Easter Is a Joke: A Comedian's Reflections

(Things That Matter #9)

Here at the close of Holy Week, I’ve written 2 posts that both precede and go with this one. The first was titled “A Comedian’s Take on Good Friday.” The Second was “Holy Saturday: A Comedian’s Take.” This one, as you can see, is: Easter Is a Joke: A Comedian’s Reflections. Each title has been deliberate. Each post has allowed me to bring my skills as both a Bible scholar and comedian to Scripture, paying close attention to how comedy, particularly joke structure, allows us to engage the Easter story afresh.

Now, let me say, right out of the gate, a word about the title “Easter Is a Joke.” Here’s what I DO NOT mean by that: Easter is fake or silly or never happened or is absurd. I believe Easter is real and meaningful and definitely happened. Here’s what I DO mean (and having read the first two posts those’ll give you more context to my point): Easter follows basic joke structure and, as such, is itself a joke. Jokes, as I have said, start with a setup. And many jokes, right between the setup and punch, have a pause. And, of course, what comes last is the punch. That’s basic joke structure. Most jokes run that route. Setup, pause, punch.

In thinking about Holy Week in my series of posts, I’ve argued that Good Friday was the setup. It was a long, slow walk toward death. It was public, humiliating, and shameful. The officials stripped Jesus of everything but his innocence. They called him names; they called him a liar; they called him a joke. Then they killed him like one. That’s the setup.

Holy Saturday was the pause. In some ways, it’s a day that doesn’t know what to do with itself. And Christians, as I have said, have often not known what to do with it either, especially Evangelicals. It’s a day sitting in silence while the crowd clears out and the smell of death still lingers. It’s a day of stomach knots and dry mouth. It’s a day when faith doesn’t feel noble or beautiful or inspiring but heavy.

And then comes the punch: Easter Sunday. Easter is what brings the setup and pause together, along with the punch, to make the joke work! The punch is, of course, the resurrection, the greatest misdirect of all time. No one saw it coming. Not the disciples, not the women, not the guards, not the devil. Not even Peter, the man who walked on water, saw it coming. Peter had so much faith he jumped out of a boat, then panicked midair like he suddenly remembered he couldn’t swim. Not even he expected it. No one expected it! Why? Because people don’t just walk out of graves. That’s not how life works. That’s not how any of this works.

And yet…

The stone was rolled away. Jesus, who’d been dead for three days, got up, stretched, folded his grave clothes like he was tidying a hotel room, and walked out. He. Walked. Out. He didn’t float out. He wasn’t beamed up. He walked out like a man who had somewhere to be. Can you imagine being death in that moment? Or Satan? If you’re death, you’ve done your job. You’ve locked the door. You’ve swallowed up the Son of God. If you’re Satan, you think you’re being all self-congratulatory when suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulder: “Excuse me, I think you’re in my seat!” What kind of punchline is that? The dead man lives? The suffering servant reigns? The crucified king smiles? You just got punked!

I love stand-up. But no joke I’ve ever told has ruined a funeral or killed death. This one did. BUT every joke I’ve ever told that has worked along the same lines because each of those jokes has taken peoples’ breath for a moment, then given it back. Joke structure parallels the gospel! It took me 44 years to realize this! To reiterate: Jesus died. And then he didn’t. That’s the punchline. And it landed. I mean it really landed. It knocked the wind out of Hell. It tore through every lie and every fear and every accusation. It was like Jesus looked at sin and shame and addiction and regret and said, “Nice try, but I’m gonna need you to sit down.”

I love comedy because it tells the truth. It holds the tension. It makes you wait. It stretches you. It asks for trust. I believe the gospel because the cross of Good Friday was a setup, Holy Saturday was the pause, and the empty tomb of Easter Sunday was the punch. And from this, I have a major takeaway: even God tells stories like a comedian. When life goes off the rails and you can’t stop crying and nothing makes sense, he knows how to hit the beat, hold the room, and land the punch.

But that’s not the end of the story. Guess what? There’ll also be a callback, an ultimate callback, a return. So friends, I hope you realize every tear, every betrayal, every confusing detail you thought didn’t belong in the story was always part of it. And I hope you realize that the joke was never on you. It was FOR you. Welcome to Easter Sunday! It’s time to laugh in death’s face, time to laugh in sin’s face, time to laugh! Because Easter is the best joke ever.