I love laughter within boundaries of good taste. We laugh when we see a pompous, self-important individual slipping on the sidewalk; it is not funny when it happens to one of The Olds or someone who is disabled. Rule #1: Learn what is appropriate, or someone will teach you some manners.
Political humor is another matter. Most politicians have strong egos, sometimes too strong. American vaudeville comedian and commentator almost a century ago noted political humor is essential for a democracy.
Dictators tend to have no sense of humor. “Tell a joke about Stalin and you get a one-way railroad ticket to Siberia.” Keeping our wits and perspectives matters now when our democracy seems a bit fragile.
Some politicians just seem to set themselves up for jabs of humor. Recently, Kristi “Ice Barbie” Noem not only put her foot in her mouth, but chomped down as if she were grazing on the ears of a chocolate Easter bunny and swallowed.
That was day she ranted about church basement kitchen ladies in Minneapolis who were making sandwiches and snacks for the protestors against ICE agents. Others packed ditty bags to help clean the pepper spray out of their eyes.
Noem said she thought the women were dangerous, probably funded and organized by ANTIFA, and therefore domestic terrorists.
Now, she really should have known better. She is from North Dakota, which is just up the road from the Twin Cities, and the state is filled with small, often rural churches where basement kitchen ladies practically run not only their parish, but everything else in town. They are not elected to office, but that doesn’t stop them.
ln the upper Midwest, if there is a death in the community, let’s say someone who is a member of the of The Church of What’s Happening Now, Pass the Collection Plate and Amen and Hallelujah falls off their perch, the church basement kitchen ladies from other denominations will be quick to offer their services.
Even if they are not needed in the kitchen and dining hall, they will offer to help with the smorgasbord at the reception. “Can we bring cookies? Do you need ham bun sandwiches? Would you like us to bring tuna fish and noodle hotdish?” If the church doesn’t need a hotdish, they are put on the doorstep of the family suffering a loss.
That’s just what they do. They help one another, and especially anyone in need. If it isn’t food, it might be gently-used clothing or furniture for a neighbor who had a house fire, in late summer backpacks for school children, and so on.
They and their families attend all the Swiss steak and lutefisk dinners in the area. Denominational differences are forgotten when the Knights of Columbus hold their Lenten fish fries. If the food is good and there is plenty of it, that’s it. They go, have a good time and community friendships are strengthened.
Politics and denominational membership are never the litmus test to doing the right thing.
Back home, the ethos is “Minnesota Nice, and if you don’t want to be nice, we’ll be sad you leave, but we’ll help you pack.”
When Ice Barbie said these women were probably funded and organized by Antifa or some other domestic terrorist groups, she gave late night comics and local humorists plenty of fodder for well-deserved laughter.
“Minnesota Nice” is not limited to the state that promotes its 10,000 lakes as the motto on license plates. It is part of our national culture and ethos.
It is who we are, dating back to the 1790s with the Second Great Awakening. People saw needs and responded across political, religious and philosophical lines. They were humanists first and foremost, and we still are.
Our ethos surprised Europeans when they came here in the 1800s. They saw the schools, churches, hospitals and libraries and were astonished that much of it was done without government permission or public money. Why did we do it that way? Because it needed to be done.
Look around southwest Michigan at all the non-government groups that enhance the life of our residents. Even some of the organizations that receive public funding often have groups known as “Friends of …”
Traditionally, much of the funding for these projects has been raised by women. They organized the bake sales, bazaars and church dinners. Organized and did much of the work as well.
Before they even got started on the project, many of them put in a full day at home — taking care of children and grandparents, doing the shopping, cooking and often washing, seeing children off to school and more.
And when they finished their work on the project and hung up their church apron, they went right back home to continue caring for others. Meals, helping the ids with their homework and other tasks.
Trust me, church basement kitchen ladies do not need outsiders to tell them how to get organized. They don’t need a union steward to supervise them. Some of them have been doing it all their lives.
At my home parish in the depths of the Great Depression, the church ladies raised money by making and selling fruitcake. One of them, Claire, started sifting flour when she was five years old and had to stand on a stool to reach the counter.
The women worked on this project for 75 years before hanging up their aprons for the last time. And guess what? Claire was still sifting flour, but this time sitting in her wheelchair. She wasn’t the oldest woman in the kitchen, either.
So, Ms. Noem, if you are reading this, and know what is good for your health, I suggest you sit down, stay out of the way and keep quiet. Watch and learn.
Just remember, the church basement kitchen ladies know which drawer contains the rolling pins, and they know how to use them.
