Joy in the crucible.
Finding grace where grief and laughter meet.
In a newsletter for Christianity Today published in November of last year, Russell Moore offered a trenchant reflection on grief and hope and the laughter that’s found in unexpected places — namely, at funerals, of all places. It might be odd, even disrespectful, to think of laughing at such a venue. Funerals are uncomfortable enough, but a mistimed attempt at humor has the potential to agitate and deepen the tension, which is already cumbersome enough. Speaking from experience, though, having officiated more funerals than weddings during my time in pastoral ministry, there is something profoundly gracious about being able to chuckle at what is otherwise disconsolate and dark.
There have been more than a few times when standing in the rear of the sanctuary while waiting for the funeral proceedings to get underway that I will overhear friends and family of the deceased laughing as they share stories all about the one who is no longer with them. This, I think, is the epitome of what the Preacher says in Ecclesiastes 7:3 (CSB), where he asserts, “Grief is better than laughter, for when a face is sad, a heart may be glad.” The notion that grief is “better than” laughter is an unsavory suggestion, to say the least. But what the Preacher intuits is that for those whose existence is little more than a “mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (James 4:14), Death reminds us that life itself is a gift of grace.
To put it another way, in the veritable absence of life, we are made to see the pervading comedy of what it means to be alive. Rather than seeing grief and laughter as polar opposites on the spectrum of existence, the beauty of life itself is often found in their convergence. (This, by the way, is the enduring lesson of one of my favorite entries in the Pixar film catalog, Inside Out.) Here’s how Russell Moore put it:
If all that you see is comedy, you are in denial. If all that you see is tragedy, then you are in despair. But if you see them both, you will learn how to both laugh and cry — and sometimes to do both at the same time. You will see that the darkness around you (and sometimes within you) is real. But you will also see that it is not ultimate.
A little bit of gallows humor can break the spell, just for a moment. It can remind us that even when we laugh, there is much that is broken — and that even when we cry, underneath it all, there is joy.
A moment of laughter in grave times can shake us out of the fear that can come when we look for signs of God’s presence in a fallen universe. It can remind us that the sign is the absence itself — and of the pain of longing that it evokes. A little bit of humor in a dark time can shake us to hear the words our mothers in the garden needed to hear 2,000 years ago: “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you . . .” (Luke 24:5–6, ESV) . . . A lot of dark humor can make us cynical, but a little bit of it can help us remember that on the other side of the valley of the shadow of death is a wedding — a party so full of laughter that we will never again think of any gallows, other than the cross that made everything sad come untrue.
To remix what I wrote at the beginning of last year, laughter isn’t an escape from grief but often emerges out of it. “The place to best learn and most easily hear the gospel (and, in turn, preach it),” Ken Sundet Jones once wrote, “is in the middle of life’s crucible: in our brokenness, failures, and death” (98). “Joy,” the late Henri J. M. Nouwen attested, “never denies sadness, but transforms it into fertile soil, for more joy” (116). God’s grace permeates every square inch of our existence but is even more acutely felt in the depths of sorrow and loss. Life isn’t without sad times, and not only is that okay but there is also grace to be found in droves in those times because that is where Christ dwells; that is where God is often found.
If this piques your interest, I encourage you to grab a copy of my book, Finding God in the Darkness: Hopeful Reflections from the Pits of Depression, Despair, and Disappointment, where I talk about the convergence of faith and depression and the grace that’s found there.
Grace and peace to you.
Works cited:
Ken Sundet Jones, “Luther’s Heidelberg Disputation: A Little Course on Preaching,” Handing Over the Goods: Determined to Proclaim Nothing But Christ Jesus & Him Crucified: Essays in Honor of James Nestingen, edited by Steven D. Paulson and Scott L. Keith (Irvine, CA: 1517 Publishing, 2018).
Henri J. M. Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming (New York: Doubleday, 1992).
Amen