Silliness Solidifies Relationships

On February 8th, I posted an introduction of sorts called "Toward a Manifesto of Silliness." Every week since then I've written about silliness, mostly as a way to meditate on and answer the question: What makes silliness important?

My family and I talked it over, and here are our answers:

"Silliness is a Sign of Joy."

"Silliness is Important Because We are Silly."

"Silliness is Just Fun."

"Silliness Helps Bring Balance."

Thinking on and writing about those answers helped this last silly answer grow -- I had an idea at first, but those initial answers shaped how I thought/think about silliness. It was a suspicion that began the day my youngest son and I played our game of nothing. Remember? All this began with nothing.

Try to imagine: First, we sat side by side, the whole room bright from the sun. Soon, he draped his arms around my neck, and because of the faces we'd been making, laughter took over. His brothers were close by, but they didn't take much notice -- thankfully, laughter is a common guest in our home, and we weren't doing anything interesting; it was nothing, really.

And then the fact that is never seen came upon me. He ran off, but his arms and face left their traces as though he hadn't gone. I sat there, the sun still streaming in, and I knew that nothing had grown to something -- something, oh, what should I compare it to? What is it like? The coupling of two trains; roots reaching out, grasping a rock; an embrace between friends long separated. Yes, the fact was like that, and it took its hold on me.

The fact? It's that we'd become further entangled in father-sonness. That's true. It'd happened without trying, without anything happening. It was nothing! (But, being so very silly, the nothing popped into Something I can't stop reflecting on, can't stop smiling about, can't help but share with you.)

That's why I became so interested in silliness. I wanted to know just how far nothing can go, and how much room I have for nothing, and how much I should be willing to invest in nothing, and just how much of nothing I'd missed!

You know what I mean -- nothing is, what should I compare it to? Ah, it's like anything that comes to you enclosed in a toddler's fist. It might be crumpled, or wet, but it's come to you, and the little one has brought it. Yes, you know what I mean. Good.

We were further entangled with one another. How? Could you call the above quality time? I've heard that phrase a lot -- quality time being the idea that we need to set aside time to be with one another in a deep way. The problem I come away with is that there is so much pressure to have that deepness. The pressure reminds us, "You don't have that much time, you know. Make this count." And I'm not sure if it's the idea of quality time or what we do with it that's the problem. Both maybe.

I know for sure, however, that Nothing needs to be added to the list of Quality Time activities. This is because, I'm quite convinced, silliness breaks down whatever pressures you've allowed or added. Perhaps we think, "Well, this has to be good." And then we force or coerce one another into something more difficult or more complex.

My idea is that silliness, Nothing, removes everything but the relationship. If you and I are together, doing not-much-of-anything, we're left with one another. It's Silly Math.

"Hey, will you come over and help me with this?"

"Hey, will you come over?"

It's that sticky "and." Of course, we need the help, the accomplishing, the something other than Nothing. But, as we said about balance, we also need to make room for the silly times. Maybe more than we think.

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is from Mark's gospel. It's chapter 3, verse 14. It reads, "[Jesus] appointed twelve -- designating them apostles -- that they might be with him..." The verse goes on to list some of the things they will do: Go out to preach and have authority over demons, big things. But that first one, "that they might be with him," that one -- that one!

I like to think about that. They were called to be with him. Jesus, the only Son of God, wanted, needed people to be with him. Yes, there were multiple reasons for this, but I can imagine there were times they simply needed to be together. For instance, three chapters later, these same men were tired from preaching and casting out demons, and what does Jesus say to them? "Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest." Even with so much more work to do, with the gospel still to preach, with many more demons to cast away -- "Come with me. Let's get away."

The beautiful thing is that he still says that, and he says it to us. The God who created the expanding universe still says, "Hey, you look beat. What to go skip some rocks or whatever?"

He does! I know, that's silly! Isn't there so much to do? And the most nonsensical part is that we feel that way about trivial things. "Well, the lawn does need to be cut." Sure. "The dishes don't wash themselves." That's right, they don't.

But I'm getting confused. Now that all these things are before me -- rest with Jesus versus work that needs to be done, or Nothing with my sons and wife compared to chores or work -- I'm not sure anymore what equals something and what equals nothing. Can you tell? That's what I wrestle with all the time. When my sons are finally in bed, and I think back on the day, those Somethings really look like nothing to me. Like actual nothings.

This is what I do know: What I think is important is not always so, and what God knows is important, well, I often overlook. And I get stuck with this, too: His example is humility. If we are to be like him, we must make a spectacle of our pride before him. Before others, too.

And silliness? What does God have to say about that? Rest with him is one thing, but God the Silly One?

Well, after all is said, we do have to admit it is absurd that God became a man. God. With us? The King dressed for battle, all his weapons ready, his loins prepared for the first jolt of the enemy's charge, yet here he is stooped over to change the baby's underpants. Silly. Are we so familiar with the King of Glory in a manger that the thought of it does not make us blush in worship? The God-Man eating with men who smelled of fish -- God. Eating. We ate just an hour ago!

Yes, he's done some silly things -- but they've come to us, and the Mighty One has brought them.

There are unanswered questions, of course. I still have trouble seeing the difference between nothing and Something, but I'll keep trying. I do see, however, that I cannot fathom God's holiness without first smirking at myself. The wonder of it all is that he laughs with me, I on his lap. Maybe we're laughing at Nothing, which is Something, isn't it?

It is! And when I stoop before our Lord, I'm also better able to serve you, too. To be with you. Okay, maybe we will accomplish less, but it is possible that Nothings will continue to pop into Somethings -- Actual Somethings. Maybe we'll come away further entangled within relationships that our Father smiles at.