God's Gift of Humor

 By Ellen Connelly

A few summers ago St. Peter's had a summer film festival where several of us were asked to come on a Wednesday evening and show our favorite film. It seemed to me to be a very simple, straightforward assignment with no strings attached.  A few days before I was scheduled to make my appearance I overheard Fr. Stockton telling someone about it, and was just short of horrified to learn that the presenter would be leading a discussion with the audience about the religious significance of the film they’d chosen. If you’ve seen Waking Ned Devine you undoubtedly appreciate my concern. (If you haven’t seen it, go rent it) This film includes gambling, nudity, profanity, lying, and sex. (It also includes some spectacular scenery.) It’s one of the funniest movies I’ve ever watched, but probably not what I’d have picked had I realized what was expected.

I tend to enjoy movies and books for the story and have never been good at or enjoyed searching for hidden meanings, nor do I need to find significance in everything ... I’m not likely to be the person who will see the Virgin Mary in a pancake. So this was a real challenge. It was only after viewing the DVD several times, and enjoying it every time, that I felt I’d discovered the message: GOD WANTS US TO LAUGH.

That’s not a conclusion you would come to by reading the Bible. It only mentions laughter forty-two times. (I didn’t count. That’s from Wikipedia). Most of the time laughter is mentioned in Holy Writ it is derisive, as in Psalm 37, “ The Lord laughs at the wicked”, or cynical, as in Genesis when Abraham and Sarah both laugh at the notion they could become parents in their nineties. We even read in Ecclesiastes 7:3 that, “Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of face the heart is made glad.” 

The Bible does talk a lot about joy, but not about any hearty belly laughs. (Unless you count Abraham falling flat on his face when he got the message of his impending fatherhood.)

But does that mean that God has no sense of humor? Surely He must have. Why else would He have given the dog a tail? In Psalm 104, a magnificent paean of praise for all He created, we read that he made whales just to play in the sea. The God who turned water into wine at a wedding obviously wanted people to enjoy themselves. Life includes both sorrow and joy, and just as tears may be our answer to sorrow, laughter is our response to joy. Joy and laughter are good for us. In Proverbs, we read, “A cheerful heart is a good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones.” 

As I continued to search for something that would explain the religious significance of Waking Ned Devine, I came across this prayer by Edward Hays. It says it all.

“ Father and God of Fools, Lord of clowns and smiling saints, I rejoice in this playful prayer that you are a God of laughter and of tears. Blessed are you, for you have rooted within me the gifts of humor, lightheartedness and mirth. With jokes and comedy you cause my heart to sing as laughter is made to flow out of me. I am grateful that your son, Jesus, who was this world’s master wit, daily invites me to be a fool for your sake, to embrace the madness of your prophets, holy people and saints. I delight in that holy madness which becomes the very medicine to heal the chaos of the cosmos since it calls each of us out of the hum-drumness of life into joy, adventure, and, most of all, freedom. I, who am so tempted to barter my freedom for tiny speckles of honor and power, am filled with gratitude that your son’s very life has reminded me to value only love, the communion with other persons and with you, and to balance honor with humor. With circus bands and organ grinders, with fools, clowns, court jesters and comics, with high-spirited angels and saints, I too join the fun and foolishness of life, so that your holy laughter may ring out to the edges of the universe. 

Blessed are you, Lord my God, who invites me to be a holy fool.”

Amen

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Ellen Connelly is a most faithful Christian and wonderful aunt. She lived many years in Kerrville, Texas but has since moved to a smaller community outside of San Antonio. Each summer we visit and part of the annual ritual is movie night. Aunt Ellen has a knack for picking gems that even young great-nephews will enjoy. It is with her permission that I post this blog entry. (Originally posted 8.27.2012

Talk of the South

The other day a friend was pent up and tense, so I said something like, “You’re wound tighter than Dick’s hatband.” She froze and then proceeded to laugh.

