Fa la la la la.
If there’s a phrase that needs no explanation at Christmas, that might be it. It’s joy without footnotes. Laughter without a business plan. And maybe—just maybe—it’s closer to the heart of God than we sometimes allow.
As Christmas approaches, I’ve been sitting with Genesis 17–18, where God does the impossible right in the face of complete improbability.
Isaac’s name—Child of Laughter—isn’t just clever. It tells us something about God Himself. There is belief here, yes, but there is also joy… and humor. God invites Abraham and Sarah into His joy, and that joy spills over into laughter. Holy laughter. The kind that comes when you realize God is not limited by what seems reasonable, planned, or even dignified. Abraham fell to knees laughing. FDROTFL!
I love laughing at the contrasting—yet somehow congruent—life we live in Christ. The upside-down Kingdom colliding with what we call “normal.” We take ourselves so seriously. We miss the humor of Jesus. Think about all the people you know. What a plethora (because Kris Anderson likes that word) of characters that makes our world, fun! This by design....
And the Scriptures aren’t shy about this kind of holy humor.
One of my favorite moments is Elijah on Mount Carmel, standing alone while hundreds of prophets of Baal shout, dance, and cut themselves trying to get their god’s attention. Nothing happens. And Elijah—cool as can be—leans in and says:
“Shout louder! Surely he is a god. Perhaps he is deep in thought, or busy, or traveling. Maybe he is sleeping and must be awakened.”
(1 Kings 18:27)
That’s Old Testament, straight-up, prophet sarcasm. God is not offended by humor—He uses it. Or I Chronicles 26:18, one of the most quoted verses in the Bible. "At the Parbar westward, four at the causeway, and two at the Parbar" WHAT! WHY!!
If Jesus really is who He says He is, wouldn’t that place Him among the greatest minds and the greatest wits? Just look at how He enters the world. The Savior of humanity—God in flesh—born not in a palace, not even in a respectable home, but laid in a cattle trough. A feeding bin. Hay, animals, smells and all. Heaven’s grand entrance… and the crib is a manger. God could have chosen anything—and He chose a place where livestock eat. That alone should slow us down and make us smile.
And Jesus doesn’t grow out of that pattern.
There’s the moment when a paralyzed man is lowered through the roof to be healed. Jesus is teaching. The house is packed. Dust starts falling. Roof pieces loosen. Ropes appear. And down comes a man—right into the middle of the room.
Later—maybe that night, maybe days later—I imagine that man sitting around with his buddies. Eating. Laughing. Moving legs that used to be still. Someone says, “Tell it again.”
He grins.
“Remember when you guys cut a hole in the roof and lowered me down inside the house to meet Jesus?”
(pauses, shaking his head)
“That was cool.”
Not dramatic. Not preachy. Just joy. Just a man remembering the day everything changed—and still laughing about how God did it.
And long before that house in Galilee, there was a tent in the desert.
Sarah is standing just inside the tent, listening to the Lord talk to Abraham. She hears the promise—a child. At her age. From her body. She glances around for someone to laugh at the comedy of this announcement. A quiet snicker. A shoulder shrug. Really, God? Me? Now?
And God doesn’t rebuke her laughter. He names the promise Isaac. Laughter becomes the testimony.
When I think about leadership—and especially leadership at TIME Missions—I have to say this plainly: no one ever expressed the joy of knowing Jesus that turned into laughter quite like Dorretta Brown.
About ten years ago, Dorretta and I crisscrossed the Rust Belt together—church to church—staying in homes connected to the many relationships she had built over nearly 80 years of following Jesus and leading TIME. It was ministry the old-school way. No frills. Just people, stories, prayer, and laughter.
One morning, after a rough night of sleep—in a garage, no less—my back was hurting pretty badly. I must have looked as miserable as I felt, because Dorretta just looked at me, laughed, and said, “Oh Rick, stop being a baby.”
And then she laughed harder.
That trip brought her great joy. And it brought me great joy too. Not because it was easy—but because it was full of Jesus. Full of stories. Full of laughter that only comes from trusting God deeply and not taking yourself too seriously. I think about that often.
When I look at my leadership now, I sometimes have to believe Jesus is laughing with me too. I like to think I can look around corners, way out into the future, and make plans. I try to manage outcomes. And yet so much of what truly matters—spiritual things born in heaven—are completely out of my control.
The insufferable part of leadership, at least for me, is when eternal things collide with petty human artistry. The small worries. The striving. The pressure we put on ourselves to make it all work. And I can almost see Jesus gently chuckling, reminding me that the mission was never built on my ability to predict outcomes—but on His faithfulness.
Scripture says it plainly:
“The One enthroned in heaven laughs.”
(Psalm 2:4)
Not in mockery—but in calm confidence. God is not anxious. He is not rushed. He is not threatened. And that laughter invites us to rest.
This Christmas, we need to recover the joy of God by laughing a little more. We need to look back at the year, laugh and recognize the nonsense of not believing—like Abraham and Sarah—that God is in the business of the improbable becoming probable. That what feels impossible to us is often just the setup for laughter in heaven.
As you gather over the next days:
Laugh at yourself.
Laugh with family.
Laugh because grace has the final word.
Even if this year hasn’t been the easiest, look at who is alive and well inside of you. Look for Jesus being Jesus in your world. Look for His humor.
From all of us at TIME Missions, thank you for walking with us this year. Your partnership, prayers, and faith mean more than you know.
Fa la la la la.
Gratefully and Merry Christmas
Rick Lee
