven down to earth. A joyless Christian is a common, but unfortunate – and might I say sinful – anomaly. We are called to bring forth the good news of forgiveness, of restoration with our Creator-Father, of a relationship with God that begins here and lasts forever, of a hope of living in eternal dance, of an attitude toward enemies that is loving and forgiving, of praying for the sick with expectations of restored health, of a God who answers prayers for the most mundane circumstances of life – and on and on it goes. As the Psalmist says of God, “[He] who daily loads us up with benefits…” (Psalm 68:19 AV) The reason many Christians are so sad and so stifled in their witness is their own ignorance, their own lack of imagination and discipline in sitting down to meditate on and pray through these great promises. It is sort of like having a great job with a month’s paid vacation, 100% health & dental coverage; a guaranteed retirement income; college tuition pre-paid by your company for you and all your family members; and then, grumbling all day about the office coffee and your parking spot. Yes, that is a picture of a joyless, humorless Christian. It is an abomination of the most heinous sort.

And this – a sort of recapitulation of some previous thoughts left incomplete. Humor is joy’s dance partner. It is the outer expression of an internal reality. Humor makes light of what this world has to offer by way of lures and loads. We KNOW that is all temporary and thus a mirage that attempts to mask reality. Paul, after referencing the many abuses he received as an Apostle of Jesus, which included: beatings, stonings, imprisonments, 5 times the victim of the cat of nine tails (39 lashes with an iron embedded leather strip), shipwrecks at sea, thefts; etc…he breezily refers to all of this as: “…these momentary light afflictions.” Hah! The point? Humor gives perspective. Humor helps our spirits take flight far above the lie that sonorously says, “This present darkness will last forever.”

I end with that joyful anthem of joy by the aged Apostle, Paul…”What can we say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son (that’s how much He loves us!) but delivered Him up for us all, how will He not freely give us all things?...For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels or demons, nor things present, nor the things to come (all the crap we worry about), nor powers, nor heights or depths, nor any created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:31,32 38,39 If that didn’t make you at least smile, pull over – stop EVERYTHING you’re thinking and doing right now - and read it again, and again, and again until you get it. I promise – you soon be filled with “good humors.”

Much Love & Be Well Blessed…
-CJ
P.S. My next Blog series is called: “Solid.” I won’t give anything away just yet – but pray that it flows well…and soon! See you around & keep laughing.

Humor Me, Part 7 (A Mere Rant)

Alrighty then…a rant I shall give. A little over a year ago I began to hear a certain word used to describe pretty much everything. Within the space of a couple of minutes, a young person with whom I was conversing mentioned something about the “amazing “cookie she was eating. After that, she said that a class she was taking was equally “amazing.” In short order, some person she had met was, you guessed it…”amazing.” I thought to myself that either this person was easily amazed or, poor dear, she had a very limited supply of adjectives.

It was actually much worse than either of those. This lovely young college student had contracted a nasty case of “tired word” disease. Whether she was the host, the “Typhoid Mary” as it were of a new contagion, or if this was an isolated case, I had no way of knowing. But my suspicion turned out to be correct. Before too long, “amazing” became the super adjective – infecting an entire nation.

I received an e-mail just the other day that began with: “Hello Amazing Pastors…” and it went on to describe the “amazing” ecumenical prayer meeting in which we had recently participated. The recent inauguration was filled with “amazing” declarations as well; to wit: “It is an amazing day for America;” “The scene at the Mall is amazing;” “Michelle Obama looks amazing;” “Aretha Franklin was just …amazing;” “As has already been mentioned, Barak is an amazing dancer.”

Yes, I have been following the ubiquitous outbreak of “amazing” like a crazed scientist at the National Center for Disease Control tracking an outbreak of Ebola. But the analogy breaks down. Ebola just kills people. A tired word makes life tedious and not worth living.

