14 FEATURE
IF YOU’ RE ATTENDING THE FASTING DAY, PLEASE LET THE OFFICE KNOW FOR CATERING PURPOSES’
A TIME AND A PLACE
It’ s a fine line though. I was perhaps alone in stifling guffaws at a church recently, at a potentially inappropriate moment, during sung worship. In front of me was an enthusiastic worshipper, taking over the aisles with one of the biggest flags that has graced a church. Lost in the moment, she whisked that flag through the air in praise – but the fabric kept whooshing a hair’ s breadth past the wig of a gentleman stood just in front of her. He was unaware this flag even existed; all he knew was the occasional breeze, causing him to keep checking over the( wrong) shoulder. She kept waving as he kept turning and readjusting his hairpiece, till she moved on. He never did find the cause of the draft. Was I wrong to hold back a chortle at the sight of these two serious worshippers? Good for them, I thought – neither was aware of the other’ s existence; both were firmly fixated on God. Neither knew the full picture.
I suppose that’ s something I keep coming back to as I puzzle this world out. Only God knows the full picture, and sometimes from that vantage point, the world may have a comic streak that we can’ t see. They say that comedy is tragedy plus time – in which case a timeless God would surely have front row seats of the best show in the universe.
Funny things happen all the time, even in church, from mistakes in church newsletters( my recent favourite:‘ If you’ re attending the fasting day, please let the office know for catering purposes’) to jokes in sermons that ease the message across. It feels like the church is continually pondering how to harness humour as a power for good. Maybe that’ s just it: we see humour as something that can be an inclusive, joy-giving Good Thing, or a mocking, finger-pointing Bad Thing. If there’ s an uncertainty in some parts of the church about humour and its uses, perhaps that’ s because for some time, the church itself has been the butt of the joke.
WHO ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?
From twee jokes about St Peter the pearly gatekeeper to Richard Curtis’ s vicar obsession, via Oxbridge poking from Python and the antitheistic rants of Bill Hicks and Ricky Gervais, we seem to put up with a lot. I’ ve always made my peace with the fact that institutions and authority figures should be held to account, so MPs, vicars and teachers have always been fair game for jabbing and jesting. Traditionally it’ s been the institution of the church that’ s been the punchline – God-blessed but man-made and fallible, and arguably on a pedestal. Surely we’ d all rather a joke at the expense of authority figures like high court judges or Prime Ministers, than at the expense of the downtrodden?
As a former writer for topical comedy shows such as Radio 4’ s The Now Show and The News Quiz, I applaud comedy that punches upwards.( Whether it’ s funny or not is a different matter, and entirely subjective.) Granted, I’ m no maverick satirist – governments are safe around me – but from politicians to pontiffs, positions of power have always been a ready target for mirth-makers.
Yet times have changed. Just as Thatcher’ s reign fed satirists more than more recent centrist politics, equally the institution of the church doesn’ t feel like it deserves being a target any more. Maybe jokes that target the church are no longer punching up, but punching down. Fifty years ago, I think the secular world viewed priests and bishops removed from the rest of us, on a higher perch, due for a fall. Today though, Pope Francis washes the feet of Muslim refugees, while the Archbishop of Canterbury reprimands the government on austerity measures. A humble church is far trickier to mock. So I’ d suggest that anti-church jokes in the past few years have begun to sound crueller – and those telling the jokes are starting to realise this.
GOOD CLEAN FUN
So on the plus side, society might be moving on from knocking the church. A few times in churches, folk have said to me:‘ I don’ t like comedy’. Vicars have told me of stag dos they reluctantly attended at a Jongleurs comedy club, where they endured uncomfortable stand-up routines, head in hands. One or two even sat on the front row and were asked what they did for a living.
The comedy circuit has shifted, and I think become more inclusive as a result. It used to be you were either edgy or at Butlins. Ten years ago, my mum knew of Billy Connolly and Eddie Izzard, but today she likes John Bishop, or David Mitchell, while her friends prefer Dave Gorman, or Sarah Millican, or Mark Watson. With panel shows and Live at the Apollo, comedy as a consumer product is now for everyone.
As a result, I’ ve taken comedy shows to churches. Originally I did this with just Christian comedians, but non- Christian( though respectfully clean) performers have heard what lovely gigs these can be. Some churches, such as St Andrew’ s Kettering, now run as arts centres during the week. St Andrew’ s becomes Kettering Arts Centre, welcoming shows from TV comics such as Mark Steel, Jeremy Hardy and Josie Long. The comedians love it: a warm, receptive audience, where the heckling’ s far nicer. The punters like it: a chance to enjoy a laugh in the knowledge that the routines aren’ t aimed at stag parties. The church enjoys a regular thoroughfare of people who normally wouldn’ t come near a church, and see that it’ s not as scary or forbidding as they thought.
I once heard of a UK Christian comedian, experienced with church shows from Alpha launches to men’ s breakfasts, who had a Stateside