Many of my best teachers were comedians.

I mean that in a couple of ways. In one sense, some of the most memorable instructors in my academic career were very funny people, humorous and quick with a sarcastic rejoinder. To this day, I could still quote you jokes told by high school teachers and college professors, some of those established lines that had served their speakers well across years of classes, others perfectly timed on-the-fly commentary. Yes, I learned many lessons from good jokesters.

Dr. Geoffrey Reiter

But when I speak of my teachers as comedians here, I have in mind a different, more literal sense. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I learned how to be a teacher from watching comedy—but I would say that I learned quite a bit about teaching from comedians, specifically from sitcoms of the 1960s and ’70s.

In my formative years growing up, among the fixtures of our evening viewing were old episodes of classic television on Nick at Nite and TV Land. We gravitated toward three shows in particular: The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Mary Tyler Moore Show and The Bob Newhart Show (later adding the follow-up series Newhart). As a child and teenager sitting at the TV with my parents, I did not set out to watch these shows—which first aired before I was born—with the intent of learning anything from them. They were simply entertaining.

But I did learn from them. Because there are in fact many ways in which the comedian’s task mirrors the teacher’s task—especially for classic sitcom actors. Both groups are specifically concerned with appealing to audiences, and thus must consider how their audiences will react to their words and actions. The comedian’s task is to entertain and amuse, above all to prompt laughter. As I noted, this may be an effect for the teacher as well, though such reactions are not their primary intent. Still, we teachers can learn a thing or two from our comic cousins.

From Dick Van Dyke, I learned how to use my body in physical space, how quickly students will remember a moment punctuated by a sudden fall, slip, or crash into a door. From Mary Tyler Moore, I picked up the memorable qualities of an assumed plaintive haplessness, while her costar, the inimitable Valerie Harper, added the value of wry, acerbic wit. From the studiously low-key Bob Newhart, I discovered how the simplest of actions—blinking the eyes, or even a well-time pause—can capture the attention. From all of these, I learned the inescapable hilarity of The Triple. So pervasive was my early exposure to these shows that I absorbed these lessons without ever consciously knowing I was doing so.

Of course, there are key distinctions between our discipline and comedy. The latter may speak truth, but its first duty is to entertain, whereas the reverse is true in Christian teaching. We must avoid the hazard of becoming overly performative, entertaining our students out of an insecure desire to please them. The comedy can overwhelm the content. I don’t mind if my students think that I’m funny; but if that is all they remember of my classes, then I may have succeeded as a comic, but I have failed them as a mentor.

Still, the twin disciplines of entertainer and instructor are not inherently at odds. People often note that the gospels never overtly depict Jesus laughing; yet a judicious reading of his teachings shows an awareness of his audience, including statements that I cannot help but consider comic (a log in the eye is actually a pretty funny image if you stop and think about it). Elijah gets some pretty good zingers at the prophets of Baal, and other prophets frequently enact object lessons.

There is a long tradition in literature and culture of the holy fool, the man who abases himself and his dignity for the proclamation of truth. I do believe there is a role for formality and dignity in our callings as teachers, but precisely because of this reality, we can memorably juxtapose our solemnity with silliness, which will make the moment all the more memorable. In this way, we may follow the Apostle Paul’s advice, that “by all possible means [we] may save some” (1 Corinthians 9:22).