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On the Origin of InterfaithLaughter Night

Planning my community's annual interfaith Thanksgiving gathering brought me some surprises. My hope was that the event would include a wide variety of religious traditions. In Oshkosh, Wisconsin, variety can be hard to find. eighty percent of Wisconsinites are either Lutheran or Roman Catholic. I started by meeting leaders of different faiths for coffee.

First I met Saad at Starbucks. Saad is a member of a small Islamic group in town. We drank our coffee and found that we have a lot of things in common. Both of us

are married,

drink coffee,

are in our mid-40s,

have kids in public schools,

work too many hours,

graduated from Big Ten schools,

grew up in places that start with

“P” [Pakistan, Peoria],

are active in faith communities.

And both of our faith communities bought funeral homes!

My congregation was fortunate to have the money to buy the funeral home that sat next door to our building since 1915. The home was losing business because they did not have a crematorium on site. The owners built a new, modern facility on the far side of town, and my congregation bought the old building and tore it down. Now we have “The Green Space” for congregational events.

Saad's community bought a funeral home that was underused. It is on a busy street, across from a high school. The neighbors were very anxious about Muslims moving in. The neighbors did not want to hear car doors slamming. People who attend funerals do not slam their car doors, but who knows about Muslims? The pastor of a church down the street from the funeral home raised questions about drainage. In recent years Oshkosh has suffered several flash floods; drainage is on everyone's mind. Still, I was baffled by the pastor's idea that this was a reason to block Saad's community from purchasing the funeral home. “Do Muslims drain differently from Christians?” I wondered. There really is no polite way to ask that question.

After spending two hours together, Saad and I headed home to our families. As I was putting on my jacket, I said, “Saad, I've laughed a lot tonight. Are you always this funny?”

“Well, my wife does not think so.”

“Neither does mine! There's something else we have in common.”

A few days later, I met a Witch for lunch. I had never met a Witch before, though I am pretty sure that my high school English teacher who assigned Ivanhoe over Christmas break qualifies. I was not apprehensive about meeting a Witch, but I had my doubts about her religious tradition. Do Witches go to seminary? Are they licensed, accredited, ordained? As we tucked into our quesadillas and started to get to know each other, she said, “We tell jokes about ourselves.”

Snap! In that instant, her tradition became authentic to me, and I trusted my new friend. We had a great time meeting each other. Before we returned to our offices, we wrote a joke together.

A Presbyterian minister and a

Witch walk into a bar.

Minister says, “Gimme a brew.”

Witch says, “That's my line!”

I was puzzled that telling jokes at one's expense validated this religious tradition in my mind. It is not a conclusion that makes obvious sense. As I pondered this idea for the next few days, I came up with some theories. People who can tell jokes at their own expense can see themselves from other perspectives. They understand that to other people their beliefs might seem nutty, and in acknowledging their nuttiness, they allow others to be nutty in their own ways. They are confident in their beliefs, but also tolerant and accepting of the beliefs that others hold. I like to think of this as .38 Special Theology, as those wild-eyed Southern rock star theologians sang in the ‘80s. People who can take a joke “hold on loosely” to their identity, leaving themselves room to grow.

Being able to laugh at oneself is the best antidote to fanaticism. Usually when religion is in the news, it is because of the actions of individuals who are certain that they are both right and righteous. It is not the sense of righteousness, but the certainty that makes religion dangerous. I'm pretty sure no one ever shouted, “I could be wrong!” before detonating a backpack of explosives in a crowded market or setting fire to a stack of holy books.

As I met leaders of other faith traditions in my town, I started to expect that we would laugh. I realized that laughter was a way to build connections with people. After we had laughed together, we were ready to plan our Thanksgiving festival. Laughter has subtle power to bring people together. Laughter's power can also be used to harm others. Everyone has known the pain of being laughed at as opposed to laughed with. Ridicule and mocking can be as hurtful as verbal abuse. Humor must be used carefully, even gently. But when used well, humor does so much good.

We held our Thanksgiving event at the Grand Opera House in downtown Oshkosh. It is a beautiful building, an architectural gem. The opera house is the only building on the National Register of Historic Places that was once a pornographic movie theatre. (In a small town, one enjoys one's distinction where one can.) Since “the Grand” is owned by the city, it is no one's sacred space. A week before the event, the Grand's community relations staffer called me to ask if he should open the concession stand.