Risus Paschalis

April 14, 2009

Dear St. Paul’s Family,

Heard any good jokes lately?

Until recently, American churches have overlooked a centuries-old tradition of observing the Sunday after Easter as “Bright Sunday:” a day of parties, picnics, humor, practical jokes, and general merriment.  The custom was rooted in the convictions of early church theologians such as Augustine, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom, who interpreted the resurrection as God playing the ultimate practical joke on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead.  They coined the term “Risus paschalis,” or the “Easter laugh.”

Today, a growing number of churches across the denominational spectrum have “resurrected” Bright Sunday with new terms like “Holy Humor Sunday,” or “Holy Hilarity Sunday.”   People gather in worship to share their funniest jokes and stories, enjoy light-hearted skits, sing hymn parodies, and enjoy people in costume (think ushers in clown makeup and choirs in bathrobes).  And often, the sermons are filled with one stream-of-consciousness joke after another.  Like this one:
 
A minister got up before the congregation to deliver the invocation, only to discover a problem with the microphone.  He tapped it with his hand, blew into it loudly, knocked it a few times on the altar rail, not realizing he had failed to turn it on.  While fumbling with the switch, he muttered, “There’s something wrong with this thing.”  

To which the congregation responded, “And also with you.”

The point of Holy Humor Sunday, of course, is more than just jokes and laughter.  It is an affirmation of how wonderful and surprising the resurrection really is.  Like a good joke that catches us off-guard and puts an irrevocable smile on our faces, the resurrection of Jesus can bring lightness to life’s burdens and give our souls a lift with new hope and promise.

On a recent episode of Inside the Actors’ Studio with James Lipton, late-night comedian and accomplished humor writer Conan O’Brien was asked how much of comedy was a scientific formula, and how much was sheer spontaneity.

O’Brien responded:  

“There’s definitely formulas and we all fall back on formulas. When we’re looking at a sketch and we don’t know how to end it, there’s always the seven ways that you can end it that you’ve seen before, do you know what I mean?  There’s a couple [of] moves that (writers) use, and when you’re in this business long enough, you know ‘em.  So you’re watching Saturday Night Live and I say, ‘Oh, what are they gonna do?’  And then they do one of the seven moves, and you go, ‘Oh, okay.’  

But every now and then something happens that completely surprises you.  And that doesn’t happen all the time, but you’re always looking for that crazy, random, weird ending that no one expects, that is beyond formula.  You don’t know how someone thought of it.  You’re always hoping to come up with one of those.  They don’t grow on trees, but when they come along, it’s great. (Inside the Actors’ Studio, original airdate January 26, 2009).

It’s true:  with all the jokes that we’ve heard and shared, and all the one-liners that have tickled our ribs, the Risus paschalis breaks all the rules.  The resurrection smashes the formulas of life as usual, upends our expectations, and calls us to live an entirely upside-down kind of life.  It is joy in a time that tilts toward sorrow. It is hope in a world preoccupied with despair.  Death may be the set-up, but new life is the punch line.  It’s a “crazy, random, weird ending that no one expects.”  But it’s one that everyone needs.

So, enjoy this Easter in the way it was originally intended:  with a big, hearty Risus paschalis.  And bask in the hilarity of the resurrection.

Grace, Peace, and Laughter,

Magrey