A prophet, a governor, and a high priest walk into a bar mitzvah … (Excerpt from a sermon on Haggai 2:1-9).

Does God have a sense of humor? I might not be able to answer that question with a proof-text, but I can genuinely say that God changed my life through a Bible college improv team. Improv comedy was a craft I picked up my sophomore year of high school, but at that time, I was full of fear and pride. My goal on stage was to be the one to get the biggest laugh, to hit the home run, to chase after the spotlight for as long as possible.

Color me surprised when I moved to the improv capital of the world, enrolled at Moody Bible Institute, and joined [iNfoRmaL], an improv team that flipped my view of humor upside-down. I learned that selfless comedy is better than selfish comedy. I learned that your team hits a lot more home runs if you lob the ball to one another. I learned that “Christian comedy” does not have to be an oxymoron.

Humor Sugarcoats Messages (For Better or Worse)

One lesson I learned from [iNfoRmaL] that dovetails particularly well with preaching is that humor sugarcoats (in the most literal sense of the word) messages. While it may seem obvious, humor is a form of communication; therefore, humor inherently communicates.

While the potency of the message can vary based on the type of humor (simple puns typically have less to say than elaborate satire), every joke makes a claim about reality and invites others to adopt its perspective. Laughter is a sign of assent, and even though we might not realize it, we ingest messages when we open our mouths to laugh, for better or worse.

At its best, humor sugarcoats medicine which delightfully heals the soul. This is the truest sense of the adage: “laughter is the best medicine.” When levity sweetens a message that is good, true, and beautiful, it can be relished rather than swallowed with a pinched nose.

The laugher may not realize it, but even subconscious consumption can have a healing effect. Since there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh” (Eccl. 3:4a ESV), this prescription is not always appropriate, but neither is the inverse—"The man who takes everything seriously is the man who makes an idol of everything.”[1]

Others may try, but only the Christian worldview can harness the holy potential of humor. Worldly comics use hollow humor because their jokes have no eternal substance, but Christ’s Bride has real reason to laugh. When handled with care by preachers, humor can become a winsome tool that disciples those who listen.

While preparing a sermon on Jesus’ inhospitable homecoming reception in Luke 4, my aim was to drive home the irony that the audience of Christ’s inaugural address weren’t strangers in one sense but were in another, just as we might know about Jesus without really knowing him. By itself, this message can be hard to swallow, but sugarcoated, it goes down much easier.

To that end, I described the characters Jesus might have seen in the synagogue that day, including that one weird uncle. Appealing to this familiar trope not only got a laugh but also set me up to mention that same weird uncle when describing the mob intent on pushing Jesus off the cliff. In a new context, the same punchline packed quite the punch.

At its worst, humor sugarcoats poison which is sweet to the tongue yet deadly when digested. There are certain messages that we might reject if presented to us plainly yet are palatable when reinforced with a laugh track.

Preachers are not exempt from the dangerous misuse of humor, for we too can be tempted to get laughs at the expense of others to feed our own egos or to justify pushing boundaries from the pulpit in the name of maintaining engagement. Indeed, if “we who teach will be judged with greater strictness” (James 3:1), the danger is compounded. As ministers expected to illuminate the Word of God, we can do severe damage if we cause our listeners to stumble by laughing at what should make them cry.

The ultimate example of this heinous potential is found at the crucifixion, where the incarnate King of the Cosmos was viciously mocked by Jew and Gentile alike; however, if I’m honest, I also have experience sugarcoating poison. Most recently, I made a joke comparing one friend’s outfit to a knockoff version of another friend’s outfit. Though this joke got laughs from others, they were at another’s expense, pushing them down to prop myself up. That type of laughter isn’t worth the cost.

Does every joke contain either a toxin or a cure? Not necessarily. Sometimes, the underlying message has minimal nutritional value, communicating little more than “Why else would a chicken cross the road?” Still, because of its holy and heinous potential, we should always be mindful of the messages we sweeten. To do so, we ought to peel back a layer and consider our reason behind the remark.

Preach Humorously to Expose What Is Evil

When Adam and Eve disregarded what God declared good by redefining good for themselves, knowledge of good and evil became muddled, not enlightened. East of Eden, humanity has perfected this anti-art of mistaking good for evil and evil for good.

Worldly comedy is a prime example, masquerading perversity under the guise of levity; however, when donned by a baptized imagination submitted to the Holy Spirit, comedy can work in reverse, restoring true knowledge of good and evil. Thus, rather than abandoning it to the world, we ought to preach humorously to unmask the world.

Satan aims to implant lies into our hearts subtle enough to avoid detection. Uncovering these lies for the people of God can prove difficult; therefore, preachers would do well to glean wisdom from Martin Luther’s methodology: “When I could not be rid of the devil with sentences out of the Holy Scripture, I made him often fly with jeering words . . . He is a proud spirit, and cannot endure scorn.”[2]

While it would be folly to treat spiritual warfare flippantly by leaning on our own understanding, it is appropriate to delight in Satan’s inevitable defeat. We need not pretend like we’re oblivious to the end of the story! By using humor to lighten the dark recesses of our hearts, we invite listeners to denounce evil with the confession of laughter, for surfaced lies are disenchanted lies.

One way to put exposing evil through jest into practice is to acknowledge its appearances throughout Scripture. It is an ancient art, after all. Preachers—particularly those intimidated by the prospect of creating comedy—need not invent unique material to participate.

Take the absurdity of idolatry exposed in Isaiah 44:9-20. The prophet employs humorous irony to describe how the idol-crafter worships the very wood he uses to cook lunch! By laughing at idolatry, Isaiah unmasks the evil of worshiping creation rather than Creator.

