I admit that I was never a fan of MASH*. I watched it on occasion and sometimes found it humorous, but other times it just didn’t hit right with me. However, last night I was going through some paperwork at home with the television playing in the background … and there it was.
I will say, there are times when life feels a little like MASH*. That’s especially true for many throughout Indiana for over a week now (and not just Indiana, I know).
None of us volunteered for this “assignment.” We may have chosen to live here, but we didn’t choose the storms. We weren’t asked; we were drafted. The accommodations leave something to be desired. And for many still, you’d really like to know when you’re getting “sent home” (aka when power will be restored or the waters recede).
Oddly, MASH* is a pretty good description of this week.
Some have gotten their power back. Others are still waiting. For those who remain in the dark or are dealing with downed trees and property damage, it can feel as though you’ve been drafted into an extended stay at the 4077th—with questionable accommodations, limited resources, and no clear discharge date.
At times like this, it’s tempting to spend our days keeping track of everything wrong. It’s frustrating. It’s inconvenient. It’s exhausting.
But there’s something else I was reminded last night about MASH*. They laughed. They bonded. They formed friendships in difficult circumstances. They found little ways to remind themselves of better times. In the middle of difficult circumstances, surrounded by things that were anything but funny, Hawkeye and BJ and Radar and the rest found ways to cope, keep their sanity, and even build memories.
It serves as a reminder that circumstances don’t get to have the last word. There’s something wonderfully human about that … and something powerfully faithful.
Laughing when we want to cry, forging on when we want to give up, and encouraging others when we’re struggling to find strength in ourselves … that’s not a failure of faith. It’s part of faith.
The Apostle Paul tells the believers in Philippi, who were facing difficult circumstances of their own, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice.” Even more significantly, Paul wrote these words to them from a prison cell.
Rejoice always? That seems like a pretty tall order.
But rejoicing doesn’t mean pretending we’re okay when we’re not or denying lousy circumstances.
Joy can come from knowing that God is still God. That we are not alone. That there are people around us who care. That even in a difficult week, there can still be a good joke, a shared meal, a ridiculous story, a neighbor checking on a neighbor, or a moment when we laugh so hard that we forget—just for a minute—that we’re waiting for the lights to come back on.
So today, give yourself permission to laugh. Not because everything is okay today … but because it will be tomorrow. Maybe that’s one small way we keep our sanity. And maybe it’s one small way we practice joy.
Prayer: God, I confess that sometimes it’s hard to find anything funny when I’m tired, frustrated, and uncomfortable. Today, give me the grace to laugh, even if only at one small thing. Help me notice the absurd, celebrate the small victories, and share a little joy with those around me. And when laughter feels difficult, remind us that you are with me in the waiting and in the inconvenience. Give me patience for today, hope for tomorrow, and enough humor to get through both. Amen.
