When did Presbyterians stop laughing? The word "dour"-often used to describe Presbyterians, and meaning stern, serious, inflexible-is a Scottish word, so perhaps our lack of laughter is a throw-back to the Mother Ship. But today's texts are filled with laughter. The Genesis story hears Sarah laugh in amazement and delight at the birth of her child, Isaac. Laughter ripples through the whole Abraham/Sarah story. Abraham laughs when God says 90-year-old Sarah will have a son in the near future. Sarah eavesdrops on her husband and the trinity of visitors, and when they say the same thing, she laughs. Now, the child whose very coming is laughter, is named laughter. And we Presbyterians (the frozen chosen) never dream that laughter was evangelism.

Laughter in the Matthew story is derisive. It is so not about delight and faith. There's a Monty Python sketch about a dead Norwegian Blue parrot. The pet store owner insists the parrot isn't dead, it's sleeping-or pining for the fjords. The official mourners must have thought Jesus was doing a Monty Python imitation when he says the girl is sleeping. They aren't laughing like Sarah-delight in too-good-to-be-true. They're thinking, "This guy must be nuts! The girl is dead!"

This run of stories in Matthew ought to make us uncomfortable-we good, faithful, religious people, pillars of the community. We were taught in Sunday School to identify with Matthew-the-tax-collector, who responds to the call to follow Jesus. Unfortunately, we are more like the good religious people who get Jesus' harshest words. The folks who are scandalized at Jesus blurring the distinction of being The Chosen People. If Jesus hangs out with the scum of the earth, what about us? Aren't we supposed to try to be like God by avoiding contamination by impure people? What if I catch what they've got?

So maybe we ought to take a closer look at what Jesus has to say to the religious establishment-people like us, the mainline denominations of his day. The Pharisees have taken a social risk by delicately bringing to his attention the kind of crowd he's hanging with. "Does he know?" they ask, as they helpfully point out that he is eating with the 1st century equivalent of AIDS patients, meth users, Resource Center clients, illegal immigrants, and sexual predators. Jesus responds by quoting Hosea to invoke the need for hesed-God's steadfast love and mercy-on behalf of those who don't deserve it.

Next, disciples of his competitor for the religious radical left show up-John the Baptist's disciples. John is in legal trouble, and what they need now is straight "how to" answers about practical religion. Were they Presbyterian, they would have asked how to vote on the "chastity in singleness, fidelity in marriage" amendment. Is "contemporary" worship OK, don't pro-choice people go to heaven, do non-Christians go to hell? Jesus answers that something new is emerging. We ought to be scandalized that Jesus crosses boundaries, makes a vague, abstract concept like "mercy" a higher priority than the clean-cut ethics of family values. It is easier to protect the purity of the church, to be concerned for the "right" kind of people and right behavior, than it is to love people one by one. Especially when they aren't like us.

Living faithfully-Jesus includes evangelizing in the life of faith-means taking risks. Tax collector Matthew gives up his old, bad job. A woman braves the crowd for one last chance at healing. A pillar in the community faces ridicule to get help for his already-dead daughter. Who's laughing now? Is it the crowd that knows for a fact the reality of death, or is it the 90-year-old as-good-as-dead new mother holding her infant son?

What if evangelism had more to do with laughter than with filling the pews and making sure everyone knows the right way to act? Would you dare ask a friend to attend church with you, even if you might be turned down? Could you tell someone that sometimes you laugh because of what God does in your life? About needing just seven more dollars to buy groceries for the week, and it turned out that there had been a bank error in your favor to the tune of $7.23. About agreeing to substitute for Sunday School, because you were the last person available-and the wonderful time you had. About registering for a class, but you went the wrong night, and ran into a high school friend. About the kitten who picked you, about the book that changed your life, about the kid you met whose grandmother was your grandmother's best friend. Who's laughing now?

Maybe Springwater isn't about laughter. Maybe our faith is about what we can learn and know. About measurable and attainable goals. About managing the way we do church. About keeping God safely in our heads and away from how we feel or act on any day but Sunday. What if we didn't take ourselves so seriously and let God be in charge of being God, worrying about success and failure, possibilities and implications. Let God worry about that. What if we just showed up and faithfully did what we are called to do.

How can we call it "evangelism" if it's not "good news"? Where is the good news in "God loves you," if it's followed by a set of conditions (if you go to a mainline church, if you vote the way I do, if you hold the "correct" ethical and moral convictions)? The advice I'm giving about evangelism today is not results-oriented. I'm not talking Billy Graham crusade evangelism. I'm all about "simple" today. Begin at the bottom. Begin where it's closest to you. Build relationships, delight in God, be fair in what you do. Laugh. That's evangelism. The Matthew story is about removing barriers to isolation, for the love God. That's evangelism. That's our call.

One of my friends told me about Clara, who has cerebral palsy. Clara's mobility is compromised so badly that someone comes into her home to help her with daily living tasks-bathing, dressing, cleaning, eating. Most people have trouble understanding her speech, so she depends on a voice-synthesizer to communicate. One day, as her care provider (Lois) was bathing her, Lois said, "Clara, I want what you've got." Clara's heart stopped. She knew disabled folks who were victimized, robbed by their care providers, and she was afraid. Thinking Lois meant her house, Clara said, "You can't have it." Lois said, "No, I want what you've got." Clara thought Lois meant her computer, and she knew she would be isolated if she couldn't be understood, couldn't read or connect to the internet. Again Clara said, "You can't have it." Lois looked more sad. "No, Clara. I want what you've got. I must have it! Life won't be worth living if I can't have it." Now Clara was really terrified. "Why would you steal from me?" she asked, and because she depended on Lois, she knew she was vulnerable. Lois had tears running down her face by now. "Clara, I want the faith you have. I want the joy that you have. Won't you tell me how?"

Sometimes evangelism sneaks up on us. Sometimes we have no idea we're saying something about God with our lives. When we love people, for God's sake. When we laugh for sheer joy. When did we begin to think God's business was too serious for laughter? Maybe when we stopped teaching the Westminster Catechism. We have been so preoccupied with the existential question, "Who am I and what am I doing here?" we've forgotten that question was asked and answered long ago in the Westminster Catechism. "What is the chief end of [humanity]?" What is our purpose. "To glorify God and enjoy him forever." Enjoy God? As in, "delight"? As in, "tickled pink by"? They can't mean, laugh.

Laughter isn't just "the best medicine," as Reader's Digest would have us believe. Laughter isn't just "good for what ails us." Laughter attracts. People don't enjoy hanging around with sourpusses. Jesus' ministry on earth was about removing barriers to inclusion. We might consider how laughter can help us remove barriers. Maybe by admitting where God has delighted and tickled us with improbable answers to prayer. Think of two nearly-100-year-old new parents! Does this make you want to howl with laughter, or have we intimidated that out of you? You might have humorous anecdotes in your life, times when God has acted preposterously for you. Would you tell someone else your story? If you knew it would encourage them to look for God's grace in their life? That's evangelism. That's taking a risk and letting God be in charge of success. Mother Teresa used to say, "We aren't called to success; we are called to be faithful." No one ever said "faithful" didn't have a sense of humor. Delight in God, my friends. Evangelism is making room for others to share in that delight.