So a Rabbi, a Priest and a Minister . . .

I might as well have been sitting in the glitzy dining room at Grossinger’s 35 years ago. And the robed emcee at the front of the alchemized downtown restaurant space could have been Henny Youngman. But there was no violin dangling from his hand, just a scepter.

He was funny, though, this rabbi who was conducting a wedding ceremony in front of the assembled family and friends. Please understand that I was truly humbled to bear witness to this archetypal rite linking the destiny of two sweet souls for eternity, but I was not weeping, which is the traditional thing to do at these affairs. I was smirking, along with the rest of the congregation, at every well-timed theological elbow in the ribs.

Which is not to suggest that the rabbi was heretical--or even breaking new hallowed ground. Most nuptials I attend these days leave me dry-eyed and laughing. Nor do I want to infer that this is a particularly Jewish phenomenon. The biggest matrimonial laugher in recent memory was conducted by a Lutheran minister who had to have studied with the Coen brothers.

So I’ve been wondering if Sermon with Shtick 101 has become part of the curricula at seminaries across the country along with the study of the Apocrypha and Video Production.

Do they learn the Jack Benny Prophetical Pause? Do they practice the old Bob Newhart Apostolic Aside? Do they warn mightily against the supreme temptation to do the Jerry Lewis Slapstick Stumble off the altar?

I would imagine so. Those good-hearted boys and girls who enter seminaries these days are not your typical high school class clowns. Just as they are required to study Greek, Latin and Hebrew in order to recite Scripture, it’s reasonable to think that they must now learn ritualistic shtick for the express purpose of working the room.

During the silent prayer section of the ceremony, rather than pray for world peace or a spike on the Dow, I pondered the loss of solemnity in our lives. I reflected on the vast number of jokes Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: to me hourly on e-mail. I ruminated on the way that television sit-com writers, who may understand the yearnings of the contemporary soul better than most clergy, manage to ameliorate the angst of almost everything from anorexia to zoophilism with their well-placed one-liners. I meditated on the way that everything under the sun has become material for a routine.

Politicians, lawyers, newscasters, newspaper columnists and other normally dour folks now act as if they’re auditioning for guest spots on “Imus in the Morning.”

As my Uncle Murray used to say, “Everyone’s a wise guy.” So why not a minister? As Norman Cousins taught us, humor is a necessary tool for survival. The current research even suggests that a belly laugh a day can strengthen the immune system. So it’s easy to see the benefits of a good howl or two at Friday night or Sunday morning services.

Yet I wish those ministering to my imperfect soul would just keep the hi-jinks out of the wedding ceremony. The way I figure it, getting betrothed may be the most life-affirming, humbling, audacious act that any human being is capable of. And in bearing witness to two beatific bodies choosing love over everyone and everything in the universe, we get to revel (or at least kvell) in one of the few moments of grace afforded ordinary souls destined to spend life stumbling through a comedy full of errors.

It’s certainly worthy of a good cry.