See theme

Preaching Today: Ken, you've been on Preaching Today Audio several times, and in one of those workshops you listed characteristics of what makes something funny. Could you give us a synopsis of those three distinctives?

Ken Davis: There are whole books written on what makes something funny, but basically it comes down to three things. Exaggerating, taking something that's real and blowing it out of proportion. Truth, taking a look at something you might not otherwise have even paused to look at, something you didn't even see, and when you see it you realize it's funny. And then surprise. Surprise is the joke, the punchline-kind of funny. Someone said that humor is like inviting a friend to stand on a rug, convincing him it's safe, and then pulling the rug out from underneath him at the last moment.

You tell a great story about what happened when your airbag deployed one day after a minor car accident. I've heard that story at least twice. It's amazing how much more detail you remembered as time went on. But I have to tell you, even the first time I heard it I assumed you might be doing a little creative remembering.

Absolutely.

In using exaggeration as a form of humor from the pulpit, how can the speaker separate this from lying?

You said there was a point when you recognized this was beyond the realm of reality, that something had been added to it. It's like a wink to the audience. Occasionally there will be some people who don't get this; it's important to help people. Let them in on it. You say, "I was in my car, and I hit a light pole, and my airbag went off." You begin to describe how that's not fun. "The television makes it look fun because it comes out in slow motion, like some kind of salvation marshmallow." You describe all that, make all the motions, become bigger than life, and you assume your audience realizes, He's telling the story bigger than it actually happened.

Humor almost always involves some kind of exaggeration. In the context of humor, most of the time it's acceptable. You can even say afterwards, "Most of you know that couldn't have happened," or, "Yeah, right," or you give a wink toward the audience or roll your eyes. You do something that gives the audience the idea that they've been let in on this little piece of fun.

The problem comes when we insist this is true. If you said, "It absolutely happened this way." Then it goes beyond the bounds of reality, and you create a problem for yourself. Make it clear that this is fun, and the audience is in on the fun with you, and you won't have much of a problem.

When I say wink, I mean that figuratively. If a story is told with enough exaggeration, it will come across. I have heard people tell fables from the pulpit, those stories you've heard a hundred other places, and all it would have taken is for the person to say, "I heard a story told," or "I don't know the veracity of this story." That doesn't take anything away from the story, but instead it was introduced, "My uncle was driving down the road," or "I was driving down the road, and there was this hitchhiker." As soon as listeners recognize they heard that told as a joke somewhere, it doesn't matter what else you have to say; they're gone. It's important to maintain integrity.

Properly introducing a "fable" helps save the speaker's integrity, but there are also introductions that work against you. Speakers often kill an anecdote by introducing it with the words, "Here's a funny story." People like me sit there thinking, I'll be the judge of that. The level of expectation is so high that the story often falls flat. In addition to not announcing that desired outcome, what are some guidelines for bringing the element of surprise into the story?

You have to lay the rug out carefully and lead people in that direction. That's why your introduction that this is going to be funny won't work. The surprise is gone. People are anticipating. Wait till the end to let people know it's an exaggeration, a joke. That's where the surprise in humor comes.

There's a story of a man who broke into a house. He closed the window behind him and began to move through the darkened house when he heard a voice say, "I see you." He froze. Then the voice said, "Jesus sees you, too." The man didn't know what to do. It was pitch dark in the house. He thought, Maybe I imagined it. He heard the voice again. "I see you, and Jesus sees you, too." He reached into his bag, got a flashlight, and clicked it in the direction of the voice. Sitting in a cage was a parrot. When the light hit the parrot, it said, "I see you, and Jesus sees you, too." The man thought, I've got to kill this parrot, or I'm going to be found out. As he moved toward the parrot, his light went down a little bit and illuminated the biggest Rottweiler he'd ever seen. The dog was sitting under the cage. And the second that light hit the Rottweiler, the parrot said, "Sic 'em, Jesus."

A little surprise. By the time you get to the parrot, there's a hint in people's minds that this is a joke. But in the beginning you build the anticipation that this is a thief. I use that story, by the way, to illustrate the view that most people have of God. Their idea of Jesus is that he sits around waiting for us to make a mistake, and then someone says, "Sic 'em," and he comes after us, rather than pursuing us with love and grace and forgiveness.

That leads me to ask about those who don't feel humor has a place in the pulpit. Some of those people are in our congregations, and some are in pulpits. How do we use humor without losing the seriousness of the Word of God?

Someone has said, "Humor is a gentle way to acknowledge human frailty." I love that definition. The truth is, sometimes it's the only way people will look at where their lives need to be different. It's a way to move them gently in that direction, when it's done properly. Faith does not begin with us saying to God, "I've got it all together. I'm perfect now; accept me." Faith begins when we come to God and say, "I'm not okay." When we're willing to recognize that, confess it to the Lord, then we experience his overwhelming forgiveness. I've lost track of the number of people I've talked to over the years who were introduced to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ through humor, because for the first time they were able to look at the fact that they didn't have it all together.

