what if church was more like comedy?

On New Year’s Eve, my wife and I went to a comedy show. I hadn’t been to one in the last decade, being content with watching John Stewart and the occasional George Bush press conference. There is something about live comedy. Perhaps the danger? The thin line between living and dying up there all by yourself, no props, no dancing monkeys. Only your wit. When comedy is really good, it may be the greatest of all arts. Because really good comedy flips the human condition on its head and lets us laugh at the gods. We are fragile, life is ultimately tragic. In the end, laughter and love are the only defenses we have. [This is, I think, the gospel message.] All three comedians on the bill were quite good. Their craft was honed. In addition to the standard airport jokes and the weather in Boston jokes, each had some quirky way of looking at the world. We laughed a lot. But we laughed hardest at the things that weren’t the craft, weren’t the rehearsed bits. These were the moments of interaction -- improvised -- between comedian and audience. When the comedian stepped out onto the high wire and started an exchange with a (sometimes willing) member of the audience. These were little moments of transcendence, when art replaced craft, and comedy soared into something else: the creation of a community, a communion, sharing the same feeling, laughing with each other, inhaling and exhaling cathartically. Because we all knew we were in a dangerous place and anything could happen at that moment. Worship is boring, church is boring, because we are in a safe place and we know everything that is going to happen. We have a printed order of worship. No surprises. No improvisation. Just follow the cut-out dance steps on the floor. Worship a predictable God, and you’ll get predictable results.