" -- and tax collectors," Miss Clareese finishes.
On the far end of the table, near the restaurant entrance, a handful of comedians are conspicuously quiet. Truth be told, a few of them would probably tell jokes in a Safeway parking lot if it would get them a paycheck. They came to the summit to learn how to break into the Christian market, but it's beginning to feel more like an ambush.
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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Joe Recca, a Baltimore comedian, is the first to speak up. "I do comedy," he says, "and when I get booked for it, gospel comedy."
Platinum shakes her head. "We gon' have to pray for him."
Later, as the meeting continues, Platinum stares across the table, then asks Recca point-blank: "Are you saved?"
Recca stammers, then allows: "I believe in Jesus."
Platinum leans in closer, and lays into him rapid-fire. "Do you recognize Jesus as Lord-and-savior-who-died-on-the-cross-for-our-sins?"
More stammering. "That's how I was raised," Recca says. "I just do clean comedy."
Sarvis looks on at the exchange knowingly. Once upon a time he was just like Recca -- only a whole lot racier. He did BET's "ComicView" and opened for most of the well-known potty mouths, your Bernies, your Cedrics, your Mo' Niques. But he grew up in the church, and when he overheard some kids repeating one of his cruder jokes, he knew his mama raised him better than that.
Since the 33-year-old father of twins converted to being a full-time Christian comic, God has provided. "I take care of my needs and some of my wants," he shrugs. "I'm paying child support."
Synergy was a long time coming. Even before they met in a Christian singles Internet chat room several years ago, Erik and Kimberly Sellin had the same vision.
Kimberly, now 29, was a single mother and had spent time studying pre-med at Ohio State -- "a real party school." She wished there was an alternative to the smoking, the drinking, the drugging and decadence that accompanies the club scene. "You can have all the fun without the vices," she says.
Erik, 31, believed the same. He went to Central High School in Capitol Heights and started spinning Christian house, trance and electronica as DJ Rapture Man while earning a communications degree at James Madison University.
Two years ago, the two began a ministry by holding Christian raves at churches and VFW halls around the mid-Atlantic region, featuring DJ Rapture Man. The first party drew six or seven people, mostly their friends. Through aggressive marketing on college campuses, music publications and the Internet, the raves grew, and their most recent one had more than 100 people.
