Have you ever paid attention to laughter? I don’t mean how people laugh, although that might be an interesting subject by itself! I mean do you notice where it shows up and when it is absent? The feeling is unmistakable when solemnness hangs over every word and interaction.

I know I risk being misunderstood from the start, so here is one quick disclaimer. Not every situation needs to have laughter, and a heavy atmosphere is not inherently an indicator that something is wrong. However, what I want to focus on is the word capacity. What happens when we lose the capacity for an emotional expression? What happens when we lose laughter over a period of time as a pattern? Consider with me these two situations.

“All I can do is laugh.” I hear this sentiment frequently, voiced differently, as people try to process what they are experiencing. The moments when I share a laugh with someone can be unexpected. There are times I walk into an intense situation expecting to encounter the weightiness of bad news or franticness of distress only to end up sitting beside someone’s bed and chuckling at their matter-of-fact jokes and self-awareness. And then there are experiences like this next one.

“I just don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do.” Some of the hardest things for me to watch are exhausted caregivers who are so spent that even the offer of help feels like an intrusion. They feel trapped in their circumstances. Sometimes one misspoken word can prompt an angry volley of words or a collapse into tears. For them, life is harsh and that is the only reality they can see.

I know we understand the difference between these two common scenarios, but I hope we can feel it. Can you imagine yourself in the room or on the phone and feel the emotional intensity levels of each circumstance? It is not that the first situation is less serious or that those in them won’t have moments of depressed moods, anger, or feelings of being overwhelmed. I believe the difference is the capacity for moments of laughter or the things that laughter represents. Edwin Friedman wrote in his well-known, foundational book about the paradox of seriousness. [1] His point did not click for me until I began to pay closer attention to my own setting. He explains that the seriousness with which families approach problems (here broadly defined) can actually contribute more to their hardship than does the effect of the actual problem. The way forward, he argues, is to address the seriousness itself and to even introduce the dynamic of playfulness. Now, there are two things he is not saying. First, he is not advocating that we ignore or downplay difficult situations. Second, he is not suggesting we make jokes at inappropriate times just to lighten the mood or to ease discomfort. We need to be ready and able to sit with the heaviness of another if that is what is needed. So, what does this mean for ministry?

I believe an important role we can play walking into difficult circumstances is to sustain, guide, and nurture the capacity of another to move through what is before him or her. This starting point leads to a series of helpful questions:

1. What exactly is going on here? For instance, is this response a momentary expression or an extended state of being?

2. What are the realities of God at work (for instance, space to lament, images of hope, movements toward peace, callings to reconciliation)?

3. How can we introduce playfulness when seriousness has taken an unhealthy grip? This can be as simple as sharing a laugh about the silly habits of a beloved pet.

The purpose of these questions is to direct us toward becoming the kind of spiritual companion that leaves someone feeling validated, encouraged, supported, heard, and even gently corrected toward a better direction. Helping others sustain or rediscover the capacity to laugh comes out of one strong conviction. God sits with us even when we may not be able to see it.

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[1] Edwin H. Friedman, Generation to Generation: Family Process in Church and Synagogue (New York: New York: Guilford, 1985), 50.