Stop Being So Serious: The Christian Case For Having Fun

Christians are exceptionally good at being serious.

We know how to serve, sacrifice, persevere, pray, fast, give, carry burdens and keep going when things get difficult. Ask a Christian how their week has been and there’s a decent chance the answer will be, “Busy.” We say it with a strange mixture of exhaustion and accomplishment, as though busyness somehow validates the previous seven days. I’m absolutely shattered, therefore I have used my time wisely.

But ask someone what they’ve done purely because they enjoyed it and suddenly we can become a bit awkward. I know I can.

I love a good film. I love walking the dogs in the Welsh hills. I love making things. A few years ago I built my wife a pergola for her birthday. Obviously the point was to give her something she’d enjoy, but if I’m honest, I loved designing it, working out how to build it and then actually making the thing. There was satisfaction in creating something simply because creating things is enjoyable.

And yet, even when I’m doing something I enjoy, there’s often a little voice somewhere in my head reminding me that there is something else I could be doing. Whether I should be doing it is apparently irrelevant. There is work available. Therefore I should probably be working.

I’m increasingly convinced that’s nonsense.

Where Was Moses’ Volleyball Match?

Part of the problem might be how we tell Christian stories.

Think about the great believers of the Bible and the moments we remember are understandably enormous. Moses and the burning bush. Moses confronting Pharaoh. Moses parting the Red Sea. Moses receiving the Ten Commandments.

All very serious.

There’s nothing about Moses playing volleyball in the desert between shifts in the tent of meeting, or having a laugh with his mates as they knocked back a glass of water from a freshly tapped rock.

Of course there isn’t. Scripture is telling us the story of God’s redemption, not giving us Moses’ holiday photos. But sometimes I think we accidentally assume that because the ordinary moments aren’t recorded, they didn’t happen. We imagine the great heroes of faith permanently staring meaningfully towards the horizon, waiting for the next significant spiritual event.

These were human beings. They ate. They talked. They celebrated. They had friendships. They told stories. They laughed.

The Bible itself contains an extraordinary amount of celebration. God built feasts into Israel’s calendar. There were weddings, festivals, meals and gatherings. Ecclesiastes repeatedly speaks about receiving food, drink and work as gifts from God. Creation itself is overflowing with unnecessary beauty and enjoyment.

God could have made everything functional. Instead, he made flavour. He made colour. He made laughter. He made people capable of enjoying things.

Joy isn’t something the world invented and Christians reluctantly borrow on our days off. Joy belongs to God.

Jesus Wasn’t Miserable

One thing that has helped me think about this differently is The Chosen.

Before somebody emails me: no, The Chosen does not form my theology. The Gospels do that. But what the programme has done is provoke me to think about the ordinary humanity of Jesus between the moments Scripture records.

The Gospels faithfully give us what God intends us to know about Jesus, but they don’t contain a transcript of every conversation Jesus had during thirty-something years on earth. We get the miracles, teaching, confrontations, death and resurrection because those things are essential to the story being told.

We don’t know what happened during every evening meal. We don’t know the jokes between friends. We don’t know how many times the disciples laughed together while walking from one town to another.

And yet Jesus was fully human.

He attended weddings. He ate with people. He enjoyed friendship. He accepted dinner invitations with such regularity that his enemies accused him of being a glutton and a drunkard. They were wrong, obviously, but nobody gets accused of being a party animal because they’re permanently hiding in a cave looking solemn.

His first miracle in John’s Gospel happens at a wedding where they’ve run out of wine. Jesus doesn’t respond, “Excellent. Perhaps everyone can now settle down and contemplate the dangers of excessive enjoyment.”

He makes more.

Joy is not incompatible with holiness.

God Has a Sense of Humour

I think it’s obvious God has a sense of humour. Have you ever seen a picture of a duck billed platypus?

More importantly, God is a God of joy. Humour, laughter, pleasure and celebration are good gifts from him.

That doesn’t mean everything humans find funny is good. Clearly it isn’t. Plenty of humour is cruel, degrading or filthy. Plenty of things our culture celebrates are destructive.

But that’s true of every good gift God gives.

Sin doesn’t create; it corrupts. Sex can be corrupted. Food can be abused. Money can become an idol. Power can become oppressive. Rest can become laziness. Celebration can become excess. And humour can become cruelty.

