The merriest moment in my life, the one that instantly comes to mind, took place one night while I was leading the tech crew at a C.S. Lewis Foundation retreat weekend. I was rooming with one of my crew members, who was a dear friend of mine. As each of us slid into our respective twin beds, something happened, and we both started to laugh. I don’t know who or what started it, but once it started, neither one of us could stop.
For what seemed to be an hour or more, everything was funny. We would start to settle down, and then a goofy word or sound would start us up again. We laughed hysterically, like little schoolgirls, laughing until you could hardly breathe.
It was the most innocent and joyous time that I can remember. We made quite a scene. It was a scene that this world and our current culture would not understand, and in fact, would most certainly misunderstand. Two middle-aged men laughing with such silly, reckless abandon, it still amazes me to this day. It is a moment that I still treasure. The thought of it brings a tear to my eye, probably because it may never happen again. Something inside of me wishes it would.
Yet, when I do remember it, it does happen again. It brings a smile to my face because I know in that moment of remembering that that little boy is still in there, somewhere inside me, and God is assuring me that, in Christ, he will never die. Because “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white (young and old), they are precious in his sight.” That is not just some Sunday school song. It is a deep theological truth, for that which is in Jesus’ sight is never lost.
That friend of mine and I now have the merriment of that evening, bonding our friendship forever. It is an experience he still tells me is one of the most treasured of his life, too. The world might say it is proof of our repressed homosexuality. I agree with C.S. Lewis, as he spends much of his chapter on friendship in his book, The Four Loves, refuting that idea. Lewis would say that kind of same-sex friendship is misunderstood by our culture, partly because so few experience it.
That kind of childlike merriment, far from being less manly, is filled with true manliness, even Kingdom godliness. For as Jesus said, “… unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” And there is nothing sexualized about that.
If our Creator values and sanctifies our childlikeness so much so that He makes it one of the prerequisites for entering His Kingdom, then we can ignore what the world thinks and laugh on …
With a similar thought, Lewis finishes that powerful chapter with this line from the old poet William Dunbar.
“Man, please thy Maker, and be merry,
And give not for this world a cherry.”
The featured image, “Clare Bridge Three Years Later,” is courtesy of Lancia E. Smith and is used with her glad permission for Cultivating.
Kirk Lloyd Manton is a layman poet. His career path has led him through alternating seasons working inside and outside the church: youth pastor, film lighting freelancer, church production director, film studio COO, and now, communications project manager – back in a church.
Kirk has a bachelor’s degree in religious studies from The Union Institute. His writing was ignited while serving the technical needs of the presenters at C.S. Lewis Foundation events. For twenty years those friendships have inspired and nurtured Kirk’s writing. He continues to recruit and lead volunteer Christian event technicians for his Guild Fellowship.
He has published two books: a poetry/devotional book, The Grace of Rain, and a photo/poetry book, Listening Like Breathing (2018 Texas Authors Association’s Book of the Year for Poetry).
Kirk and his wife Rachelle now live near Akron, Ohio to be near the grand-babies.
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