Spirituality Column: Finding more funny bones

Photo by Owen Beard

Moving fast through the garage in one of the frenzies of our whole-house remodel, I thought, “I really ought to either slow down or force better order on my workspace,” just before I whacked the top of one foot against the lower jaw of Great-Grandpa Fulford’s blacksmith vise. “Ah-ha-ha,” I moaned and laughed at the same time, because it felt just like hitting my elbow’s funny bone. I didn’t know I had a funny bone in my foot!

Which got me to thinking about funny bones. What are they, and why do we have them?

It appears we could more properly call them “funny nerves.” That vulnerable place on our elbow is crossed by the ulnar, and when it’s struck, we feel a distinctive tingle. Maybe it’s funny because it’s odd, or because the sensation is akin to getting tickled, or because we’re socialized to laugh it off. In any case, I suspect any similarly-situated nerve in our bodies would go “funny” with the right stimulus. The one in my foot is probably my superficial fibular nerve.

I want a funny bone for my spirit, as well! It’s so easy to go around these days in a state of heightened irritability, so I snap when I get bumped. If instead I’d just see that so much of life can be smiled at or answered with an outright guffaw, it would ease my way.

I was not always so. In my youth, I experimented with becoming a serious person through humorlessness. I’d decided the heart of humor was that someone had gotten hurt somehow, and I wanted none of it. Every joke had a butt, and since it was presumably already sore, I didn’t want to kick it. I find unfunny me rather funny, now.

It’s true that someone getting hurt isn’t a joke. I was right to find that tiresome, if not tragic. But now I see most humor arises from jarred expectations. Bump my ulnar nerve, and I should feel pain, right? But I don’t; instead, it tickles, and I want to laugh. Something different from what I would expect happens, and that’s funny.

So, I think I’ll stick my spirit’s funny bone out there where it can be struck easily and often. I’ll stay alert to sudden alignments that arise out of misalignment. And I need to exercise my smile. Thirty mouth-ups a day in three sets of 10, that’s a start. It seems too simple that smiling — even just thinking of smiling — should predispose me to good humor. But why should I be surprised? Laughter is visceral; it comes from the belly. I really don’t care which came first, the chicken or the egg.

And should my face set in a semi-permanent smirk, I won’t be worse for the wear.

The Reverend Doug Job does interim ministry for congregations in transition and keeps good memories and friends made while serving a church in Cape. At present, he’s bemused by Hannibal, Mo., where everything Twain shall meet. You may prod his funny bones at revdarkwater@gmail.com.