Jesus wept. He wept, but did he ever laugh?

I am a son of Cain, a son of Esau, a son of the Prodigal’s firstborn brother. I know weeping and gnashing of teeth; I know to take up my cross, to leave my father rotting in his bed, to put my hand to the plow and to never look back. The seeds of laughter fall on rocky soil in this soul of mine. We must be perfect as our father in heaven is perfect. This is no laughing matter.

And yet…

And yet, we are lost without laughter. We are lost without the enjoyment of simple pleasures, and we are lost without the imagination. I saw a Jesus film a while back which depicted him and the disciples playing in the water at a well. Their laughter seemed incongruous with the radical ethic of the gospel–blessed are those who mourn–but generations of Christians have been laughing, and our faith is better for it.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Those two words I singled out, those words and yet… They are the reason for this About page and the title of this blog. They begin an adverbial clause that both affirms and negates everything that came before. The adverbial is the hinge that holds a paradox together. It brings two, equally true, often opposing things together and sets one in subordination to the other (though which is which can change with the next phrase).

The adverbial is the door of faith, and sometimes it’ll hit you on your way in.

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