The summer is what some people in newspapers here call the ‘silly season’ when there is often a shortage of big news and all sorts of lesser stories fill the gaps. Not that this is so with terrorist attacks and floods. But I am filling this summer gap with a look at a little religion-based humour.
I spoke at a lunch the other day. A minister was asked to say grace. It was succinct and to the point, ‘Lord, bless this bunch as they munch their lunch.’
It got me thinking about humour in religious matters.
A book I have always enjoyed and in which I have found much common sense is How Do You spell God? written by television’s God Squad. It starts with a consumer warning: ‘Some of the parts of this book are very serious, but some parts of this book have been determined by independent experts to be funny. We don’t exactly know how this happened, but when we found out, we did want to warn you right away. So, if you are the kind of person who believes that religion is never funny; if you are the kind of person who thinks that it is quite all right for religions to make you cry, and feel bad about things, but never all right for religions to make you laugh…then this might be the wrong book for you.’
I naturally wanted to read on.
So, a consumer warning with these words of mine today. The summer is what some people in newspapers here call the ‘silly season’ when there is often a shortage of big news and all sorts of lesser stories fill the gaps. Not that this is so with terrorist attacks and floods. But I am filling this summer gap with a look at a little religion-based humour.
There was once a Scottish castaway, a Christian, who was stranded for a long time on a desert island. By trade a builder, he decided to while away the time erecting some buildings. By the time he was rescued he had made himself very comfortable with all he could need. He was proud to show his rescuer around. The rescuer was most impressed but also puzzled. ‘But why did you build two churches?’ he asked. ‘Oh, that’s very simple,’ he said. ‘That’s the church I go to’, and pointing to the other, said, ‘That’s the church I don’t go to.’
There was also a university professor in Scotland, and possibly this wouldn’t apply in America, who got very hot under the collar when talks on church unity, in particular between the Church of Scotland, Presbyterian, and the Episcopal Church of Scotland, Anglican, seemed to be making some progress. A colleague remonstrated with him, ‘But you’re an atheist, why is it of any concern to you?’ ‘Yes,' he reassured him, ‘I am an atheist, but I’m a Presbyterian atheist.’
You may not know that the BBC is not always put on such a high pedestal at home as it is in the US. A journalist was sent on a story to a church and needed to interview the minister who was hearing confessions. When the last penitent had gone he went forward and knelt down. ‘Excuse me, father, I work with the BBC.’ ‘Bless you,’ said the priest, ‘Thank you for coming to see me. it must have taken courage to make a confession like that.’
Sometimes a joke may work only if the audience has certain knowledge. I wonder whether you have it. The front page of The Gleaner in Kingston, Jamaica, once had a large photo of the Catholic archbishop and me enjoying a joke. The paper didn't tell their readers what the joke was. I am not sure they would all have got the point. It was about a British ambassador who had had a heavy day at the office and wanted to let down in the evening. He went to a party. When the band struck up he noticed a red dress across the hall. He went over. 'May I have the honour of this dance?' he asked. 'Certainly not,' came the swift reply. 'For three reasons. One, this is our national anthem. Two, you're drunk. Three, I am the papal nuncio.'
Lastly a parishioner, in this case an Episcopalian, was confused on some moral issues, as Episcopalians sometimes are, and went to see his bishop. When he returned, he looked brighter and was asked by his friends whether he was still confused. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but on a much higher level.’
Oh, and in case your denomination has been overlooked, how about this sign at a dentist’s surgery in Hong Kong: ‘Teeth extracted by the latest Methodists.’
Let me return to the theme of saying grace. I had a minister friend who when confronted by a magnificent feast would start, ‘Oh, God, for thy bountiful mercy, we give thee thanks…’ but when he saw an obviously meagre repast before him he would say solemnly, ‘Oh God, for these the least of all thy gifts we give thee thanks. Amen’