Several years ago, we were given the honor of hosting a visit to our city by a group of Tibetan Buddhist monks from the Drepung Monastary. There are two large groups of monks that travel with the Dali Lama in a kind of leapfrog manner, with one group appearing with the Dali Lama while the other is traveling. They do a particular kind of chanting with circular breathing and play some large horns. They make intricate sand mandalas and teach a bit about Buddhism in general and the specific situation of Tibetan Buddhists under the government of China. Many of the traveling monks don’t speak English, but they always have at least one who is fluent and available to translate for the others. We found hosting them to be a very pleasant experience and many from our area came to hear their chanting and experience their presence. Most of the monks hiked to the top of Bear Butte with Lakota spiritual leaders early one morning to share in the culture and traditions of Lakota people.

There were many things about the experience that surprised me and there are many stories from that visit that I enjoy telling. One of the surprises was that these monks, who have devoted their entire lives to religious practice, were such happy people, constantly laughing and enjoying life.

I’ve had a similar experience visiting in Roman Catholic monasteries. The religious servants living in those communities are often laughing and smiling and filled with joy.

Again, I remember a radio interview that I heard with Desmond Tutu. In the midst of serious conversation about making peace and living in a troubled world, there were frequent interruptions of laughter.

I think that laughter may well be an important spiritual tool and one of the marks of a truly religious person. Laughter usually reflects our humanity: our flaws and mistakes and the parts of ourselves that are a bit inconsistent. When I laugh, I am often looking at myself as I really am, filled with foibles and vulnerabilities. The people with whom I feel the closest are also people with whom I feel free to laugh.

There was a lot of laughter in the home of my childhood. There are a lot of occasions to laugh with a household of children and parents who delight in them. But my parents made it clear, early in our lives, that there is a big difference between laughing at someone and laughing with someone. Laughing with someone is a form of intimacy. Laughing at them is a form of cruelty.

I was thinking about laughter yesterday as we went through the ritual of committal for a woman who was being laid to rest at Black Hills National Cemetery. The Cemetery has a strict time schedule and we have only 30 minutes to get in, conduct our ceremony, and get out for the arrival of the next group. The committal itself was emotional - with plenty of tears for her husband, brother, sister-in-law, mother-in-law and other family members. But as we were returning to our cars following the service, there were spurts of laughter as a story of another family visit to the cemetery was recalled.

It is often the case that tears of sorrow and tears of joy intermingle on our cheeks. Laughter is close to the core of who we are and an expression of something that is deep within our being.

Another story: A few years ago we were concluding the first meeting of a new group of students preparing for the rite of confirmation. The teens were a bit uncomfortable with the entire process, and some were there by their own choice, others with a little pressure from parents. We had a group of adults and students, some mentors, some parents, the students and ministers as well. We invited the group to stand in a circle and share a moment of silence with our eyes closed. The adults complied. The teens started peaking to see what others were doing. Within a very few seconds, their eyes would meet and a giggle would emerge. Then another. Pretty soon the teens were all trying to suppress giggles while some of the adults opened their eyes and shot fairly harsh glances at the rowdy teens. It occurred to me as we tried to pray silently that laughter is another form of prayer. We were in the process of building community - forming a cohesive group that would go on to support one another in their lives. Laughing together was a shared experience that connected the youth to each other.

Months later the group became quite comfortable with quiet prayer and often stretched their times of silence into several minutes of quiet. Sometimes after a long quiet time, we would recall the story of the first day giggles and share smiles around the room. We had prayed with giggles and with quietness and both seemed to be appropriate ways of praying.

I think that when we practicer our faith, we might need to remember my parent’s warning about laughter - laugh with others, not at others - and apply it to our silence as well. It is possible to be silent at others. We call it giving them the silent treatment. The question is whether or silence draws us closer to others or alienates us from them.

Silence and laughter may be two very important resources for lives of faith. Silence provides a counterpoint for our words - and we often have too many words in our religious observances. Laughter provides a counterpoint to our solemnity - and we often have too much solemnity in our religious gatherings.

I am reminded of the classical theatre symbol of the comic and tragic masks. Dramatists remind us that they are two sides of the same person - each of us is at once comic and tragic. Perhaps silence and laughter are similar partners - two aspects of humanity that enable us to go deeper and learn more fully who we are and what we have been called to do.

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