I guess now that I think back, I used to play priest and be a

Hear, O seekers of laughter and wisdom, the words of Jenny McCarthy, who spoke not with solemnity but with remembrance and mirth: “I guess now that I think back, I used to play priest and be a funny priest. I don’t know, I grew up in such a Catholic family that I kind of liked to test the boundaries a little bit and I think I had fun watching my mom laugh.” This reflection, though playful, contains within it lessons about childhood, tradition, the daring spirit that pushes against limits, and the sacred role of humor in breaking through the weight of solemnity.

The meaning of her words is this: in a household steeped in reverence and religious order, the child often finds delight in exploring the edges of seriousness, turning sacred rituals into playful acts. McCarthy recalls herself as a “funny priest”—not to mock, but to probe, to laugh, and to test how far she could go without breaking the bond of love. For in the laughter of her mother, she found not punishment but joy, proof that even within tradition there is room for levity, and even within solemnity, there is space for laughter.

Throughout history, such testing of boundaries has been the spark of transformation. Consider Erasmus of Rotterdam, who in the 16th century wrote In Praise of Folly. Cloaked in satire, he poked at the seriousness and excesses of the Church. Though many frowned at his wit, his work became a force that stirred thought, reformation, and reflection. Humor and play, when joined to truth, can open eyes that solemn preaching cannot. McCarthy’s childhood “performance” echoes this timeless dance: the sacred and the silly coexisting to reveal new truths.

At the heart of her memory lies another truth—the bond between parent and child. To a child, the sight of their mother laughing is a triumph, a gift. It is the assurance that love is unbroken even when rules are bent. It is the discovery that humor can bridge the gulf between authority and freedom. In her mother’s laughter, McCarthy saw that testing boundaries did not mean rejection, but often created deeper connection. Such laughter became both shield and compass, guiding her through the tension between tradition and individuality.

The lesson we may take is this: boundaries are not always prisons; they are often starting points for creativity. To press against them is natural, for it reveals the human need to discover, to invent, and to express. When such pressing is met with laughter rather than wrath, it becomes fertile ground for growth. Humor disarms fear, softens rigidity, and opens space for truth to be spoken without anger. It is a sacred gift, as powerful as ritual itself.

Yet there is a warning in her words: to test boundaries without love is mere rebellion, and to mock sacred things without care can wound deeply. The child who laughs with their mother’s laughter is safe, but the one who scorns without respect risks breaking the bond. Humor must serve connection, not destruction; it must uplift, not belittle. In this way, McCarthy’s memory reminds us that humor is most powerful when it strengthens love, not when it tears it down.

As for practical action, let us cultivate humor as a tool of healing and connection in our own lives. When traditions weigh heavily, find the laughter that lightens them without discarding their value. When children test boundaries, let parents listen with patience, and when possible, join in the laughter rather than silence it. In our homes, let humor be a sacred fire—one that warms, unites, and teaches us to see both the solemn and the playful as parts of the same great mystery of life.

Thus, Jenny McCarthy’s words become more than memory—they become a teaching: “I used to play priest and be a funny priest… and I had fun watching my mom laugh.” In this, she reveals that testing boundaries with humor can deepen bonds, that even in the weight of tradition there is room for joy, and that laughter shared across generations is itself a holy act. Let us then live with reverence and mirth, daring to laugh even at what is heavy, so that life may be carried not as a burden, but as a song.