Has anyone noticed that the funniest things in the world seem to happen in places where a spontaneous, hearty laugh is just not tolerated? For instance, why do the most hilarious situations happen in church of all places, where total reverence is required? It’s just not fair to be forced to stifle a legitimate side-splitter! It must be part of Adam’s punishment for messing things up in the Eden.

To be honest I now belong to a church that is not known for its quietness and solitude.  We Pentecostals cheer the Pastor on while he delivers a sermon, and agree in prayer—literally out-loud—during corporate prayer times.  In fact, we get totally  awestruck by those rare and unusual outbreaks of silence that occur from time to time in our services.  We talk about them for weeks.  “Remember that time that a holy hush came over the congregation? Wow.”

But growing up I attended a wonderful church that was by-in-large the opposite in matters of volume. “Stifle” was the word between 11am and noon on Sunday. My mother expected “holy hush” in church to be the norm, especially for me. I can hear her now, 

            “Mark, remember what the Bible says, ‘Be still and know that I am God.’” 

Talking in church, whispering with my friends, accidentally dropping a coin on the hardwood floor, or making ANY kind of unusual noise in church normally resulted in serious disciplinary action in the Sims household. But even with the threat of bodily harm looming over me, funny still happened in church! We just had to learn to “stifle.”

As a nine and ten year old boy, I often sat in church with my Grandmother Nichols. I told my Mom it was because Grandma was a widow and needed my company.  My Grandmother usually sat on the second row from the front, on the far left side of the sanctuary—adjacent-to the piano.  But Mom and Dad sat on the third row from the BACK, on the RIGHT side.  So naturally I chose to sit with Grandma Nichols—as far away as I could get from Mom’s painful pinch and “don’t-you-dare” eye.

Just in front of Grandmother, on the very front row, sat the two church pianists—Sadie Thompson and Lucille Blackstock.  Lucille Blackstock was a sixth-grade teacher at the local school, and had been so since around the year the Titanic went down.  A tall, scowl-faced disciplinarian, Mrs. Blackstock was truly a good teacher. She was aware that kids called her “Ole Lady Blackstock,” but she wasn’t bothered by it. She had a duty to do and did it dutifully.

Playing the church piano for the congregation was Mrs. Blackstock’s other duty. Sadie was a much better piano player, but Lucille had seniority—lots of it—and that mattered in our church. Lucille played for the congregational singing, and Sadie for the choir. Mrs. Blackstock was the embodiment of the word “proper.”  She did everything according to the book.  And just thinking of the word, book and Mrs. Blackstock at the same time brings a smile to my face and a memory that won’t fade away. Here’s what happened:

One memorable Sunday morning I took my seat next to Grandma Nichols on the second row from the front. After the last congregational hymn had been sung Lucille vacated her place at the the piano so that Sadie could accompany the choir. In deafening silence Lucille gathered her sheet music and Baptist hymnal from the music rest and took her seat on the front row. She settled herself perfectly on the front pew, sitting up straight with both feet resting properly on the floor. Even as the choir began singing the anthem of the day, Lucille dutifully opened her Baptist hymnal to the exact page that she would need at the end of the service and left it opened-up in her lap.

The choir sang beautifully and ended on a high note, leaving the listeners inspired and suspended in thick silence as the pastor glided quietly to the pulpit to begin his sermon. As usual, Grandma pulled a pencil from her purse and handed me a church bulletin so I could quietly color in the o’s and doodle during the message. Of necessity I looked back to make sure I was out of my Mom’s line of sight.  Indeed, all was well. 

By the time the pastor emphasized his second sermon point a nervous housefly began buzzing around us– lighting on the pew, the cushion, and then on Grandma’s Bible positioned between us. When I tried to swat it, Grandma grabbed my hand and held it without ever taking her eyes off of the preacher. Then the fly began to dance around Sadie and Lucille in front of us. Sadie was briefly entertained by it, but Lucille was not aware of the fly’s presence—until it landed in the center of the hymnal open in her lap—on hymn number 363—“I Surrender All.”

As soon as Lucille caught sight of the insect she began following it with her eyes as it lit and scampered across the page—from top to bottom; left to right and back; from verse to chorus; and then to the edge of the page. Memorized, Mrs. Blackstock studied the fly without moving a muscle, her lower jaw slowly sinking downward, leaving her mouth wide-open like patient slipping into a coma. Then without any warning, just as the pastor moved from a dramatic pause to his final point Lucille jerked the hymnal up to eye level and slammed it shut with all her might, “SLAM.”  The sound echoed in the holy sanctuary like a gunshot. Lucille pancaked that poor fly, startling herself, the fly, and everyone else in the First Baptist Church.

In total disbelief she sat straight up in her seat and tightly pursed her lips. Abruptly stopping in mid-sentence, the preacher glared in her direction unsure of what had just transpired. Poor Lucille’s embarrassed eyes began darting all around at the shocked faces of her fellow parishoners—but NO ONE COULD LAUGH OUT LOUD.  It was the best First Baptist faux pas in a decade, and no one could delight in it publically! It was expressely forbidden to do so in the unwritten code of proper church etiquette. STIFLE IT !

I was dumbfounded. I looked at Grandmother and then at Sadie. They both covered wide grins and began to shake. Sadie looked as if she might wet herself. I quickly looked back toward where Mom and Dad were sitting, noticing that everyone in the church was looking in my direction! 

“Oh no,” I thought. “I didn’t even do it and I’ll get the blame!” 

Then I saw grins and heard people clearing their throats and fake coughing to disguise a chuckle or a snort . And a lot of folks sitting nearby me were staring at their laps and shaking ever so slightly, just like Sadie and Grandmother were doing. But NO ONE DARED TO LAUGH OUT LOUD. Stifle it for sure, but what a waste of a perfect moment!

Grandmother Nichols ate lunch at our house that day, and we relived the episode at least a dozen times. I can imagine other Baptist families enjoyed lunchtime conversation about it too. But I doubt Mrs. Blackstock ever mentioned it to anyone. Not even once. Still, I am amazed at how clearly I remember that Sunday morning.

The very next year, I was one of Lucille Blackstock’s sixth grade students. She proved to be an excellent teacher, and I learned a lot from her. But every time I saw her sitting quietly at her desk with her jaw sinking downward, I thought of that poor housefly pressed perfectly inside of an unmarked Baptist hymnal. But I never brought it up. Oh no, I stifled it!

“He will yet fill your mouth with laughter, and your lips with shouts of joy.” Job 8:21