Diving Board
Ever prepare for a party hoping no one shows up? That was me a few months ago before the gathering that would launch my Standup Sermons into the world. It all felt so weird. Not only had I spent a year writing sermons, but I had invited a bunch of people over to read them out loud to each other. Now here I was setting out cheesy props—a Moses beard, beach balls, and vaguely biblical backdrops—and waiting for the musician to arrive.
What was I thinking? Sure, my sermons countered their weighty content with attempts at humor. Yes, I was presenting the sermons in a playful format because I wanted them to be freely interpreted by people with varied beliefs. Still, how many people come to a party ready to riff about God?
I needn’t have worried. Once they understood the evening’s brief, my friends snatched the sermons from the coffee table and went off to read. For a while, it was an introvert’s dream party: everyone off in corners, nobody speaking. Then after 20 minutes, it was an extrovert’s dream party: everyone back together, laughing and performing. Those who wanted to read aloud asked our genial pianist, Mark Anthony Thomas, for appropriate mood music. Then they picked a backdrop and let their words rip.
My friend Laura went first. She put a blue water backdrop on the floor, lay down on it, put a beach ball under her head, and began reading out loud from the sermon titled, “Pool Party.” She read it like she’d written it; she had everyone in stitches from the get go. As I stood by with a silly grin on my face, I thought, “What do you know, this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”
One friend wore the Moses beard to riff off a sermon called “Bad Behavior.” He mixed some of his words with some of my words and created a whole new thing. As he took a bow and resumed his seat, I heard him mutter, “That was the least Midwestern thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Pretty soon a one year old baby was wearing the Moses wig like he was born to it, while other people improvised speeches about how their mom used to set the table for dinner, or whatever it was my words and the communal atmosphere had let loose.
Delight has many flavors, and I saw a zesty version on peoples’ faces that night. Turns out good sermons are like diving boards: they will hold our weight, let us bounce till we’re ready to leap, and then send us toward that bright blue, deep blue water.
Me wearing the Moses wig. Something I’ve never done before or since.