One old man, meaning he’s
about my age, asks me every Sunday when we encounter each other in a hallway or
the sanctuary at St. Mark’s, “You have any jokes today?”
Well, no, I don’t, but I
understand his confusion.
When I preached my final
sermon, almost a year ago now, I said some funny things as I conducted worship,
and I told some humorous stories in the sermon.
I also did some funny
things. I had to get two big college boys from the choir—a tenor and a
baritone—to help me get up after the children’s time because I had made the
mistake of sitting down on the floor. Old people not only say funny things, we
are fun to watch.
We laughed together a lot
during that hour. One woman said after worship that day that I am a stand-up
comedian. I take that as a compliment, because the best stand-up comedians
don’t just throw disconnected one-liners, one after another, the way Bob Hope
or Henny Youngman used to do. They tell stories.
I’m not opposed to
stand-alone jokes. They can be funny. But I think the best humor comes in story
form. My friend at church rightly wants to laugh, so he asks me for a joke. I
used to tell jokes, and that’s okay, but now I tell stories, and I doubt that
either Ken or I could stand up long enough without falling over for me to tell
him a story. [When I wasn’t being helped by choir members when I preached last
February, I hung onto the pulpit with both hands.]
That reminds me of the
story of the man who fell off a cliff and had grasped onto an exposed tree limb
by one hand. “Help,” he cried. “Is there any one up there?” “Yes, I’m God. I’m
up here.” “Help me, God,” the man cried. “Okay,” said God, “let go of the
limb.” The man looked down and then called, “Is there anyone else up there?”
That story is funny, and
it does not require explanation. We’ve all hung onto that limb at one time or
another.
Randy Estes, our son by
reverse adoption [he adopted us] recently posted a piece about what happens to
our brains as we tell or listen to stories. What happens is good. On stories,
our brains are more fully engaged than in any other kind of listening. They
release dopamine, that “drug” that makes us feel pleasure. Our brains get
healthy on stories.
There is an old preacher
story about old preacher stories. Back in the days of a “swapping” economy in
rural places, one church member asks a member from another church, “What do
preachers do at those conferences they go to?” “They trade stories.” “Hmm, I
think our preacher gets cheated.”
Well, that’s okay. A bad
story is better than no story. We find our place in The Story by hearing and
telling the stories. If no one else will listen to your story, let go of the
limb and tell it to God.
John Robert McFarland
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