Back in the late ‘70s, while Haj
Ross was visiting Berkeley, he and George Lakoff and a couple of others
put on an informal Friday-afternoon “Humor Workshop”. These sessions I
attended with pleasure, and initially with anticipation, wondering to
what depths of analysis these premier talents of linguistics would
plumb. As it turned out, mostly people just told jokes, laughed, and
passed on to the next one. About the first joke anyone told was this
one:
Q: Why is a rat’s turd tapered at both ends?
A: So the rat’s asshole won’t snap shut.
After the chuckles died down, someone duly asked, “Well, why is that funny?”
Some puzzled looks, and half-hearted attempts at lucubration; then, “Well, because it’s true.”
That was about as deep as exegesis was to go.
Still,
they were good jokes, which yet I remember and continue to tell, after
lo these many winters have struck these oak locks ashen. Many were
scatalogical; yet as I sat there, as yet unbaptized but created for a
better world, it struck me that a great many of the jokes had what we
may term an anagogic moment
-- something striving upwards and beyond the confines of our sorry
japery. If time permits and I am spared, I may share with you some
examples and analysis.
~ ~ ~
Our
colleague, friend, and spiritual advisor, Dr. Keith Massey, Webmaster
and artistic director of this very site, has just posted a joke of his
own, which he told me many years ago in response to my request for
Lutheran Humor: Sven and Ole, and the beast of burden.
It happens to feature the same humble orifice as in the joke above,
whose lowly but essential labors go largely unsung by scop or bard.
Listen
to him tell it as only a Norwegian can tell it. A bit later this
evening (again, if I am spared), when the G., in close cooperation with
the T., has had time to complete its merciful work, cleansing the
arterioles of the dust of human toil, I may return to the task as one
newly armed, and explain what we may hear there -- what melody tolls
behind the simple text.
~
There
is a category of jokes that make fun of simpletons, usually from an
identified town or rural area. For Denmark (to remain in the
Scandinavian sphere for now), the butt of such jokes is Aarhus.
Here is an Aarhus meta-joke:
At a convivial table, one present announces that he will now tell a joke about some simpletons from Aarhus.
Someone coughs and speaks up, albeit hesitantly. “Please…bear in mind… that I myself am from Aarhus.”
The jokester waves a dismissive hand. “That’s all right -- I’ll tell it slowly.”
Now,
as our Wisconsin-Norwegian joke starts out, with the amiable but not
overly intellectual pair of farmers Sven and Ole, it looks as though it
may fall into this genre. But matters take a surprising -- and
Christian -- twist.
So:
Sven and Ole cannot agree on whether their faithful beast of burden is a
donkey or a mule. So, they go to the man they most respect: Pastor
Thorlitsen. He renders a Solomonic decision that spares the feelings of
both: they are to call the animal by its Biblical name, the ass.
Now
at this point -- all of us having been eight years old at some point --
we know perfectly well what is coming. A pun, a dumb pun, involving
buttocks. How is this joke-in-progress going to manage to be any good
at all, assuming you’re older than eight?
We
are given a good long time to ponder this paradox, as the telling
rather rambles on, shaggy-dog fashion. Finally, the faithful farmers
are digging a deep grave for their departed quadruped, longtime
companion of their tilling toils. A passer-by says, mockingly,
“What’re y’digging, a fox-hole?”
“Not according to Pastor Thorlitsen!” they reply.
And thus endeth the joke. That was the punchline.
Now, the strange and rather wondrous thing is that, for a second or two, I didn’t get it.
Despite having known roughly what was coming -- indeed, despite having
heard this exact same joke some years before, told by this very same
deipnosophist -- all I could think of was the goodness and wisdom of
Pastor Thorlitsen.
“Are
you digging a fox-hole in fear of imaginary armies, here in the
peaceful pastures of Wisconsin?” -- “Nay, for we put our whole trust in
the Lord, as preached by Pastor Thorlitsen!”
“Is
life a meaningless charade, our toil all for naught, with nothing that
awaits us but the grave?” -- “O nay and fie, we seek eternal life,
guided by our shepherd, Pastor Thorlitsen!”
“And
is that sad dead beast a mere sack of offal, soon to be forgotten by
all but the worms?” -- “O nay, for ‘tis the very image and emblem of
that same faithful mount, which bore our Lord into Jerusalem. God
bless this beast, God bless us men and animals all, and God bless Pastor
Thorlitsen!”
For
a couple of seconds, I was in a hazy state of grace. But now mark:
What makes the joke finally, triumphantly, so wonderful, is that, by
implication, Sven and Ole never do notice the pun.
Their hearts are filled with love, their minds with reverence, they are
quite beyond the reach of such crude mockery. And so the passer-by
passes on -- lo, we know him, for he is dusty, from walking up and down
in the Earth; yet here he finds no prey, among these simple
Christians. Thanks to Pastor Thorlitsen.
THANK U, Lord, 4 Pastor Thorlitsen !! |
~
~ ~
For a story of epiphany,
try this:
Murphy and the Magic Pawnshop
~ ~
~
[To be continued, D.V...]
No comments:
Post a Comment