There is a passage in Ecclesiastes that many of us know almost by heart: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” A time to laugh and a time to weep. A time to speak and a time to remain silent. A time to dance and a time to mourn. I’m sure you know the one I’m referring to, and some of you may even be singing it by now!

            This past Sunday, I was reminded just how true those words still are. Every Sunday, I begin my sermon with a joke. It has become something of a rhythm in our church life together and people expect it now. I can often see it in their faces before I even begin - that little anticipatory smile, that readiness to laugh together before we move into deeper waters. And honestly, I love that. Humor opens people up and connects us. Before the sermon even officially begins, we are together and ready for what might come next.

            But this week was Memorial Day weekend. And as I stood there preparing to preach, I knew almost immediately that beginning with humor would feel wrong…not because laughter is bad…but because the moment called for something different.

            So I didn’t tell a joke. And it was fascinating to watch what happened next. It was clear that many people noticed and there was a subtle shift in the room almost instantly. Somehow, the absence of humor actually became part of the message itself. Without saying a word about it, the congregation understood: today we are entering sacred ground carefully and this is a more somber moment.

            That experience stayed with me because it reminded me how much appropriateness matters…not in the sense of rigid rules or forced solemnity…but in the deeper sense of honoring what a particular moment needs from us.

            We live in a culture that sometimes struggles with this. Everything blends together. Tragedy and comedy sit side-by-side in our social media feeds. Deep grief is interrupted by advertisements. Serious conversations are undercut by sarcasm. Sometimes we lose our sense of emotional and spiritual timing.

            But wisdom, the kind Scripture talks about, is often about learning to discern the moment we are in. There is a time when humor heals and connects us. There is also a time when silence speaks more honestly than words. There are moments that call for celebration and moments that ask for reverence. And when we respond appropriately to a setting, something powerful happens: people are able to engage more deeply because the tone itself creates space for authenticity.

            Even Jesus seemed to understand this rhythm beautifully. He attended weddings and turned water into wine, and he also stopped outside tombs and wept. He told humorous parables filled with exaggerated images and sharp wit and he also sat silently before suffering. His ministry carried a kind of emotional wisdom that matched the moment before him.

            Maybe maturity of faith is not about always being serious or always being cheerful; maybe it is about learning to recognize what love requires in a particular moment.

            Journeying together in faith and love,

            Rev. Candi