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"A sense of humour is the philosophy
of the unbeaten."
Clergymen have always been good targets of the
would-be occasional comic and of the professionals as well.
They take the stories against themselves in good part. They
recognise the therapeutic value of smiling often and laughing
frequently. On occasion they retell the stories for they know
that people enjoy the piece of nonsense which is forever in
the good joke. After all they are among those who see life
as it is tragic and funny. "The web of our life is of
mingled yarn, good and ill together."
Humourists are our benefactors for they soften with mirth
the ragged inequalities of life. They have no respect for
persons - the proud are inflated and the humble exalted.
They show people as they are in their weaknesses and strengths
- their cruelties, hypocrisies and generosities.
There is, of course, the down side of a humour unworthy of
the name for it is sacriligeous, malicious, racist and indecent.
The best things in life are always in danger of being abused
and misused. "Men show their character in nothing more
clearly than by what they find laughable."
"The fun of the cloth" is that nonsense in which
good humour is sometimes made to make people think of the
serious which always shadows the frivolous. There is a subtilty
in humour. It has a wisdom of its own.
Most clergy believe that "the laughter of people is
the contentment of God."
Don Lewis's book "More Reverend Sirs, Ladies and Gentlemen"
is a compilation of irreverent parables and light-hearted
anecdotes. There is this one. A curate about to leave a parish
for a charge of his own received a going away present of a
silver tea service. In his thanks for the gift he began, "I
will not call you ladies and gentlemen for I know you too
well for that."
A vicar was so embarrassed when his curate became the love
of the ladies of the parish that he asked him to seek another
post. "No need," said the curate, "there is
safety in numbers." "That's were you're wrong,"
explained the vicar, "your only safety is in Exodus."
Dean Jonathan Swift visited the Three Crosses Inn where he
found the landlady most offensive. Before he left he used
his diamond to write on the window,
To the landlord. There hang three crosses at thy
door, Hang up thy wife and she'll make four.
At his marriage Bishop George Reindorp said: "My wife
is a medical doctor, and I'm a doctor of divinity. So you
might call ours a marriage of body and soul."
Announcements in church are commonplace. Occasionally, one
raises a smile when it goes like this, "On Friday the
Mother's Union will hold a jumble sale. This is a chance for
all the ladies ..... to get rid of anything that is not worth
keeping, but too good to be thrown away. Don't forget to bring
your husbands."
Frederick Temple when Bishop of London made it a practice
to celebrate the Holy Communion at the North End of the Holy
Table. Visiting one of his churches he was told by a "courageous"
vicar: "My Lord, it is the custom of this parish for
the celebrant to take the Eastward position." He was
informed: "It will not be the custom this morning."
Charles King Irwin, the former Church of Ireland Bishop of
Connor, never wasted a word. He had a letter from a curate
who wanted to change churches. He gave two lengthy reasons
for his request. The reply was 1) No. 2) No.
Newport White, the church historian, accosted by a rude American
looking for a certain place in the Shelbourne Hotel, Dublin,
directed him. "Take that corridor, turn left at the bottom,
you will see a door marked Gentlemen, don't let that deter
you, that's the place."
Dean A.L. Myles, Tullylish, spoke of young clergy holding
his hand and feeling his pulse. That reminds me of:
"A vicar, long ill, who had treasured up wealth.
Told his curate each Sunday to pray for his health.
Which oft having done, a parishioner said, that the
curate ought rather to wish he were dead. 'By my troth,'
said the curate, 'let credit be given I ne'er prayed
for his death but I have for his living.'"
It could have happened to a cleric who said, "I have
lost my protmanteau
"I pity your grief. It contained all my sermons,
I pity the thief."
A clergyman, compelled to raise much money for his parish,
said: "My epitaph should read, 'Last of all the beggar
died also.'"
Curran, the Dublin barrister, told Father O'Leary: "I
hope when I die you will have the key to heaven." "Why?"
asked the priest, "Because if you had you'd let me in,"
explained Curran. "It would be easier for you,"
retorted O'Leary, "If I had the key of the other place,
then I could let you out."
Another of the kind. The peacher's sermon was on Jonah and
the Whale. After the service he was questioned by a cynic:
"You don't really believe that story do you?" The
preacher replied: "I have promised myself when I get
to heaven I'll ask Jonah about it." "But what if
he's not there?" persisted the cynic. "Then you
can ask him," was the immediate response.
Before an infant baptism the minister was informed that the
child was to be named, Alfred Homer. Intrigued, the minister
asked, "Homer, is he your favourite Greek poet?"
"Poet, never heard of him," said the father, "I
keep homing pigeons."
Another cleric asked why the names were to be Alpha Omega
had the mother's tight lipped response, "He's the first
and the last."
When T.A.B. Smyth went to preach his trial sermon in Clougherny
Presbyterian Church he arrived early and greeted the congregation,
who, country fashion, were chatting outdoors before the service.
His friendliness so impressed that one man made the comment:
"It doesn't matter how he preached he's the man for us."
After the ordination and installation in the church an elderly
minister on being introducted to him said, "So this is
the young many who smiled his way into Clougherny."
Need we add that the best of jokes are often of the moment
and the single incident, unexpected and unrehearsed.
Canon Dr. S.E. Long
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