I enjoy comedy, particularly stand-up. I like laughing, and
thankfully, it doesn’t take much to tickle my funny bone. In my free time, I’ll
frequently peruse my favorite comedians’ YouTube channels, or see if I can
find a new comic to give me some laughs.
The not-so-funny thing about comedy is that its positive effects
don’t last. I might remember a bit of a hilarious routine a few days later, but
eventually, I’ll forget that I ever watched the video or heard the joke. Comedy
is, by nature, short-lived. Like a drug that relieves the sensation of pain,
comedy can temporarily alleviate the suffering of the painful present, if only
for a few hours. And that’s not a bad thing. Solomon tells us that merriment is
a good medicine (Proverbs 15:13), and I can attest to the relief that humor can
bring to a weary soul.
But the superficial nature of comedy is what makes it dangerous.
If we consume nothing but mirth, it can become a substitute for the necessity
of dealing with the nitty-gritty substance of real life. And that’s why the
same inspired sage who advised laughter as a sort of emotional opiate, also
advised that it’s “better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the
house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will take it
to heart.” (Ecclesiastes 7:2)
Recently, Mikaela and I watched a dramatization of
Charles Dickens’ Bleak House (for
those of you who care, it was the BBC 2005 version starring Gillian Anderson,
Anna Maxwell Martin and Charles Dance). Inasmuch as I enjoy comedy, I
appreciate substantive, thought-provoking drama even more, even if it tends
towards heaviness. Bleak House was
certainly such fare, and though I knew it would be Dickens, I wasn’t prepared
for the tragic fates of several of the main characters (spoiler alert!). Lady Deadlock chooses suicide rather than face the potential consequences of bad choices she made decades
before. Richard Carstone pours the whole energies of his life into what is only
a chance of wealth, instead of seeking a diligent means to provide and sustain
what he already has. He dies young, consumed and broken when his chance
vanishes. And Mr. Tulkinghorn, who lives his life manipulating, intimidating,
and destroying others, is himself destroyed by a bullet to the heart.
Bleak House isn’t
all bleak; several protagonists see bright days after dark ones and reap the pleasant
fruit of investing in the worthwhile. But it’s the dark days’ lessons that seem
most poignant; lessons that though dark are yet divine. Lady Deadlock might
have had a different end had she considered Mark 8:35: “For whosever will save
his life shall lose it; but whosever shall lose his life for My sake and the Gospel’s,
the same shall save it.” Richard Carstone ignored the question of his most
beloved friends,“Will you set your eyes on that which is not? For riches
certainly make themselves wings; they fly away like an eagle toward heaven.”(Proverbs
23:5). And perhaps Mr. Tulkinghorn might have lived a longer, less brutish
life, had he paid heed to Solomon’s admonition that “He who digs a pit will
fall into it, and whoever breaks through a wall will be bitten by a serpent.” (Ecclesiastes
10:8)
Stories like Bleak
House are helpful if we want to have the wisdom of God deeply imprinted on
our souls. For in reading (or watching) them, we visit the “house of mourning.”
And the lessons we find there, unlike the short-lived effects of the "house of feasting," will stay
with us for good, if we take them to heart.