If a humorous story is used to illustrate a serious point, it brings power to that point. You have a guarantee that the person listening understood your point. When you preach, you look out at the audience, and you have no idea what's happening out there. They could be looking at you but be home doing their taxes. They may be nodding and muttering amen because they've learned how to do that. But when you tell a humorous story to illustrate a point, and people laugh, not only do you know they're with you, but if it was used well, you know they understood the point.

You tell a powerful story about your relationship with your daughter. You describe a situation in which she communicated she loved you. There's humor, and it is an emotional story that ends with surprise. Are humor and emotion closely related, not at opposite ends of the pole?

They're not at all at opposite ends of the pole. In fact, that's part of the answer to the question about the seriousness of God's message. Humor is about serious things. Human frailty is a serious thing. It's something we're unwilling to look at. The story you refer to moves people back and forth several times from humor to tears. But the tears aren't tears of sorrow or regret. They're tears of joy, because something has been discovered through this humor.

At the end of that story, I'm in the bathroom, and I cry out, "Thank you, Jesus, she loves me," and then get surprised by the guy in the next stall. That is a true story. It has been embellished a little bit; there is a wink there; but it's a true story about my life. When I'm yelling, "Thank you, Jesus, she loves me, she loves me," the guy did say, "Get a life, man." That takes people from this moment of tears to laughter. It's a relief. When you hear a message that is just serious, you can't handle that for a long time. Eventually you have to have some relief.

Zig Zigler says he injects humor into his messages at least every few minutes, if for nothing else than to bring the people back. No matter how inspired you are, minds wander. Humor brings people back.

We live in a culture that demands humor. One lady said to me, "There's no need for this frivolity. There's no need to present the gospel in any other way than just to read what it says."

I felt sorry for this lady. I asked her, "Do you have missionaries in your church?"

She said, "Yes."

I said, "Do you just send them to the mission field?"

She said, "No. We train them."

I said, "In what do you train them?"

She said, "We train them to present the gospel in the context of a foreign culture."

My response was, "Ma'am, we live in a foreign culture. There was a time when this was a Christian culture. It is no longer so. If laughter will bring people in to hear the gospel, if laughter will clarify the message of Christ's love, if laughter will help people see the darkness of their hearts, then we're not different than the missionaries. We're learning to use this medium to present the gospel. We're learning to present it in the context of this culture."

Turn on your television, and you see how important humor is to communication in today's world. Most programs involve some kind of humor.

When it's done right, humor breaks down hostility. Oftentimes people will acknowledge their own weaknesses, their own frailty. They will acknowledge problems that may exist in the church or in our lives through the use of humor, and it gives them a chance to look at those problems.

Humor is just plain good for you. "Laughter is good medicine." "Rejoice, and again I say, rejoice." That's not always telling jokes. It's important for people to understand this, too. Humor is not comedy necessarily. We have the idea that all humor has to be punch lines, and then people laugh uproariously. Some of the greatest humorists, Mark Twain, Will Rogers, had marvelous senses of humor, but they didn't get up and tell jokes. They told stories about themselves. They admitted vulnerability, and people laughed, and that gave them the ability to see the truth. It's just plain good for you.

Telling jokes might be one of the mistakes we make in using humor in our preaching. What are some other mistakes we might make?

There are two kinds of humor: low-risk and high-risk. It's a mistake to try high-risk humor. High-risk humor is when you set up a joke, and there's a punch line. If there's no laughter, it's painful.

Life's experiences bring more humor than you could use in a million years. (Now there was an exaggeration. Let's say twenty years to be safe.) If something happens in your home, or you see something in life's experiences that made you laugh or made a group of your friends laugh, and you share that story, and you don't set it up by saying, "You're going to love this. This is the funniest thing that ever happened," but instead you say, "Let me tell you something that happened recently"—if at the end they don't laugh, you still have an intact illustration. There's been no risk. But if they find it funny like you found it funny, then you have the chance to add that to your repertoire.

We need to guard against using the high-risk humor unless we know it's going to work.

Absolutely.

What are some other mistakes that come to mind?

There is a line that divides appropriate and inappropriate humor in any situation. There are stories that aren't dirty stories that would not be appropriate to tell from the pulpit. There are things families share together that you wouldn't share from the pulpit. Be careful that what you're using is appropriate humor for the pulpit. You are never going to please everybody. If you use humor, you will be criticized. That shouldn't scare us away, because if you breathe you're going to be criticized. If you dare step in the pulpit, you're going to be criticized.

Hurtful humor can be very damaging. I remember times when I have become friends with other speakers, and we banter back and forth with each other on stage, making fun of one another. The audience doesn't have the privilege of knowing that this comes out of friendship. It feels like a hurtful thing to them. That should be avoided.

