FAITH & LAUGHTER

Zoe is 12 weeks old today. We are no longer forced to rely on old pictures to remind us of what "sleep" used to be like. Indeed, she sleeps through the night, and laughs in the morning. Hers is a language of unintelligble giggles and coos; though we don't always understand, we actually do, if only faintly. All things considered, she is saying with her laughter that life is funny. Were it not, there'd be only tears, which are telling and life-giving in their own way. But laugher is something else; it takes us places we enjoy revisiting, it reminds us of days when we took ourselves less seriously. And by all means, we do take ourselves too seriously.

We remember often the wonderful story in the Hebrew Bible where God -- in God's own mysterious way - visits Abraham and Sarah and promises that -- though they be old as the hills -- they will conceive and bear a son. Abraham fell on the floor in laughter, and Sarah -- hiding behind the tent door -- laughed on the inside. "No I didn't," she argued before God. "Yes, you did!" God replied. And the two wrinkled souls were given a son, and his name was Isaac, which means "laughter."

One of the best commentaries on this story that I know is a short essay by Frederick Buechner, on faith. Buechner writes, about Abraham and Sarah:

"Why did the two old crocks laugh? They laughed because they knew only a fool would believe that a woman with one foot in the grave was soon going to have her other foot in the maternity ward. They laughed because God expected them to believe it anyway. They laughed because God seemed to believe it. They laughed because they half-believed it themselves. They laughed because laughing felt better than crying. They laughed because if by some crazy chance it just happened to come true they would really have something to laugh about, and in the meantime it helped keep them going. "Faith is "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen," says the epistle to the Hebrews (11:1). Faith is laughter at the promise of a child called laughter."

So humor is the beginning of faith for the old new parents, and laughter the beginning of prayer.

We've been told since before we were expecting that, once we saw our first child smile, then laugh, life would never be the same. And we would add, "Neither will faith."

Who knows why she does it? She doesn't know enough yet to discern what is truly laughable and what is downright awful. But somehow, she responds to us, to our church family, and to our silly, nighttime songs with the biggest smile, this sweet chuckle, and eyes that close in inexplicable joy. What she is thinking, what she is feeling, what she is hoping, God only knows. And that is enough.

So laugh on, sweet Zoe girl, laugh till you cry and then some. With Ole Abe and his wrinkled bride, with the psalmists and their oozing joy, with our laughing Jesus, and his giddy gathering of disciples, we -- with this knowing 12-week old -- laugh, too, and we give thanks. There's something about being together, in God's presence and in our own skin, that is just downright hilarious. Perhaps our laughter -- sometimes refined, sometimes uncontrollable -- is the only right response to this immeasurable and ridiculous joke we call "grace," which, it turns out, is no joke at all, but is nevertheless worth smiling about.

We are learning so very much from her about ourselves and the world, about faith and laughter. It's a good thing to be attentive to. May she rub off on us, and us on you, and may we all take oursevles only as seriously as we must before falling on our faces with glad and generous hearts.

And may the world become a better place.