Lim: Humor in homilies

I like to read. But I don’t read everything. Because while a wide variety of subjects interest me, if the first few sentences don’t get me, I rarely go past the first paragraph.

I wouldn’t say style is superior to substance but I have to say that without style, you will not succeed in delivering your message because no one will read you.

It’s the same with speeches.

You want your audience to sit up and listen—the moment you utter your first few statements. And then you want them to stay enthralled—till the very end. You want time to stop. You don’t want your audience thinking—when is she going to stop?

It’s the same with homilies. You want your audience to sit in attention then go home, enriched, maybe even inspired not bored to death from your reading from a prepared script.

I can’t claim to attend mass regularly but I’ve attended my fair share of masses and heard a lot of homilies. And truth be told, most of them put me to sleep.

Forgive me but I must tell the truth.

The worst ones are the ones that are completely read. It’s almost like attending class and having a teacher read from a book the entire time.

As a student, I feel supremely insulted by a teacher who does nothing but read from a book. Because we can all read from a book. We don’t go to school to listen to a reading. We go to school to listen to insights—a teacher’s scrutiny, analysis, deconstruction.

But teaching is no walk in the park. I taught for 13 years—mostly Accounting and Finance at 7:30 in the morning or 1:00 in the afternoon. That’s how I honed my storytelling skills. I could see my students’ eyes light up when I started telling a story.

I didn’t take it against my students if they dozed off in class. I felt it was my duty as a teacher to keep class interesting.

So, I understand why some priests feel the need to inject humor in their homilies. After all, with people’s attention spans these days, priests practically have to sing and dance to increase mass attendance and get people’s attention. But apparently, they’re now doing stand-up comedy, as well.

But here’s the thing about humor—it’s not easy to deliver. You see, humor doesn’t only have to resonate, it also has to be appropriate. And when it doesn’t cut both criteria, it ceases to be funny. And then, it comes off crass, gross, uninformed. Even offensive. And sometimes, contrary to law.

Is there a place for humor in the pulpit? Of course. But think carefully about what you consider to be a laughing matter. Are you advocating misogyny, abuse, violence, discrimination? People may not blink inside a comedy club. But it’s starkly different coming from the pulpit.

Our jokes mirror our thoughts. Spontaneous humor stems from the subconscious—where all filters are off. And that’s not always a good thing when you’re a priest delivering a homily.

Spontaneity can be endearing. But it can also be telling. Beware that when you go off-script, you simply unfurl a series of Freudian slips.