Did Jesus have a good sense of humour?  Did he tell jokes?  Did he make people laugh?

Sociologist Peter Berger argued that humour was one of seven signs of transcendence in human life.  If that’s true, since Jesus was fully and truly human, we would expect him to be funny.

We instinctively agree that laughter has healing properties – it is ‘the best medicine’, as they say.  We would, accordingly, expect to find the Great Healer to make people laugh a lot.

We recognise playfulness to be a mark of intelligence.  So, just as we see signs of playfulness in the Creator himself (Job 38-41), we would expect to see the same in the One through whom all things were creation.

Beyond doubt, Jesus experienced great joy (Lk 10:21).  And his reputation as ‘a glutton and a wine drinker’ shows that he was regarded as a party animal.

To be sure, the Gospels do not every record Jesus as actually laughing.  But it is still reasonable to enquire whether we can find humour in his teaching.

Before going any further, it’s important to note that it is notoriously difficult to understand humour across cultural boundaries.  Some cultures specialise in slapstick, some in word play, some in satire, some in jesting, some i makig opponents look silly, and so on.

Douglas Adams (no, not that Douglas Adams) has explored the use of humour in the Bible (especially in the teaching of Jesus) in his book The Prostitute in the Family Tree.  This title comes, of course, from the mention of Rahab in the genealogy of Jesus, as recorded in Matthew’s Gospel.

I currently have Adams’ book on order, so can’t offer any direct assessment of it.  What I’m writing here is based on this article by Ian Paul.

What I would suggest, at this stage, is that Jesus utilised a range teaching methods, many of which are related – some closely, others more distantly – to the use of humour.

In the so-called parable of the Prodigal Son, the elder son would have been expected to act as a reconciler, but fails to do so.

In some of Jesus’ parables, some of the economic practices seem rather ‘shady’.  In Ian Paul’s words:

‘Should a good Jew be happy with speculating and investing the money entrusted to him in the parable of the talents? What is virtuous about the cunning steward who writes off the debts owed to his master in order to curry favour with those from whom he will later seek employment?’

Is there both insight and incongruity in the parable of the mustard seed?  Insight, in that it does illustrate great growth from small beginnings, but also incongruity, in that the growth of the mustard plant would have been short-lived, since it was an annual?  But, given that no parable or illustration is intended to give a complete picture, or tell a whole story, it may be that the apparent incongruity is incidental, rather than deliberate.

Perhaps there is absurdity in the parable of the friend and midnight.  Who would be knocking on the door of a stranger at midnight?  And who would ask for three loaves, when one would have been sufficient?  But perhaps the more amusing aspect is that of comparing God with a grumpy neighbour!

Adams might well have mentioned (but doesn’t) the absurd picture of trying to thread a camel through the eye of a needle (Mt 19:23-26; Mk 10:24-27; Lk 18:24-27).  Attempts have indeed been made to draw a less absurd picture, either by suggesting that the original text said kamilos (rope), instead of kamelos (camel), or by postulating, without evidence, that ‘the eye of the needle’ was a gate in the Jerusalem wall, so narrow that a camel could only pass through if its burden had been removed, are futile.

Ian Paul concludes:

‘I wonder if what Adams is doing is less highlighting the humour in Jesus teaching and rather highlighting the underlying paradox, absurdity and surprise in his teaching about the kingdom of God. Most humour depends on leading us down a particular line of thought—only to surprise us with something quite different at the end of it.’

And this, says Ian Paul, is precisely what the gospel itself does – surprise us with the good news of redemption when we deserved, and ought to have expected, condemnation.