Alright, that was hyperbolic. But seriously, am I the only one who feels a little bile in the back of the throat when it comes to overused, trendy expressions? My wife is a school teacher. On her blackboard she has written a series of words with the heading: TIRED WORDS. These include, but are not limited to the following: “awesome, cool, amazing, nice, good, & sweet.” She corrects the students if they happen to use them in conversation or in a paper. The whole class is allowed to shout out, “Tired word! Tired word!” In my mind this is a proper use of scorn. We must begin early or one of these children might grow up to become a broadcaster for MSNBC.

C.S. Lewis once said, “Verbicide, the murder of a word, happens in many ways. Inflation is one of the commonest…” Studies In Words, chapter 1, pg.7 I couldn’t agree more. How many people really know the etymology of the word: “amazing?” The original meaning of the word lies right before our eyes if we will simply break apart the strong intensive prefix “a” from the second part, “maze.” A “maze” comes from the Old English word, amaison, which meant: “to stupefy, to bewilder, or to make crazy.” This was the common usage of the word in the 13th century, 1230 to be exact. Its more common meaning in today’s vernacular of: “great beyond expectation” didn’t show up until 1704. So, for a little over 400 hundred years, an “amazing cookie” was one you probably would not want to eat. To be described as an “amazing dancer” would make sense only if you saw ME dancing.

As I was warming up to the idea of writing this blog, a good friend of mine (and yes, he is “good”) asked what I would make of the song: “Amazing Grace.” I considered that pedantic meddling on his part. Growing up in the buckle of the Bible Belt, the song “Amazing Grace” was like the Baptist National Anthem. Here I was – about to launch a righteous tirade against a tired word, and my “good” friend presents me with a moral dilemma. Was I now to downgrade this most beloved song because of my own pet peeve?

But then I began to think that maybe, the author of this great song, John Newton, knew what he was up to. He wrote the lyrics to this song and presented each verse as an outline for a sermon he gave on New Year’s Day in 1775. The very first verse makes a strong argument for the original meaning:

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”

To John Newton, and to me, grace is “stupefying & bewildering.” It doesn't make sense. Is it also “beyond expectation?” Sure. I am big enough to grant that meaning. But…doesn’t the original meaning of the word give the whole concept of grace just a little more gas? God’s grace in my life does "stupefy and bewilder" a wretch like me. I don’t deserve it. He gives it freely. And, from what I can report thus far in my journey, this grace is never ending.

That is truly amazing.

(As a bonus to this blog, please enjoy the following link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMVxzEueJ6A)

Be well blessed...

-CJ

Humor Me, Part 6

This is a “tweener” post. I am still dealing with humor, but not yet ready to crack the code in regard to the surprisingly humor-filled book known as Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. Perhaps I will get to that later this week. No, I wanted to pass along this story while it is still fresh. Funny stuff happens and it sometimes gives us a glimpse into the Father’s heart. Perhaps this story will bring a smile and some encouragement to your day.

I woke up this morning in a foul mood. I am not sure why – exactly. Just one of those, “Stay out of my way…I need to go fester, fester, fester all by myself” kind of funks. I hope you can relate.

I decided to go hit the gym. Jan and I gave gym memberships to each other for Christmas. A gift of love – almost as good as the vacuum cleaner I bought Jan for Valentine’s Day when I was a poor seminary student. For some reason she enjoys telling that story to roomfuls of women. The story has made her much happier than did the vacuum cleaner.

The gym has been great for foul moods. At least being sore gives one an excuse for foulness. For the first time in my life I had 200 pounds well within my reach – especially following the holidays. The only exercise I had been getting was the primal scream therapy each morning as I passed by the mirror - thinking a dumpy, naked man had entered my bathroom. I weighed 135 when Jan and I got married. She used to refer to me as her “Skinny Little Husband.” It has been some time since she has used that endearing phrase. I have suspected a new moniker has already formed in her nimble brain, but because she is fine Christian woman, she has held back.

