It's Okay to Laugh Again

On Saturday I stumbled onto a new-to-me podcast called Good Hang with Amy Poehler. The episode I happened to play featured Law & Order: SVU’s very own Mariska Hargitay — that's right...Olivia Benson herself.

As Amy and Mariska talked, I found myself laughing out loud. I'm talking the real, from-the-gut kind of laughter that sometimes, inexplicably, can lead to snorting — that deep, physical laughter that moves through the whole body.

Honestly, my response startled me a little. Particularly as I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed that hard. It's something that stuck with me.

Later that evening, I found myself gravitating toward one of Tig Notaro’s comedy specials and pressed play. Her wry storytelling, her timing, the way she threads grief and absurdity into the same breath — it absolutely cracked me up...again. I laughed, and I laughed some more. And with each laugh came something I hadn’t expected: Release.

Scripture has its own moments of laughter. Sarah laughed when she heard she’d bear a child in her old age — not out of disrespect, but disbelief that joy could find her again. Abraham laughed too, though his was a quieter laugh, perhaps laughter tinged with wonder. Job laughed at the absurdity of his own suffering and the smallness of human answers. Even God, the psalmist says, laughs — not cruelly, but with a knowing that sees the whole picture even when we can’t.

Laughter has always lived side by side with lament. There is a reason why the comedy and the tragedy masks are always pictured side-by-side, after all. The two belong together, not as opposites but as companions. Grief reminds us what we’ve lost; laughter reminds us what’s still possible. Both are ways of telling the truth. Both help us keep going.

As a community of faith, we’ve carried each other through a lot...especially lately. We’ve wept, served, prayed, and just held space for each other. All are quietly courageous acts in their own right. And yet, I can't shake the notion that maybe the next act of courage we are being called to engage in together will lead us beyond grief, prayer, and service. Maybe our next step--individually and collectively--is to let joy back in — to laugh at something ridiculous and then notice how healing sneaks in through humor.

So here’s to that--to podcasts and comedy specials and holy laughter that reminds us we’re still here — still alive, still capable of joy. More than one thing can be true at once:  Our hearts can be breaking, AND it's okay to laugh again. We can miss someone desperately, AND we can welcome joy when it comes. The world can feel too ugly and cold, AND bad news not the only thing that can be shared--so can laughter, so can J-O-Y.

So, my friends, the prayer I'm saying this week for each and every one of us is simply this: May our hearts remember how to laugh. May our laughter become prayer. May joy find its way back into our bones, and may we be reminded that hope can (and does!) begin again and again and again. Amen.

Letting myself laugh again with you,
​Pr. Melissa

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