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When laughter is a problem At the age of 13, my mother became the church pianist. She only knew one song, "What A Friend We Have In Jesus." However, a year later, she was much more proficient at reading music and thus her repertoire was more lengthy. The church her family attended was a small country church with very conservative older folks filling the pews. One Sunday, she was dared by the youth group to play a hymn that sounded very similar to "Two Foot Two, Eyes of Blue." So, after a lengthy prayer given by a soft-spoken member of the church, mom breaks into this peppy hymn, stunning the entire congregation. The offering plates were passed while mom's "hoochie, coochie, coochie coo" melody streamed through the air. Once the offering time was over, and the music subsided, all you could hear resounding off the church walls were the snickers of mom's friends. Church pews shook as the youth group quivered with almost uncontrollable laughter. This is when laughter becomes a problem. The church I grew up knowing as a second family conducted services in a high church liturgy. For those of you who have never experienced this type of service, it can bring you into the presence of God or catapult you into a collapsing laughter that is as painful as it is pleasurable. Unfortunately, I had a particular difficulty with controlling the laughter symptoms. This was partly due to one friend: J. J. Jeffery. We were bad for each other during church. Every Sunday I spent sitting beside J. J. at least one pew in the church shook as though an earthquake had struck Thomasville United Methodist Church. Both of our mothers sang in the choir, and we were so guilty of the laughter problem, they had created a warning system planned out to let us know we were red flagged for serious punishments if we did not stop laughing. However, this system, though it managed to keep us from total disarray, did not stop us from jumping off the diving board into a pool of giggles. Not only did we have choreography to many hymns, we also picked apart the service to find something hilarious. This was not a difficult task with one pastor. He had an equilibrium problem. He fell almost every other Sunday. Looking back, I'm glad he didn't break something. Needless to say, J. J. and I found that laughter can indeed become a problem. There is one memory that is the pinnacle of problematic laughter, and my mother and father were contributors. I was about 12, and my sister, Allison, was 7. It was the Christmas Eve ritual for our family to take communion together. Our church held a two-hour communion service, and families were allowed to come in, take communion together, and leave to enjoy the holiday festivities. This was truly a beautiful service. Piano music calmed the scene of candlelight, and reverence filled the sanctuary. We were one of about three families who had arrived early for this most blessed event. As we sat in the church, a prayerful blanket settled over us and we were comforted by the Spirit of God. The pastor, in his robes, stepped out of the side door ready to conduct the communion service. As he made his way to the table, he missed the first step onto the altar. In an attempt to catch himself, his robes made bird-like motions, and his fumbling feet echoed as if elephants were racing through the quiet church. In a last ditch effort to catch himself from falling, the pastor grabbed onto the communion table. God must have brought His hand down at that moment to keep the elements from flying through the air. My sister and I started laughing hard. My mother and father could not control themselves either. Managing this type of laughter is like swallowing a basketball. Dad, in all his fatherly wisdom, lowered his head, regained control, looked over at his young, suffering children, and said, "Stop it." He had not gotten the "it" part of the statement out before he began to weep from laughter again. We gathered what composure was left in us, and walked to the altar to partake of the elements. My poor sister lost it as she was taking the juice. She choked. We walked like wounded soldiers out of the church, and once the doors closed behind us, the outburst consumed us. Dad, Mother, Allison, and I cried, hugged, and laughed our way through Christmas Eve. When does laughter become a problem? From my point of view, it is never a problem. God called us to live joyously. As I sit here writing these stories, I find myself again laughing as though the memory is not just a memory: It has life in my heart. Beautiful blessings of joy and happiness surround these moments. They are nuggets of gold created by the Father, melted down by the Spirit, and crafted by Christ into priceless works of art. I thank God for the problem of laughter.
Autumn Mott Calvert grew up in Thomasville. She lives in Huntsville now.
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