
“Traveling through space and not finding God does not mean that space is empty any more than traveling through my body and not finding me means that I am not here.”

“Traveling through space and not finding God does not mean that space is empty any more than traveling through my body and not finding me means that I am not here.”
“Love cures people. Both the ones who give it andDr. Doolittle was right. “If we could talk to the animals, what a lovely place the world would be.” Well, they’re talking! The real question is: Are we listening?
P.S. Don’t miss the quotes after the images.
Click on any image to enlarge it, or to start slide show.
Did you know that Mister Rogers was an ordained pastor? Yep, that Mister Rogers. What would it have been like to attend a church service where “Pastor Rogers” preached?
My old comedy act Mitch & Allen started riffing on the idea of a laid-back zinger-dropping Pastor Rogers and an unbelievably annoying person named Mr. Deacon.
Watch the video now, and then meet me for milk and cookies below!
“God loves you, but if you don’t get right, he’s gonna fry your face off!” A smidge condemning, perhaps. But then Mr. Deacon has such a grating laugh you almost want him to go to hell. Worse though, he’s a hypocrite, in the sense that Jesus used the word, an “actor,” a person who pretends to be something they’re not.
I guest-spoke at a church in Chicago one time. It was a great morning. Until a stern-looking man came up and rebuked me for “cussing.” Huh? I didn’t use any curse words.
“That was Frank,” the pastor explained. “It was because you said ‘gee.’” We don’t consider that cussing, but Frank does — on Sundays. He cusses like crazy the rest of the week. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s having an affair with his next-door neighbor. I don’t think he gets the whole Jesus thing. He’s just ‘religious,’ you know? And we’re trying to fix that.”
Psychologists call it cognitive dissonance: the uncomfortable state of living at odds with what we believe. To resolve it, we have to make one of two choices: either live what we believe, or believe what we live. The first takes effort. And humility. The latter is easy, but requires some mental twisting. E.g. Do you steal from the company you work for? Tell yourself, “They underpay me and they know it. So, I’m just taking what’s mine!” Voila! You now officially believe what you live.
The problem with believing what you live is that your hypocrisy can be exposed at any time. Pastor Rogers’ biblical zingers have this effect on Mr. Deacon. But there’s a way out of the hell of self-deception, he explains: let your Creator remake you, change you into “a new creature.”
How could it be any other way? There’s nothing Mr. Deacon, or Frank, or you and I can offer God but ourselves, to let him transform us into who we were meant to be. The real Mister Rogers understood that. And he was an excellent preacher, by the way.
Now, who’s up for milk and cookies?
I was still running my little school of the arts (and secretly living in a back room there) while attending Drama grad school. I wanted to direct. But because of my eleventh hour application, I’d been shoehorned in as an Acting/Directing major, a utility player.
So, my advisor pulled me from the bullpen, and assigned me a lead role in Born Yesterday, a 1940s romantic comedy. As before, I had my shoulder-length hair and beard buzzed, leaving only a caterpillar moustache. When I returned from the barbershop, everyone said, “Wait—what’s different? Ohhh, you grew a moustache!” As if I’d grown it on my lunch break.
I was cranky about forcing the play into my bloated schedule. Until I met my leading lady. Ruby was a blonde, blue-eyed masterpiece of landscaping. To her aggravation, Hollywood kept offering her hooker and stripper roles, when she was, in fact, a terrific actress. And yet it was as if she was her character in the play. Like Billie, the ingenuous mistress of a corrupt junk dealer, Ruby was bright, but had always been advised to focus on her physical assets.
I, on the other hand, like my character in the play, Billie’s tutor, had always been encouraged to read and think. Off-stage, Ruby and I talked non-stop. I’d recommend books, and encourage her to examine her life, and she’d light up when she had an “Aha!” We began to lean into each other, and touch each other’s hair as we talked.
Our director, Casey, was concerned. And she had reason to be. Because Ruby was married. So, Casey took me aside, and said, “Mitch, you two light up the stage together—but leave it on the stage.” She even set me up with a friend who had a crush on me.
I went out with Laura to put Casey’s mind at rest. She was sweet, but we had nothing in common. Well, there was one thing. She worked for a phone answering service, and a horrific client had just picked her apart psychologically. “He’s a psychiatrist,” she sobbed, “and he always does this to me.”
“Is his name Dr. Prodder?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said. “How could you know that?”
“He’s my landlord!”
Laura was willing, so I spent the night with her. But I came down with a bad case of shame the next day. True, I was promiscuous and felt no need to justify myself (it was the 70s, dammit). But I knew that, for Laura, this was “hopeful sex,” not casual sex. And I’d done it anyway.
The show was a hit. So was the cast party. Before long, Ruby and I were in a kitchen corner, limbs entangled, kissing hungrily. Not like in the play, but like lovers. Her marriage was on the rocks, she told me. She and her husband had been the best-looking couple in high school. So naturally they’d gotten married. And then she’d realized she didn’t like him. He never even came to see her plays. So, yes…
