Once, while leaving a peewee soccer game, in a moment of terrible weakness and even worse judgment, I passed one snack-size bag of Cheetos and a single mini Gatorade to two children in the backseat of my car. The backseat brew of these elements and the messy chaos that ensued seems a fitting illustration for the combination of scoffing and the church. What could possibly go wrong?
When scoffing masquerades as humor in a church, what results is way ickier than orange-fingerprinted seats or a Gatorade-splattered sunroof.
Scoffing is not humor. The wittiest people I know don’t even carry it in their tool belt.
We define a “scoff” as a mock or a jeer, but scoffing often defies definition and is more clearly identified by the emotion it seeks to evoke. Rather than aiming at love or joy, scoffing shoots for sadness, heartache, or anger. It reduces someone to a punchline. It extorts laughter from unkindness. Exclusion is scoffing’s aim.
We scoff when we crack a joke in order to expose another’s sin or weakness, or when we share stories that make us look big and others small. When we cloak disrespect in humor or paint the lipstick of giggles on gossip, we are guilty of scoffing.
Scoffing is not humor. The wittiest people I know don’t even carry it in their tool belt.
Each of us is susceptible to dishonoring speech; this sin of scoffing affects us all. We may have fallen into it in adolescence, but it doesn’t require the breeding ground of high-school insecurity to fester and seep into adult conversation, too. Scoffing is often crafty and sophisticated; its subtlety entices us.
It’s not funny, and yet I’ve chosen to scoff more times than I’d like to remember. Have you?
Repenting of the Icky Heart
God’s Word is clear: there is no place for scoffing in God’s kingdom. Abraham’s righteous laughter is permitted—even celebrated—as delighted hope and joy in the birth of a son turns into chuckling. But Sarah’s laughter at the news elicits quite a different response: she is rebuked, and then she must answer for her scoffing. I don’t know about you, but I feel the sting of the text: “No, but you did laugh” (Gen. 18:15).
It hurts because I’ve felt it many times when I’ve participated in this sin.
I see my own need for repentance when I read Psalm 1:1: “Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers.” Scoffers set cities aflame with their words (Prov. 29:8). They chase ungodly passions (2 Pet. 3:3; Jude 18). And they are opposed by God (Prov. 18:12). Scripture pulls no punches where scoffing is concerned.
I long to make a practice of repenting after I expose another’s weaknesses in the name of fun. Sometimes, that will mean confessing to the person I’ve hurt and asking their forgiveness. Always, it will mean coming to God and asking for his Spirit’s help to embrace godly laughter and put away foolish scoffing.
Calling Others to More
Once we’re alert to scoffing, what are we to do with all those sticky Cheetos fingerprints? In my experience, scoffers catch their audience on the back foot, laughing themselves and inviting others to mirror and join before the bystanders have a moment to let the meanness sink in.
I’m troubled by the numerous times I’ve participated in scoffing as a bystander. Chuckling at unkindness can have dire consequences. By scoffing we destroy friendships, hurt neighbors, and damage the reputation of the gospel. Most significantly, our passive laughter is active rebellion against the God who forbids it.
Sometimes, passive laughter is active rebellion.
We can’t risk being a bystander. It requires quick thinking to recognize a scoff as it’s happening, and then a lot of assurance in your gospel identity to have the wherewithal to respond in a Christlike fashion. Can we ask God for the courage to stand up to a scoffer in the moment? Can we name it unwelcome in our circles?
Last Laugh
Then, after repenting, we can laugh. We can embrace godly humor—humor that says to the previously excluded, “Sit here; I’ve saved you a seat.” Godly humor brings rest and delight. It invites that kind of belly laugh where a tiny little snort can accidentally sneak out.
And wherever godly humor appears, relief—even if just momentary—is given. Within a church, godly humor is the mutual gift of “forgetful joy,” as the counselor Gordon Bals calls it, allowing us to live as those who laugh with (not at) one another as we await the coming King.
Godly humor honors; it elevates others over self. And godly laughter allows us to anticipate heaven, where all things will be made new, and humor will take its rightful place in the kingdom of a happy God.