Why has the Church so often found humour unfunny? Is there any possible connection between St Paul and Ethel the Frog? Dyfrig Lewis does some thinking aloud about the troublesome relationship between faith and laughter.SOME TIME AGO I was doing what I normally do of a Sunday morning – sitting in front of the TV in my boxer shorts (and what a dreadful image that conjures up) – and there was one of those traditional British religious programmes on the box. You know the sort: so shallow you've no hope of drowning in it, and proof that it is possible to turn wine back into water. Anyway, on this programme they interviewed erstwhile (gosh, never used that word before) Ship of Fools contributor Adrian Plass. For those who don't know him, Adrian is famous in British Christianity for his humorous writings, which kept a lot of people sane in the mad, pompous religious world of the 80s and 90s. The first question he was asked was along the lines of: "Is it appropriate to use humour in Christianity?" This struck me at the time as quite possibly one of the most pointless questions you could have asked. How about adding: "Is it appropriate to use English in church?" and "Should Christians breathe?" Now as David Di Sabatino said in a previous article, the Christian Church hasn't done humour very well: St John Chrysostom (despite some sterling work) didn't think much of it; and St Paul didn't think it convenient (but then St Paul had this thing about women and hats that I've never quite grasped). Of course, much comedy is at odds with the Christian worldview – much of it can be destructive, denigratory and contrary to the concept of the value of human beings. But it is my contention that humour, as these very pages have shown over the last year or so is as valid a vehicle as any other not only for exchanging ideas, but also for the communicating and exploring the consequences of the Jesus story. PERHAPS IF I can use two analogous situations of which I have experience. The first analogy is hayfever. Er... no... that's wrong. The first is language. There was a belief, held by the English over several centuries, that somehow the Welsh language was not an appropriate medium for business, politics, the media, etc. – in the late 19th century children were caned for speaking Welsh in school. The second analogy is that of disability. Because I am partially sighted, most of the images of seeing and light in the Bible are irrelevant to me, as they have little connection with my experience. Much is made of the image of "light" in the scriptures and Christian writing, and yet light, particularly sunlight, is an enemy to me, as it causes glare so that I can see even less than I normally can. However, thinking about this for less than 0.57 seconds (admittedly a difficult task for most us) shows us that it doesn't matter what language you use, so long as you and your hearers understand it. It doesn't matter what metaphors you use so long as the images are capable of carrying meaning. The important question is whether what you are saying is true or not. And so it is with humour. Consider some of the better comedies of the last 20 years or so – the characters in the Young Ones, the behaviour of Frasier and his circle of friends, the pen-portraits of real people in the Fast Show. What we find is not just jokes, but some things that tell us who we are, what is wrong with us and sometimes (though not often enough) a clue as to how to make things better. I shall use just one example. Many in Britain will be familiar with the Fast Show character Rowley Birkin QC. For those who haven't heard of him, he is a drunken, pompous barrister who tells rambling stories where you can only understand about one word in five, because he mutters and he is very, very drunk. In one series, his appearances in the first six episodes were usually punctuated with semi-obscene references and bizarre tales of the British Empire. However, in the last episode of that series, Rowley reminisced about a failed love affair in his youth, a poignant, non-funny piece of drama which suddenly made you care very deeply about this character. Such is the genuine skill of the writers of this show – Paul Whitehouse and Charlie Higson – that we can truly empathise with even the most irritating of characters. There is an underlying premise to their work, and it is this: we are all in this together, we are all trying our hardest to make sense of the world. A humourist who begins with this in mind should be listened to as a possible source of truth.
THE IRONY IS that pile of clean laundry in the corner that needs doing. No... sorry... that's the ironing. The irony is that Christianity at its very best subverts our view of the world (even to the extent of subverting and critiquing itself in the light of Christ) which is something humour is very good at too. Yet Christianity and humour have never been good bedfellows. This is because, I think, humour is uncontrollable. You don't find totalitarian regimes producing good comedy for its people. Similarly, a church that has an unhealthy interest in power will be on the defensive against humour. Because humour cannot be controlled (and when it is controlled, ceases to be humour), it is seen as a threat to the whole power structure. So why should we think that humour and faith really do belong together? It is because the Christian faith is ultimately about using a different sort of power – a power that chooses to be powerless. That's dangerous talk... and it also opens the door to humour. Top of Page | Archive | Ship of Fools Central
© Ship of Fools 1999 |