A Good Sense of Humor Is a Gift

It’s a tool that can build, destroy or break the tension

I often find myself being embarrassed by my sense of humor. I don’t mean that I’m rude or insensitive when telling jokes or making fun of others. I mean, I find myself being amused at times when I should be serious.

While I was in seminary, the school had a rather big issue regarding relationships. The school housing had apartments for married folks. The school was debating the rights and privileges of couples, heterosexual and homosexual, cohabitating in a single apartment.

I cannot remember which side of the issue the school was proposing, but a large contingent of students and faculty supported the other side. This was so disruptive to the learning atmosphere that the school decided to hold an open forum to discuss it.

A majority of students and some faculty gathered in a large open lounge. The president and dean of the school were present as observers. The forum was run by student representatives and faculty members who had been on the council debating the issue.

The meeting began and quickly became very contentious. There were strong opinions on both sides.

Tensions were high.

The school was a seminary whose goal was to train spiritual leaders. That meant a lot of spiritual discernment and tension swirling around us.

At one point, a comparison was made between the prejudice of people of color and the prejudice of LGBTQ folks.

Prejudice is prejudice. It means to pre-judge something, especially someone, based on a stereotype or preconceived idea. You don’t know, but you think you know. Your mind jumps ahead, trying to make sense of and control any situation. This is an assumption based on prior understanding. The prior understanding could be true, but in the case of prejudice, it is almost always not true.

The seminary was diverse. There were students from all around the world. The school was proud of its diversity.

As an institution studying spiritual practices to be authentic, diversity lends itself to incorporating many ideas. It was fruitful for open discussions that led to greater understanding.

During this meeting, I sat beside one of my classmates. We had been in several classes together, sharing many personal experiences and praying for each other. I was a white, middle-aged, middle-class male from a small Midwest town. She was an African American, middle-aged lawyer from Atlanta, Georgia.

As the heated discussion continued, one student, making the comparison between people of color and LGBTQ, brought up the segregation that appeared in our cafeteria.

It wasn’t forced or purposeful. It came about naturally. The smaller number of African Americans would gather at one particular table while the rest of us spread out throughout the room.

Sometimes, I ate with another individual, and we would move to a corner for a more private conversation. Sometimes, I sat with a larger group of fellow students to continue a discussion we had begun in class. More than once, because I was conversing with an African American student, I was invited to sit at the table (the one particular table) where the African American students sat.

There were other times when my African American friends were invited to sit at different tables as we continued our conversations.

Rarely did anyone sit alone.

However, when nothing was happening, one particular table remained where African Americans gathered.

So when the white student brought up the fact that we appeared segregated during our meal times, she commented that the African Americans sit at the same two or three tables.

At this point, my friend said under her breath, “Two or three tables? How about just one?”

She didn’t mean for me or anyone else to hear it, but I did. I knew her for famously making such snarky comments in class and our conversations. They were humorous and meant to break the tension and reveal the truth. I loved such comments from her.

I found her under-the-breath comment funny and began to giggle. She quickly turned toward me, realizing she had been heard, but I could not help myself. When she realized my reaction was an affirmation of what she said, she began to giggle, too.

Despite our best efforts, we could not stop laughing for the next 20–30 seconds.

You know what that is like. In the middle of something serious, something funny hits you. The very thought of laughing or giggling at such a serious time makes it even more difficult to stop yourself. The more you try to control it, the more funny the whole idea becomes.

“A sense of humor is the ability to find delight and comfort in discovering the contradictions between the world as it is, and the world as we believe it should be.”[1]

I reached out my hand between our chairs, and she grabbed it. We sat together, trying to compose ourselves and return our attention to the serious discussion.

Our giggling softly interfered with the debate raging around us. The person speaking slowed and paused and glanced our way. Others turned to see what this minor disturbance was.

What could be funny about any of this?

That meeting did not change much, if anything. People’s opinions were not swayed. The policies being rewritten then have been rewritten again and will undoubtedly be rewritten in the future.

Later, I thought of what a vision my friend and I had made. What a spectacle against the backdrop of the serious issue of human rights.

An African American woman and a middle-aged white male holding hands and giggling. I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit, and I believe she did, too.

These days, humor has a very dark side. Politicians and talking heads use humor to demean the opposition. Roast, comic insult galas to acknowledge another person, seem aptly named. Rather than being a part of a solution, humor has become a weapon that perpetuates the problems we are all trying to address.

However, the universe laughs.

God’s humor, that sense of letting go and reorienting, is impressive when experienced.

A good sense of humor, though experienced differently in different cultures, is not man-made. It’s a gift. It’s a tool that can build, destroy, or break the tension. It depends on the character of the person telling the stories.

[1] Jonathan Shapiro, How to be Abe Lincoln, American Bar Association, www.shopABA.org, P 22