Evangelicals always assume that humor and faith are

The words of Mike Yaconelli strike like a lantern in the shadows of solemnity: “Evangelicals always assume that humor and faith are contradictory. It’s OK to smile, to be nice, but not frivolous.” Here is a man daring to challenge the iron mask that too often binds religion—the belief that holiness must always wear a heavy face. His statement reveals an ancient tension: the struggle between reverence and joy, between the sacred and the playful, between the gravity of eternity and the levity of laughter.

To speak of faith is to speak of that which lifts us beyond ourselves, the bond between the human soul and the divine. To speak of humor is to speak of that which lightens the soul, allowing us to breathe in a world heavy with sorrow. Many have thought these two opposites, as if laughter diminishes reverence, or as if joy is too fragile to be sacred. Yet Yaconelli insists they need not be enemies. He reminds us that a smile is not rebellion against God but may in fact be its reflection, the echo of divine delight within the human heart.

The ancients themselves knew this truth. In the Hebrew Scriptures, Sarah laughed when told she would bear a child in her old age; and though rebuked, her laughter became the seed of Isaac, whose very name means “he will laugh.” In the medieval church, there were festivals of fools, days when laughter invaded cathedrals, reminding the faithful that God is not only in thunder and awe, but also in joy and surprise. Even St. Francis of Assisi, remembered for his radical devotion, was known to sing and dance with childlike gladness, for he believed creation itself was a hymn of joy.

Yet Yaconelli also warns us with a subtle distinction. To smile, to be kind, to use humor to heal—these are sacred acts. But to be frivolous, to mock what is holy or to treat the profound as a jest, is to cheapen both faith and humor alike. There is laughter that builds bridges, and laughter that tears them down; humor that lifts the weary, and humor that desecrates. Faith need not fear humor, but it must guide it, that it may strengthen rather than destroy.

History gives us a luminous example in Martin Luther, the reformer. Known for his fierce convictions, Luther also wielded humor as a weapon against despair and pride. He laughed at the devil, mocking him as powerless in the light of Christ. His smiles and jests were not frivolous but defiant, a way of proclaiming that joy was stronger than fear. In this we see the heart of Yaconelli’s claim: true faith is not weakened by humor but enriched by it, for it shows the world that the believer is free, unshaken even in the midst of trial.

The lesson for us is clear: do not exile humor from your spiritual life. Let your faith be strong enough to laugh, to rejoice, to find God not only in silence and solemn prayer, but also in shared jokes, in children’s laughter, in the gladness of friendship. Yet guard against frivolity that empties meaning. Let your humor be rooted in compassion, in kindness, in reverence for the dignity of others.

Therefore, practice this wisdom. When you gather with others in worship, let there be room for smiles as well as tears. When you speak of your faith, let your words carry warmth, not only severity. And when you face suffering, do not despise the gift of humor, for it may be the very light that carries you through the night.

Thus, Mike Yaconelli’s teaching is not a jest but a profound exhortation: that faith and humor are not enemies but companions, that to smile is not to betray holiness but to embody it. For the God who made the stars also made laughter, and the soul that can rejoice even in reverence walks more closely with the divine than the one who frowns in piety. This is the wisdom we must pass on: a holy life need not be joyless, for true holiness shines brightest when it smiles.