Anyway…I began my morning routine on a cardio machine - a treadmill. The old ones were really boring. This one is spiced up quite a bit to help pass the time while walking in place. It has a TV monitor and an iPod docking station. I usually use the iPod.

Now, to get the iPod going you have to start the work-out program. It begins at a snail’s pace while you fiddle with your settings. Here is where a crisis of pride sets in. I have owned an iPod for 2 years and have just started messing with it. I have had other people load up songs on it for me. Being a “Rev.” people would assume I would want a few gigs of worshipful music. Not so. I find a lot (not all) of Christian music predictable and sometimes boring. I would say that 2/3 of my iPod music is merrily agnostic. Anyway…the pride thing sets in by how long you sense you are allowed to fiddle with your iPod before your work-out begins. Being the paranoid type, I assume people are timing me and rolling their eyes while I take one laborious step after another and squint and poke at the little buttons and arrows.

To speed things up, I have just hit the go/all button and have been treated each and every time to the tormented life of Alanis Morissette’s first and best album, “Jagged Little Pill.” A lot of the words would make a sailor blush. For those familiar with the album, I end my cardio cool down with the song, “Ironic.” (Chorus: “It’s like rain on your wedding day. It’s a free ride when you’ve already paid. It’s the good advice that you just didn’t take. And who would have thought it? It figures.”). It is angry music - but strangely playful. It has served me well the first few weeks of working out.

This morning, there was no one around. I thought to myself, “I have time to fuss with this because the last thing I need is Morissette angst.” For once, I noticed the shuffle option. Somewhere in my deep heart of hearts I prayed, “Go God.” “Go God” is my default prayer when I don’t really feel like praying. It is similar to the wind and finger method of Bible study: “God, if you want me to hear from you – open the Bible where you want and reveal to me Your mighty wisdom.” (I was encouraged to hear that Jonathan Wesley actually did this from time to time). As I touched the shuffle mode on my iPod, I said the “Go God” thing.

Here’s what happened: God possessed my iPod and bombarded me with songs from the brethren: Dave Crowder; Steve Bell, Michael W. Smith, and Paul Baloche – each singing their joyful salutes to the Lord of hosts. But, it gets better. I hate the treadmill and am very particular about ending after 20 minutes so I can do all the fun, grunty stuff that men like to do in gyms. I hit the cool down button where you just shuffle along for about four minutes. Guess what song came on at exactly the moment I pressed the cool down button?-Ironic, by Alanis Morissette – my old “ending” tune. That’s God just showing off.

The word, ironic, is defined as: “incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.” I sort of expected God to be in the same mood as me. If I woke up foul, then I was pretty sure He was in a smiting mood. (I wonder how many sermons have gone all Cotton Mather because a particular preacher had a bad week). I know that we tend to do this with people. Somehow, when we are in a ratty mood, we project the black ooze within us onto everyone else. In spite of what we have heard, misery really does NOT “love company.” Misery despises company and pushes them down the stairs.

God pulled some irony on me today. God is not unlike a parent who takes a child, who is pitching a hellish fit, and attempts to re-direct his or her angst with humor. He is, after all, a Father. And we, even the best of us, are still infants. Of the hundreds and hundreds of songs in my iPod, God sent me four as a sort of “I dare you not to smile.” – A bit of Divine incongruity between what I expected and what actually occurred. Ironic, huh?

Humor Me, Part 5

Humor is, as I have mentioned, a gift from God. Humor can take almost any situation and somehow blunt the horror or the sadness of an event with a prescient & witty observation. We call our friends to cheer us up, to lighten our day, to make us laugh. We don't call them with the hope of hearing tales of woe and burning worlds. I have heard incredibly funny stuff at the bedside of a terminally ill, bed-ridden cancer patient - from the patient himself. I have experienced the joy and the relief of laughter at a funeral. Now, no one in the room was so calloused that they denied the physical and emotional torment of the moment – but humor did somehow expose this great truth – that the suffering was a moment.

