I preached my first sermon in a Sunday night service at the age of 12. I was incredibly nervous. I didn’t sleep well the night before.  

I stood before a room of about 50 people and preached for probably a total of 7 minutes.  

Mostly, I told a story about my cat. Everyone in our neighborhood thought the cat was theirs. We saw a homeless man feed him once. The cat came home with a surgery done on it, complete with the cone of shame. We found out from our veterinarian that someone paid $1,200 for our cat to have that surgery—In 1996 money.  

The congregation laughed. They liked it. As I sat down, I remember thinking, “I need more cat stories.”

In March of 2018, I stood in front of a room at an open-mic event, and I tried a few jokes. At this point, I’d been preaching for 10 years, and a friend had said to me: “You’re pretty funny—you should try comedy.”

So I tried.  

That first open mic was like a bad church experience. There were about 30 people in the room, and most of them knew each other. When someone got up that the group didn’t know—like me—most of the crowd would go outside to wait until their friends would get up again.

It’s a humbling feeling when you are walking on stage, and 80% of the room leaves before you start talking. That had never happened to me while I was standing to deliver a sermon. Sure, I’ve had a handful of people walk out… but not THAT many. 

As a preacher, this is one reason I’ve come to enjoy comedy. Things happen that don’t happen during sermons. I never know how it’s going to go. And I’m not sure how the jokes will land. And I get butterflies in my stomach that I don’t get anymore when I preach.  

My friend Jacob Parnell (who is also a preacher/comic) says comedy for him is “a midlife crisis I force people to watch.”

That’s a good description. It’s a way for me to put something out into the world as a gift that I don’t have any control over. I’ve come to appreciate that.  

Part of my comedy set is a reveal that I am a pastor. I usually say it like this: 

“I’m a pastor.  Don’t worry, I won’t make it weird…..  Let’s pray.” 

After a set, I’ve had people say to me: “What are you doing here?”  Or “Why would a pastor do this?”

I’ve had people ask to pray with me. I’ve had conversations with people about faith, life, and church. I might be the only pastor some of these individuals have interacted with in a long time. I consider it a win in Los Angeles that I get a chance to give people a non-negative interaction with a church leader.  

As we consider the future of church in America, I hope that pastors can find ways to get into spaces like this. Comedy might not be your thing—but what is your thing?  

Christians need to leave our buildings to use our gifts in all kinds of ways. We need to be creative. Not for a world that is coming, but for a world that is already here.    

It’s more comfortable to do ministry like we always have. It’s easier to continue to deliver sermons. To try and make worship better. To convince ourselves that we are one magic bullet away from the change that packs our auditorium. Of course you need to think about those things.  

But maybe God is asking you to think about something else.  

What is a gift that you can offer the world in another way? What is a space that God is calling you to step into even if you are nervous about it?  

I still have no clue what I’m doing with stand-up comedy*—but I’m confident that God can use it. When I’m uncomfortable, I know I can create space for God to work. It’s been true ever since I was a 12-year-old, telling a story about a cat.   

* I’ve posted clips to YouTube and one of the clips that I liked the least somehow has over 322,000 views. I. Still. Don’t. Know. What. I. Am. Doing. If you could subscribe on YouTube to follow my stand-up journey, I’d appreciate it!