Wit and Humor of the Bible: A Literary Study

by Marion D. Shutter

There are several considerations that will pave the way. We take it for granted that Jesus was a complete human being, and that as such a being he must have had all the human attributes and faculties,—the faculty of mirthfulness among them. He was a man, and lacked nothing that pertains to men. Then, too, had he been without the sense of humor, much in the lives and characters of those with whom he had to deal, he never could have understood and reached. The full success of his mission depended upon his knowing all that there is in man, and upon being able to gain access to him through every avenue of his nature.

Nor were the circumstances of his life unfavorable to the development of this particular attribute. Theology and Art have conspired to produce upon the world the impression that Jesus was an exceptionally wretched and suffering man. They have taken one or two expressions in Isaiah, such as, “his countenance was marred,” “he was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,” expressions which they misunderstood and misapplied, and with them have laid the foundations of their house of woe. They have seized upon a few of the sadder incidents of his career, and have exaggerated them into undue prominence,—have given them undue proportions. Especially have they made much of his agony in the garden and his death upon the cross. These events have been magnified into such mountains that all the rest of his life seems to lie hidden beneath their shadows. It appears never to have entered the mind of either preacher or painter that the physical anguish of his death must have been even less than that which many martyrs at the stake or martyrs upon sickbeds have borne; and that before death came, he had lived a life with many bright days and many happy experiences. His existence upon earth was not a protracted sorrow, a monumental grief. Many a rose had blossomed at his feet before the thorns were twisted into a crown for his brow.

What shall we say of the thirty peaceful years under his father’s roof, with his brothers and sisters? Did he not in boyhood have the amusements of other children? Is there not a memento of his youthful sports in what he says of the games of the children in the marketplace, when they were playing at weddings and funerals? Did he not, when a young man, delight in his home and in his companions? Can we imagine that he moved among those who were nearest and dearest to him, with a face to which a smile was as much a stranger as a tropic flower to the frozen zone?

When, as a mature man, he entered upon his public ministry, although he was exposed to frequent attacks from the representatives of the established religion, yet he was never without friends; never without a place of refuge from the heat of battle. There were many homes in which a welcome always awaited him, and whose hospitality he gladly accepted. Is it probable that he was accustomed to sit in these homes—to use Shakespeare’s phrase—“like his grandsire cut in alabaster?”

More than once we are directly told that “he rejoiced in spirit;” more than once he spoke of his “joy” to his disciples. There is much evidence that Jesus was not a wretched but a happy man. Did this happiness never express itself in words or countenance?

There are other considerations that go far to refute the dismal assertion that “Jesus wept but never smiled.” Tired mothers brought their children to him and he rebuked the supercilious disciples who interfered. Can we think that on this occasion he had a woe-begone look? We read of him often at feasts; would he have been invited if he had been accustomed to sit at the table like the skeleton at an Egyptian banquet? Did he not by his frequent attendance upon festive occasions incur the odium of being a wine-bibber and a glutton? He was also a favorite with the common people. They heard him gladly. But there must have been something attractive in his presence and manner, as well as in his words, and the words themselves must have appealed to the shrewd, homely, common sense of his hearers. If he had been the sad spirit he has been pictured, would the people have followed him and listened to him as they did?

When we leave the outward circumstances and the presumption they furnish, and examine the fragments of his speech that have been preserved for us, many of them certainly contain the element of humor. We should undoubtedly call it humor if it came from any other lips than those of Jesus; if we found it in any other book than the New Testament.

The purpose of this chapter will be grossly misapprehended, however, if any one shall suppose that we are trying to degrade Jesus to the level of a professional joker. Nothing is further from our intention. The very thought is repulsive. One may have and use the sense of humor without putting on the cap and bells. He may use it with the highest motives and for the noblest ends. It was said of Hosea Ballou, that “it was no uncommon thing for him when preaching to excite a smile; but usually it was done by some ingenious argument that would electrify every one present.” His biographer adds: “It is not known that any person ever listened to one of his sermons who was not so impressed with his sincerity, dignity and earnestness, that the recollection of his occasional humorous sayings was held subsidiary and helpful to his main serious purpose. His mother-wit was sanctified. It served a divine mission in diffusing cheerfulness and health.” We must always remember that wit and humor do not mean buffoonery.

It is difficult to understand how any one can read many of the parables and other sayings of Jesus, and still believe the doleful tale that he “wept but never smiled.” He saw the dancing lights as well as the deep shadows, the more genial and even ludicrous aspects of life, as well as its various phases of sorrow and sin, and all these furnished subjects for his discourse as well as illustrations for his teaching.

Let us now consider some of the ways in which the sense of humor in Jesus manifested itself.