Similarly, Jesus confronts the farce of the Pharisees in Matthew 23:24 with the vivid picture of filtering out a gnat, yet gulping down a camel, humps and all! Rather than naming legalism and inverted priorities outright, he opts to joke about them to add flavor to his indictment.

Pinning down biblical humor is not always easy because of our simultaneous cultural distance and hermeneutical familiarity with the Bible; nevertheless, when we discover one of these precious gems, highlighting them can help undermine Hell’s absurdities.

Another possible method is to incorporate personal stories into our sermons that admit lies we once believed but have since realized through hindsight. For those who actively believe these lies, doing so provides a powerful opportunity to question their insidious assumptions. Even for those who cannot relate directly, we become living case studies of conviction to aid saints in their own journeys of sanctification.

One time during a high school improv show, I was part of a last-person-standing storytelling game that filled me with pride. The previous night, I had been in the same game and was met with uproarious success. Thus, I was shocked when I found myself being one of the first people out for a contentious reason. So much wasted potential!

Unwilling to accept defeat, I began scheming how to insert myself back onto the stage. I found a window of opportunity, bounded back into the spotlight, and interjected a joke. All eyes were on me. However, as I made my getaway, my feet staged a coup as I slipped and took an unintended pratfall. All eyes were on me. Splayed and humiliated, I realized that being the center of attention is not always as desirous as it seems.

Now that I’m able to laugh about it, I’m able to invite others to join me by using this story as a sermon illustration on the folly of pride. The Lord can redeem even our misadventures when we reframe them into lie-detectors.

Disclaimer: This type of humor must be handled with pastoral sensitivity. The gospel is offensive enough on its own; we need not add to it unnecessarily. Preaching humorously to expose what is evil is not the same as jeering about personal distastes, which can be its own form of muddling evil and good. The difference comes down to motivation. If love of God and neighbor is not at the heart of our humor, then we are the true laughing stocks.

Preach Humorously to Profess What Is Good

When Adam and Eve broke the first (and shortest) ever terms and conditions, they sold their souls for counterfeit goods; however, when used purposefully, humor has the power to profess true good. Satan may hijack it, but God is the true King of Comedy.

By delighting in what is good, the jovial Christian is catechized by the King, not the world. By delighting in what is good, the Body of Christ is also bound together. Heinous humor divides, pushing down others to elevate self; holy humor unites, each voice contributing to the chorus of laughter. The latter is deeply relational and fosters communal trust. Thus, the positive potential of humor is far too great for preachers to ignore.

In practice, this humorous potential can be tapped when we use it as a source of humility. When we laugh at ourselves, we dislodge ourselves from the center of the universe. In an insecure world where respect is demanded, our security in Christ allows us preachers to take ourselves less seriously. Whether it’s teasing our own shortcomings like my story of pride coming before the fall or delivering situational humor to acknowledge the oddity of humanity, we come to terms with who we are.

If taken too far, self-deprecating jokes can contradict who we are as beloved saints, but with God as our reference point, this practice helps take the scales off our eyes and remind our listeners that we are just as dependent on the grace of God as they are.

Furthermore, humor illuminates good when it conveys our living hope. West of New Jerusalem, there is certainly a time to weep; however, tears have an expiration date (Rev. 21:4). It is good to remind weary vagabonds along the straight and narrow of this truth.

Testimony of the delightful things the Lord has done in the now is a wonderful way to cultivate hope in the not yet. What prayer has God answered above your wildest expectations? What unexpected twist has your life taken for the better? What story from your ministry tells of God working in surprising ways? Incorporating such things into your sermon provides a foretaste of the mirth around the table at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

The world uses laughter to anesthetize the hopeless, but Christians can use it to increase their sensitivity: today may be bleak, but as followers of Christ, we are one day closer to an impending eternity of delight too good not to be true!

In the introduction to a sermon on Luke 2:8-20, I attempted to harness this holy hope:

I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news, says your photographer friend. The good news is, your wedding was one of the most beautiful events I’ve ever photographed! The bad news is, I grabbed the wrong battery on the way out the door that morning.

I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news, says your professor. The good news is, that ten-page paper you were about to lock yourself in the library and put in a Redbull IV for is being extended to next week! The bad news is, I forgot to mention that it’s single-spaced.

I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news, says your doctor. The good news is, we’ll be naming a disease after you ….”

Contrasting these good news/bad news anecdotes with the purely good news of the infinite Infant’s arrival reminded the church just how good the gospel truly is!

As servants of God who proclaim the Word of God to the people of God, the tone and style of our preaching will inevitably shape our hearers’ picture of God. Thus, boring sermons are not only ill-advised rhetorically but also theologically because of the way they distort the unshakable hope of the gospel.

This skill will take time to master, but thankfully, we do not have to journey alone. Two theological jesters that I have found remarkably insightful along the way are C. S. Lewis (see The Screwtape Letters) and G. K. Chesterton (Orthdoxy). With wit and wonder, they demonstrate what the baptized imagination is capable of. Rather than distracting from their writing, their humor increases its effectiveness. Preachers interested in next steps would do well to read the writings of these sages and note the gravity of their levity.

Conclusion

As preachers, the jokes we make sugarcoat messages consumed by the flocks entrusted to us, for better or worse. Should we turn our pulpits into stand-up comedy platforms? I wouldn’t recommend it, yet I also wouldn’t recommend ignoring humor entirely.

We have the unique opportunity to be winsome witnesses through our intentional use of humor, redeeming laughter to expose what is evil and profess what is good. Our divine comedy can help guide beloved saints on their own journeys to Paradise!

[1] G. K. Chesterton, “On Seriousness,” in The Uses of Diversity (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1920), p. 1.

[2] Martin Luther, The Table Talk of Martin Luther, translated by William Hazlitt (London: H. G. Bohn, 1857), 261-262.