The Christian response isn’t therefore to abandon those things. It’s to receive them in a redeemed way. We don’t surrender joy because somebody else enjoys the wrong things. We learn to enjoy good things rightly. We’re called to be faithful, we’re not called to be miserable.

Sometimes Fun Is Deeply Spiritual

Our family plays a card game called Skip-Bo (made by the same people who make uno).

I approach every game with the bluster and over confidence of Usain blot joining a fun run at the village fete. I tell everyone I’m going to destroy them. I explain that victory is inevitable. “I’m happy to play as long as you are all ready to lose”.

I’m not actually sure I’ve ever won, but this has had absolutely no impact on my confidence going into the next game.

We also plan movie nights, holidays and other things deliberately because family life makes spontaneous fun more difficult. There’s always something happening, somebody needing something or something that needs doing. Sometimes fun has to be protected. And I think that matters more than we realise.

There’s a lightness in my spirit that comes from doing things that feed my soul. Having fun is one of the greatest ways to feed your soul. It is deeply spiritual, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

That doesn’t mean every enjoyable experience automatically makes us spiritually healthy. Escapism is real. Self-indulgence is real. We can use entertainment to avoid responsibilities we genuinely should face. But sometimes we’ve overcorrected so far that we feel we need a theological justification for enjoying an episode of Britains Got Talent.

You don’t.

Sometimes I’ll watch an old episode of You’ve Been Framed or find an epic-fail compilation on YouTube and end up genuinely crying with laughter as people fall over doing silly things (not sure what that says about my levels of empathy). There’s no ministry strategy involved. Nobody is being discipled. I haven’t advanced the kingdom in any measurable way.

I’ve just watched somebody attempt something spectacularly overconfident involving a trampoline and a garden fence. And I’m happy.

Stop Interrupting Your Own Rest

I’m still learning this.

My mind fluctuates between embracing proper rest and thinking about whatever will eventually interrupt it. Then comes the brilliant plan:

If I start doing some of that now, I’ll be able to relax properly afterwards.

Except that’s a complete fallacy.

By worrying about what will eventually interrupt my rest, I’ve already interrupted my rest.

There is always something we could be doing. There always will be.

The emails will reproduce overnight. The jobs around the house will wait patiently. Ministry needs will continue. Somebody somewhere will require something.

But that’s God’s work, not mine.

Yes, we have a part to play. Christian discipleship involves work, sacrifice, service and responsibility. But work isn’t a badge of honour in the kingdom. It’s a response to joy. If we burn ourselves into exhaustion and misery because we think everything depends on us, eventually we’ll do more harm than good.

Sometimes it’s actually irresponsible to be serious all the time. And there’s nothing particularly attractive about telling an unbeliever that Jesus is the way to abundant life while looking permanently exhausted, miserable and approximately three minor inconveniences away from a breakdown.

What kind of transformation are we offering?

It Was for Freedom

As I’ve got older, I don’t think I’ve lost my desire to have fun. Responsibility has simply affected my preparedness for it. It’s harder to put responsibility down. But perhaps part of Christian maturity is learning that putting responsibility down occasionally isn’t the same as abandoning it. Sometimes it’s trusting God with it.

Paul writes in Galatians 5:1, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.”

Obviously Paul is talking about freedom from slavery to the law, not divine permission to spend Tuesday afternoon playing crazy golf. But the principle matters: Christianity isn’t supposed to produce people who are terrified of freedom.

So honour God by honouring the freedom he has given you. Serve. Work hard. Sacrifice. Give generously. Take holiness seriously. Those things are vital parts of following Jesus.

But pursue things that aren’t merely fruitful. Pursue some things because they’re fun.  Watch the film. Walk the hills. Build the pergola. Play the game. Book the holiday. Invite friends over. Laugh until your stomach hurts. Enjoy the food. Sit in God’s presence with absolutely no agenda.

Stop hiding joy away in a drawer because you’re worried people might not take you seriously if they discover you’re enjoying yourself. God didn’t set you free so you could become impressive at being miserable.

Joy is his gift. Receive it. Enjoy it.

And occasionally, for the good of your soul, watch somebody fall off a trampoline.