More and more I catch myself using such expressions—in particular the ones my Mom or Dad used—which are common here in the South, but likely nowhere else. And to be clear, there are subdialects in the South that may be as different as Texas from Georgia, and certainly, Louisiana has more than one subdialect. Still, there are commonalities (scroll down after this post to see a list). As a young man, I’d have pitched a hissy fit if you told me I spoke like my parents. For you transplants from the North or other geographies, “hissy fits” are akin to tantrums. In contrast, “conniption fits” are going postal. Technically speaking, you never "have" either a hissy or conniption fit—you "pitch" them.

My three brothers and I rarely sent Mom into a conniption fit. When we did, however, her face turned red and her eyes burned like flares. She followed her growl through gnashed teeth with a demonic, “hellfire damnation!” That’s when we scattered for the hills, baby. Mom rarely used anything past “gosh!”.

But I digress. Parental-based expressions in our speech are not uncommon. Why we tend to do this as we get older is simply part of genetic continuity—as well as comfort. That’s especially true for those of us who are parents. Sometimes we go with default programming because kids tax your brain to the limit, and that programming comes from our parents. The perpetual, “Because I said so,” is a good example. The Southern version is simply, “Cuz I said so, that’s why!” Southerners like dramatic emphasis when they argue with their kids—it provides finality.

Of course, some things you just never let go of, despite your age. The iconic Southernism, “y’all” is one. However, usage differs for singular and plural. The singular is “y’all” whereas the plural is “all y’all.”

I uttered another ism when my middle son and I were replacing a flush valve in a toilet—good father and son time for Texas boys. Once we got 'er done I looked at Will with a smile and said, “Good enough for govement work, son.” I’d hear my Dad say that whenever he finished a repair. And, yes, down here the R and middle N are silent when speaking the term, "government." 

"Fix" is a quirky term, too. It can mean “to repair,” although more commonly it is used as an adverb—qualifying an action, such as, “I’m fixin’ to do the lawn,” or, “I’m fixin to go to work.” As well, “fixin” can be a noun when you add an S. “I got some fixins for the hamburgers and hot dogs.” Of course, you use fixins to “doctor” your food—that one I got from my grandmother on my mama’s side.

Family relations bring another ism into the conversation. Shaking hands with a senior Southerner, more often a woman than a man, you might be asked, “So who are your people?” That’s not an ethnic reference, simply a weird way of asking about your family lineage. Like a Klingon, you are who your family is.

You should also note that Southerners often refer to themselves in the plural. We don’t know why—maybe it stems from a limited gene pool in our rural past, or it’s just something unexplained and belonging in the X-files (Black Mirror for you twenty-somethings) of human behavior.

Southerners certainly have more isms and idiosyncrasies than Carter has little liver pills—that much I can say. These things seem to bind generations no matter how metropolitan our southern cities become or advanced we think we are. Both my parents were educated and, yet, they could sometimes sound as if they were from the sticks. Maybe that’s the secret: That Southernisms are like grandma’s pie—comfort food. When everything moves at warp speed—just kick your shoes off, set a spell, and get to jawin with a good friend or kin.

All y’all take care now, ya hear!

Note: This column originally appeared in the Bellaire Examiner, 27 June 2007.

Southernisms

A Southerner knows the difference between a hissy fit and a conniption fit, and
that you don't "HAVE" them, you "PITCH" them.

Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas,
beans, etc., make up "a mess."  

Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of
"yonder."

Only a Southerner knows exactly how long "directly" is, - as in: "Going to town,
be back directly."

Even Southern babies know that "Gimme some sugar" is not a request for the
a white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle
of the table.

All Southerners know exactly when "by and by" is. They might not use the term,
but they know the concept well.

Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a
neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin'!

Only Southerners grow up knowing the difference between "right near" and "a
right far piece." They also know that "just down the road" can be 1 mile or 20.

Only a Southerner, both knows and understands, the difference between a redneck,
a good ol' boy, and po' white trash.

No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal
is actually going to make a turn.

A Southerner knows that "fixin'" can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.

Only Southerners make friends while standing in lines, and when we're "in line,"
. . . we talk to everybody!

Put 100 Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they're related,
even if only by marriage.

In the South, y'all is singular, .... all y'all is plural.

Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.

Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are
perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried
green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.

When you hear someone say, "Well, I caught myself lookin'," you know you are in
the presence of a genuine Southerner!

Only true Southerners say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it - we do not like our tea unsweetened. "Sweet milk"
means you don't want buttermilk.

And a true Southerner knows you don't scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say, "Bless her heart," . . . and go
your own way.

And to those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this
Southern stuff, - bless your hearts, I hear they're fixin' to have classes on
Southernness as a second language!

And for those that are not from the South but have lived here for a long time,
all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls front porch that reads "I ain't from the
South, but I got here as fast as I could."

We Remember

Disasters, like any event, have attributes derived from the sting that holds each event in our memories. Their impact can be such that they instill a wariness in our collective DNA. And, sometimes those can fade as the generation that lived the experience passes on. An example is Pearl Harbor. That generation is all but gone. We remember December 7th as a nation, but few are left that can recall the surprise of an unprovoked and deceptive attack; the horror of wholesale destruction that cost 2,403 lives—both military and civilian, along with images of smoldering remnants of a once-proud fleet at anchor; and the ensuing fear that followed for months in anticipation of an Imperial Japanese invasion on the mainland. 

USS Arizona ablaze. Public domain.

My father served in World War II, so much of the wartime feelings he shared stay with me. I've certainly passed much of that on to my sons, but will their children even acknowledge the event ever happened—or understand what led to it and its lasting impact on current foreign policy? 

Hard to say.

More locally, Galveston, Texas recently observed the anniversary of the worst natural disaster to strike the United States—the 1900 storm that virtually wiped much Galveston off the map. Estimates put fatalities somewhere between 6,000 and 12,000. Much of the country is ignorant of that event but Texans, particularly those who live along the Gulf Coast, well understand the meaning and caution of that moment in history. A completely unsuspecting and unprepared population lie in the path of a horrific storm. It unleashed biblical damage and death from massive storm surge and winds. Imagine a struggle for survival so intense, so horrifying, that your entire personality might change as a consequence. 

Broadway Ave. Rosenberg Library

The next day, survivors emerged from the wreckage—the ruin. Few structures remained intact. Corpses, both human and animal, were everywhere. Disease, stench, starvation, and depression hovered a once-thriving metropolis anticipated to one day rival Manhatten. Gone--never to recover its fleeting glory. No one is left to give a first-person account of that night. We learn from diaries, interviews, and images. Still, when clouds gather in the Gulf, the memory stirs within. There've been subtle reminders from nature--Hurricane Carla in 1961, Hurricanes Rita and Katrina in 2005, Ike in 2008, and Harvey in 2017. Most recently, Laura in 2020. So in this case, we can imagine to some degree and identify with devastation.

Today we remember 911—another manmade surprise. Another out-of-the-blue disaster no one saw coming. It shares attributes most notably with Pearl Harbor. Lives lost were 2,977—and one might argue everyone an innocent. Like Pearl Harbor, 911 is a part of our foreign policy DNA. We are mortified by appalling images: People plunging to their deaths; towers aflame and collapsing on those in the streets below; a smoldering maw in the Pentagon; and a crater with remnants of Flight 93, not to mention the gut-wrenching recordings to loved ones before the crash. This one is still fresh in our collective memory. 

For each disaster, an iconic image emerges. For 911, the World Trade Center towers symbolize the day, in particular, the moment right before a second plane strikes one tower while the other spews flame and smoke from the prior collision. This now gives earlier pictures of the towers a ghostly, morbid feel. For the 1900 storm, one image stands out—Gresham's Castle, a virtually lone standing structure ruin and timber from an entire island laid waste. And, of course, Pearl Harbor leaves us with its indelible image of a mutilated battleship Arizona engulfed in black smoke and flames.

I started this intent on a completely different direction. Well, that was abandoned. So if this is going anywhere, maybe it's simply this: These events and images symbolize the worst—the worst in nature, the worst in ourselves. But then, on the flip side, comes the best in ourselves. Because humankind is really never at its best unless things are at their absolute worst. And that is worth remembering.