Holy Humor Sunday: It’s Weird, It’s Risky, and It Might Be Exactly What We Need
It’s the Sunday after Easter and everyone at church has a kazoo. Laffy Taffy wrappers are scattered across the pews, and I’m running around with a cordless mic as members share jokes in something like an open mic time. Ten-year-old Erin waves me over. I hand her the mic, and she launches into what I quickly realize is a pretty naughty joke she found on TikTok and innocently did not understand. The deeper she gets into it, the bigger my eyes get and the more awkward it becomes for everyone listening, but I don’t cut her off. In the end, she nails the punchline. No swear words, but definitely not a children’s joke. The church erupts in laughter.
This is Holy Humor Sunday.
For most of my seventeen years of ministry, I have forced Holy Humor Sunday upon the congregations I serve. Some people love it, some people hate it, and most people simply put up with it, although I think they secretly love it. Not everyone comes to church hoping for a kazoo solo, but I think it is dangerous for churches to become too serious. As Oscar Wilde famously said, “Life is too important to be taken seriously.”
Laughter works like that. It does not take away the hurts and hardships we are facing, but it reminds us that there is also goodness and joy in the world, and the hardships are not the whole story.
The tradition of Holy Humor Sunday is an old one. During the middle ages in parts of Europe, especially Germany, churches developed a tradition called Risus Paschalis, Latin for “the Easter laugh.” On the Second Sunday of Easter, preachers would use humor and jokes to celebrate God’s victory over death. While the practice faded over time (some accounts suggest it was because the gatherings became a little too rowdy, with beer and wine flowing a bit too freely), still, the core theological meaning remains. At Easter we celebrate the good news that through Christ, death doesn’t get the last laugh.
Holy Humor Sunday is not just about jokes. It is about celebrating the divine reversal of the resurrection. In Christ, death is defeated, and we celebrate the ongoing presence of God in our midst. Father Richard Rohr reminds us that “Christ is not Jesus’s last name, but the name for the presence of God in all things.” In all of life’s ups and downs, joys and heartaches, God is with us.
Scripture tells us that for everything there is a season, a time to weep and a time to laugh. Sometimes those seasons come together, like in what I have come to think of as “funeral laughter.” I will admit, those are two words that do not seem like they belong together, and yet some of the deepest, most genuine laughter I have experienced has been at funerals. There is a heaviness in the room that creates tension, and then someone shares a story or a quirky memory about the person who has died, and the room laughs. For a moment, the grief loses its grip. That laughter does not diminish the loss. It honors it. It reminds us that love and life were real, and still are.
On Holy Humor Sunday, we typically hear the story of Thomas missing the appearance of the risen Jesus in John 20, where, even in the resurrection, Jesus still carries his wounds. The scars do not disappear, but they no longer have the final word.
Laughter works like that. It does not take away the hurts and hardships we are facing, but it reminds us that there is also goodness and joy in the world, and the hardships are not the whole story.
So what do we actually do on Holy Humor Sunday? If you’re curious or even considering trying something like this in your own context, here’s what it looks like for us:
We hand out kazoos to everyone as they arrive, and several hymns that day include a “kazoo solo verse.”
The music is intentionally playful, including mashups of Christmas carol tunes with Easter lyrics and songs like “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart. Where?!”
We hand out Laffy Taffy so that as we share the peace, we also “share the jokes,” inviting people to read and tell their taffy jokes with those around them.
In the weeks leading up to Holy Humor Sunday, people are encouraged to bring a joke or two, and there are a few moments in the service where I move through the congregation with a microphone, inviting people to share.
For the sermon, I have occasionally done a short stand-up set, but more often it is a reflection on joy and hope, just with more humor than usual.
The basic structure of the service remains familiar, but the bulletin and announcements are filled with memes and cartoons.
It is not polished. It is not predictable. And sometimes it gets a little awkward. But that might be part of the point.
It is a little weird, a little risky, and it might be exactly what we need. Because laughter, in the face of challenges, even in the face of death, is not denial of life’s hardships. It is a declaration of hope.
