"Right now, Christian comedy is in its infancy," says Cameron. "But I think over the years, people will be able to receive it. If you only know Coca-Cola, you aren't going to like Pepsi."
The comedians say the genre is more than just about filling clubs and making money. "It's almost like being a preacher," says Howard G., the 37-year-old Baltimore comedian/actor best known for commanding local TV viewers to "kiiiiiss my bumper! Just kiss it!" on those Senate Auto Insurance commercials. But at weddings and area churches and recently at Synergy, his alter ego, Grandma G., cross-dresses in schoolmarm glasses and a gray wig for his Christian comedy act.
Miss Clareese, aka Roxanne David, mines material for her act at her day job at a middle school cafeteria.
(Marvin Joseph -- The Washington Post)
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"We go out, we minister to the people," Howard G. continues. "We tell our story. We tell our experiences. God can use you in many ways."
These days Grandma G. is getting much more work than Howard G., he says -- "more audiences and reaching a broader and larger audience."
Other comedians give convincing testimonies that describe a righteous path to comedy. Take Miss Clareese, aka Roxanne David of Springfield. Fourteen years ago, she was an assistant manager at Pizza Hut. One Kids' Night, the clown didn't show up and everybody looked her way. "Absolutely not," she told them -- at first. Then she relented, and put on the honking nose, painted her face white and stepped into the floppy shoes.
She was transformed. "This whole other person came out," recalls Miss Clareese, 48. "I don't even know who that was. The clouds opened up," she says, adding heavenly sound effects: "ah-aaaaaaah!
"The Lord blessed me, Miss Clareese."
She keeps a day job in the cafeteria at a local middle school, where she gets plenty of material ("What is a 'time out'? . . . I didn't know Jesus was real until I got a whuppin'. ") By night, she hits the gospel comedy circuit, which is bigger now than it has ever been. "Gospel comedy is about to blow up," she says.
Of course, God helps those who help themselves, and that's why Sarvis, perhaps the area's most popular gospel comedy host, called together a dozen promoters and comedians for a Gospel Comedy Summit last month to huddle on the best strategy to bring the field forward.
The group is in the middle of a lively discussion at T.G.I. Fridays in Greenbelt about threats facing the fledgling industry. First up: Too many comedians are temporarily cleaning up their act, taking Christian comedy gigs and that good church money, but aren't really committed to spreading the gospel. They are taking good work from the faithful.
"You can't straddle the fence because your cell phone isn't ringing," complains Charles Kane, a Washington promoter. "Then everybody's jumping on it because their career isn't jumping off."
Other questions fly fast and furious around the table. What if you take a church gig, then turn around and do a raunchy show at a secular nightclub? Won't Christians call you out? And do Christian comedians even belong in a secular nightclub?
"But He might call you back into the [secular] club," says comedian-actress Platinum, aka Marilyn Franklin, a native Washingtonian who last weekend debuted "Naomi's Story," a gospel stage play at the University of Maryland.
Sarvis, a comedian from Fort Washington, agrees. "Jesus hung out with nobody but pimps, ho's and -- "
