In this staff-writing gig, I’ve tried to avoid the shameless plugs and personal anecdotes unless I thought them pertinent to the larger audience of our readership. This story, however, is simply one of humor, stage fright, and brotherly love.

Exposition: for those who may not know, the stage is not something that usually gives me the jitters. Indeed, I’m very used to and even comfortable with stage performances by now. From the time I was a little kid singing in church musicals to performing in musicals and plays at the Charlotte Performing Arts Center, from playing percussion in school band at Charlotte Public Schools to starting my own bands and performing music I’ve written, from singing in a touring college choir to playing in dozens of praise and worship bands, then leading my own congregations at four different churches, from singing in large European cathedrals to leading music in a basement, being on stage and making some performance happen comes pretty naturally now.

My older brother, Jacob, is the opposite. While he once played the French horn in Charlotte’s bands, he’s hardly stepped on a stage or into a spotlight in the last eight years.

Now the story…

Last week a dear friend and I were enjoying an evening in Lansing when my older brother, Jacob, called me and asked if I wanted to join him, my sister-in-law, and their friend for a comedy show. To be more precise, it was a live recording of a podcast (no, I will not name which one). I hadn’t heard of the podcast, nor the standup comedian who hosted it, but Jacob swore it would be a good time. I think every younger sibling can recount a time when an older sibling promised something would be a good time, only to discover they were secretly planning on you humiliating yourself. I’m getting ahead of myself…

I asked my friend if she’d like to join them for the show and she graciously agreed to alter our plans, so we finished our drinks and drove to the venue. Upon arriving, paying for tickets, and standing in line, a clipboard was being passed through the waiting line. I was the first in our party it came to. Side note: I have never, and will never, win any awards for paying attention to directions, so when my brother briefly explained the premise of the show, I only paid him half a mind. So, when the clipboard with a sign up sheet came to me, without thinking twice, I wrote down mine, my brother’s, and his friend’s name. I thought I was being pretty funny.

Skipping to about an hour into the show, our small group had been laughing hysterically along with about 100 or so other people as one amateur standup comedian after another took to the stage to perform a one-minute set of standup, only to be roasted by the podcast host and his comedy crew for the better part of 10 minutes. They weren’t without mercy for the poor saps who thought they could work a room for 60 seconds, but they didn’t always hold back either. It was enjoyable, and I was glad Jacob thought to invite us. And then, his name is called…

Rolling his eyes, releasing a grunt, and giving me the death stare of our mother, Jacob lumbered to the stage and set himself in front of the microphone. All went silent, and my brother gave honesty. He said he had nothing prepared, wasn’t sure what to say, and that his younger brother signed him up without his consent. Then he said a single line…

“I haven’t had this much fun since 9/11…”

It killed. It was hands down the funniest line from an amateur set that night. The host and his crew were laughing, the crowd was laughing, and I was laughing. The hosts and the crowd didn’t even have the full context of the joke (Jacob’s wedding anniversary is 9/11), and the line left the room going for the next 20 seconds. Then his set was over, and the host gave my brother props for braving the stage and delivering the single blow joke of the evening.

But the host didn’t stop there. He told Jacob to take a seat on the stage and then invited this brother of his who signed him up without his consent to come to the stage and give it a go. My joy turned to dismay as my stomach jumped to my throat.

I won’t tell you, dear reader, the joke I tried to make. Suffice it to say I didn’t throw out a golden one liner, I barely made anyone laugh, and that was the scariest thing I’ve ever done on stage. After all the performances I’ve done on stage, some of them even impromptu or scantly planned, when the pressure was on to make the room laugh with a professional comedian behind me waiting for me to fumble, and my brother sitting two feet away from me, on the stage no less, it was as though I’d never stood in front of a microphone at all.

We all had a good laugh about the evening, and it’s already a story we’ve told in a couple different settings. But the host of the podcast said it best just after Jacob dropped his evening winning line.

“There’s just something about a guy being honest going, ‘I have no idea what to do right now.’ It’s about the honesty.”

That night will be an evening for my brother and I, and the friends who were with us, to reminisce over for years to come. We’ll remember it not just because we were placed into a spotlight neither of us were prepared for, but because we were living on the edge of honesty. We took a vulnerable, dangerous, exciting, albeit slightly forced, step out of our comfort zone and came out the other side with laughter, encouragement, and a good story. Much like the first stage fright I’ve felt in nearly a decade, some of the best, most memorable moments in life happen when we’re living, not only on the edge of discomfort, but when we’re taking a step into exposed honesty. Honesty, indeed, truth, is scary. It’s also incredibly worthwhile.