Ruby was willing, no, wanting, she said, to spend the night with me. Minutes later, in the parking lot outside my clandestine apartment, she asked, “Well, do I come in?” I wanted her to, wanted it badly. She wasn’t Laura, I told myself, and yet that same fever of guilt came over me. Maybe divorce was inevitable. But she was still married.
And so, even though I wasn’t sure what code I actually lived by anymore, I said, “No. Go home. Please, Ruby. Before I change my mind.” And at that moment…
I hated having a conscience.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Thought for the Week“I don’t go to church because churches are full of hypocrites!” This is an increasingly common sentiment. But is it true? Are churches full of hypocrites?
Duh. Are AA meetings full of alcoholics? I’m a Christian, though I rarely use the term, preferring “Jesus follower” instead. Why? Well, for starters, it’s used indiscriminately by hundreds of millions who hold few if any actual Christian convictions.
But in another sense, I don’t deserve to call myself a Christian: the word Christian (“Christ-like”) is believed to have originally been used by Roman detractors as a put-down (“You’re like that Jesus guy!”). And I’m not worthy of such a put-down yet.
AA members address meetings with, “Hello, I’m __________ and I’m an alcoholic (or addict).” They say this regardless of whether they fell off the wagon yesterday or have been a “recovering alcoholic” for fifty years. Why? Because they know their addiction never really goes away. They live “one day at a time,” and even then they need others to help them do it.
It’s the same with “recovering hypocrites.”
“Oh, you’re just making excuses,” some may say. “If your Christianity was real, or if Christianity itself was real, you wouldn’t be a hypocrite anymore!”
Wrong.
We live in a broken world. Everyone is broken, and our brokenness takes many forms. Here’s a quick insight into my brokenness: I have ADHD and if I had a nickel for every time I’ve ever offended someone by (quotes indicate things I’ve been accused of many times) “ignoring” them or “arrogantly” “rolling over” them with my “own ideas” rather than “respecting” “their opinions,” which I missed because I was lost in thought, or watching a car go by, or… Well, let’s just say I’d have a corner on the world’s nickel supply. So, to everyone I’ve ever offended: I’m sorry. Seriously.
Nevertheless…
I didn’t get “saved” from my ADHD when I became a Jesus follower any more than short people get saved from their shortness or Scots get saved from their red-headedness.
Everyone is broken. But not everyone’s brokenness is label-able. Many suffer from what I call “normative brokenness,” i.e. undiagnosed pathologies. For example: I have a friend who is an extremely successful leader. Why? Because he believes he should lead–even when he shouldn’t. He doesn’t understand sensitive or gifted people, and routinely ignores them. Except when he prays. And then—every now and then—God humbles him.
Humility is not “natural” for him because his undiagnosed pathology is hard-wired into him, just as my ADHD is into me. He too is a recovering hypocrite. And, no, he didn’t get “healed” of his hypocrisy when he became a Jesus follower either.
What we did get was a way of overcoming our hypocrisies. It’s called prayer. It’s our 12 Step program, our hotline and our sponsorship all rolled into one. How often do I pray? As often as needed. Which is pretty much every minute of every hour of every day (I Thessalonians 5:17).
It’s a powerful thing. But it’s not magic. Prayer only works because there’s Someone at the other end. And it’s gradually changing me despite my broken nature. I’m still me, but now I’m me-being-transformed-by-Him. And that that makes all the difference.
Life as a recovering hypocrite isn’t a downhill slide into happyland—for me or for the people I’ve wounded. But it’s better than being a hypocrite in denial, which the world has far more of than it does recovering hypocrites.
I headed this post with a snarky cartoon because, yes, churches fall short. Or rather their members do. We’re just a bunch of recovering hypocrites, after all. So…want to join us?
You can bring your pathology.

How much bigger than what we can imagine is what our Creator has prepared for those who love him? There’s a simple formula, actually. Did you see it? It’s…
a (what we can imagine) times b (infinity) = c (what God has prepared for us). Mind blown? Mine is.

Whether you’re a writer, teacher, politician or mortician, this three-part series will help you be wittier. In the previous post, I talked about the why of being funny. Now let’s look at the how.
First and foremost, comedy feeds on conflict, or at least the potential for conflict. It can be an awkward situation (blind date, first ballet class, first football practice); a difficult one (going on an uber-restrictive diet, having to use your opposite hand due to an injury); a tense one (job review, therapy session). Or even a dangerous one:
For example: My friend Barry took a skydiving class. During his first solo jump, both chutes failed to open! Fortunately, this potential tragedy turned into a comedy. Barry’s story about bargaining with God, then shouting for the people on the ground to “catch” him, and about his chute finally opening within the last few hundred feet, is hilarious.
So, whatever the situation, big or small, start with conflict. And then decide how you want to tell your story, using the DRIP method to brew up something funny. (Hey, I’m proud of this stupid acronym, so just go with it, OK?):
Next, we’ll talk about How to Get a RISE Out of Your Readers. Yes…
Another acronym!
To read the next How to be Funny post, click here.