Humor reminds us that suffering is not the norm. Tragedy invades us, and as one writer said, “surprises us.” The very reason that suffering seems invasive and surprising is due to the fact that our God is a good God who desires good for His creation. When it doesn’t play out that way, we are, naturally, surprised. Humor nudges us back to the truth that suffering is irregular & temporal – thus ultimately less powerful than joy. (Joy is eternal humor – the best kind to shoot for).

My dad relayed a wonderful story to me recently that involved a roomful of my Irish Aunties and my Irish Granny. All of them have long departed this earth – sad – right? But, somehow the anecdotes from their life lessen the loss I feel for each of them. They still somehow live through the gift of humor. Here goes the story…

The Riley sisters were gathered in Chicago at the home of Aunt Maude. My grandmother, Juanita (Note: Here is something funny - Grandma wouldn’t allow anyone to pronounce this beautiful Spanish name the way it was supposed to be pronounced. She insisted that it be pronounced: juh–night-uh!) had made the trek up to Chicago from her farm in Northeast Missouri. Also in the room was my Aunt Virgie. Aunt Virgie had gone totally Chicago –gladly betraying her humble rural origins. I saw pictures of her from the roaring twenties. She was a genuine “flapper.” Aunt Maude, who also lived in Chicago, had settled into the “Archie Bunker”, working class, section of Chicago. My Grandma remained unchanged throughout her life. She was a single mom who had raised her only child (my mom) and somehow kept the family farm solvent while going through the Great Depression and the death of her husband. To get these three together always provided ample opportunity for the most outrageous conversations.

My parents happened to be there on the day the sisters were gathered. Unfortunately, my dad was suffering from a nasty headache and had retired to a couch while the sisters visited. As he lay there suffering, he listened in as the three sisters carried on what seemed to be three different conversations at the same time. Finally someone brought up a name that all the sisters knew. This brought unity and focus to the conversation. Gossip always does. I will share with you the conversation as my dad relayed it to me…

Aunt Maude: “Well, you know...she has to shave now. (Long pause) She has a mustache…” (Another long pause)
Aunt Virgie: “That’s because of those 'harmones' (sic)…”
Grandma: “ Harmones HELL…She’s FRENCH!”

In spite of the splitting headache, my dad began to convulse in laughter – as did I when I heard the story. The funeral for my beloved, feisty, quirky, Irish granny was a moment in time. This story transcends time.

One of the most consistent themes in the voluminous writings of CS Lewis was the issue of joy. It was he who said this: “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” (Letters To Malcom: Chiefly on Prayer, p.93) Lewis never dismissed the notion of suffering. In fact, he wrote about it extensively. But, he never believed in the notion of suffering as a natural antecedent to joy. He spoke of it more in terms of a temporary vapor that would not withstand the light of day. Joy is eternal. Suffering is ephemeral.

The gospel of Jesus Christ is called “the good news.” It is referred to prophetically as the “glad tidings which bring great joy.” If joy is the serious business of heaven, Jesus is the poster child of that great enterprise. “…Because of the joy awaiting Him, he endured the cross, despising the shame.” Hebrews 12:2 Followers of Him take note…

Of all the people in the world who should be the least depressed and the least sidetracked by the vagaries of this life – it should be the person who not only has placed his or her faith in the glad tidings – but who is now internally & eternally connected with that source. Being a Christian is not the mental ascent to a preferred set of beliefs or values. It is not even really about trying hard to be good. Being a Christian means that you have allowed yourself to become inhabited by joy itself. A persistently “depressed believer” is an oxymoron. We’ve neither the commission nor even the right to carry such a burden. Our only commission is to carry Him.

Be Well Blessed…
-CJ

(Note: The next Blog on Humor – Part 6 – will examine that super hilarious book: Foxe’s Book Of Martyrs)