Make sure there's a purpose for using humor. The purpose can be as simple as to grab people's attention at the beginning of your message. Or the purpose might be to bring them back. But the purpose never should be just humor for humor's sake. Not from the pulpit. Most of the time the purpose should be that this humor illustrates a point, clarifies a point, draws people's attention to a point that is going to take them one step closer to the Cross.

Can self-deprecating humor be overdone?

Yes. We have to be careful that the word self doesn't become a huge part of our message. When using illustrations about everyday life, it's important we don't constantly use ourselves as an example, positively or negatively.

Our illustrations should come out of life. Sometimes they will come from our families. Sometimes they'll come from what we've observed in life. Sometimes they'll come from a situation where we've heard someone else preach. How easy it is simply to say, "I listened to Joe Stowell the other day, and he said." How easy it is to give the credit to that person. It does not take away from the power of your illustration. It only takes away if you give that illustration as yours. You personalize it as yours, and then the person who heard Billy Graham say it in the crusade hears it. Then that person is gone. You've eliminated them from the possibility of benefiting from your message.

Could you estimate how much of the humor in a given sermon is based on your life experience and how much is a third-person story?

I have never sat down to try and figure out those percentages.

So it's not so much to guard against stories that involve your life; it's just the highlighting of yourself?

Absolutely. Because there isn't a whole lot we have to draw from other than our life. The best illustrations and the best humor don't come from 1001 Great Illustrations or 100 Jokes You Can Tell from the Pulpit. The best stories come from becoming observant and watching the funny things around us.

I have a story I tell about shopping. I hate shopping. I don't believe men were made to shop. I don't think God wanted us to shop.

Amen.

After the Fall we were forced to shop. People tell me, "That's a stereotype. Some men like to shop." And I say, "The wimpy ones." Now that alone is an illustration of how you take a real life situation that you could build on later.

I built on this by saying, "I went to the Mall of America. There's proof in the Mall of America that men weren't supposed to shop. There are 180 miles of benches, and there are no women on those benches. There are only men on those benches. I saw a 90-year-old guy with cobwebs hanging from his head. The sad part was he wasn't 90 when he went into the mall."

All of that comes out of observation. What I've just done is proclaim a truth in an illustration I use to say, "If I love my wife, there are sacrifices I will make to do the things she wants to do." When I'm talking about marriage, I'll use this as an illustration. If you just said, "Men don't like to shop," or you gave some sick statistic, "85.3 percent of the men in America do not like to shop," I'm asleep. Preach like that, and there's going to be people starting pick-up basketball games in the back of the auditorium. With the illustration, you get them nodding. Halfway through my illustration you were saying, "Amen." You were right there.

That's certainly the way we need to find a lot of humor. However, you also tell stories that I don't believe are in your personal experience. Like the interesting one about fluffing up a dead rabbit. You tell it your way, and that's what makes it funny. That balances out the illustrations that are about you.

It's important to know your own style and ability. My tendency is to be way out there. I'm the exaggeration kind of guy. I want to take risks. But you need to know your own personality. Perhaps you have more of a dry wit and enjoy intellectual humor based on truth, humor based on truth that we rarely observe.

Steven Wright uses this all the time. He says, "If you drop a buttered piece of toast, it will always fall butter-side down. And they say if you drop a cat, he will always land on his feet. So the other day I tied a piece of buttered toast to my cat's back." He has a dry wit. If he tried to be Robin Williams, if he tried to be improvisational, it wouldn't work.

Tony Campolo has a fascinating sense of humor. It is self-deprecating. In the middle of proclaiming what he believes strongly, he will lift that weight with a humorous comment, and then come back again. You've got to know your own style. Don't try to be somebody else. Remember that humor isn't necessarily that "knock 'em down," "lay on the floor," "laugh till you're sick" kind of thing. Sometimes it's just a comment that makes people go, Man, that is so true. That's humor.

Is humor in preaching important enough that somebody who is not naturally humorous should work at it?

The answer is yes, if they understand what we've already talked about. They need to realize that with just a little bit of work anything can be made funny. I mean if something made them chuckle, they need to look at that and understand what it was that made them chuckle, and how to present that in such a way that it will have the same response from their audience.

I did some radio shows where all I did was read the response of children to what they thought love was. One child wrote that he thought love was when a boy puts on cologne and a girl puts on perfume, and then they go on a date and smell each other. A little girl said, "I think love is when my grandma can't move anymore—she's in a wheelchair—and my grandpa clips her toenails even when his hands have arthritis." You move from one to the other, and it becomes a powerful tool.

We should never stop learning. I'm a humorist; I should never stop learning how to proclaim truth seriously. Work on all of these aspects of communication. Not to do so is like God giving us a toolbox, and we say, "I don't like that tool. I'm not going to use that tool. I've never learned to use that tool." We need to learn to use that tool.

This article is adapted from the Preaching Today audio #254 workshop.

Ken Davis, humorist and speaker, is president of Dynamic Communications and author of several books, including The Dynamic Communicators Workbook (Zondervan).