Part 2 From Laughs to Love Eternal: Colossians 3:12-17

If the first half of Colossians 3 exposes my struggle with external validation, the second half of Colossians 3 reveals a deeper, internal battle: authenticity. In my last post, I reflected on how easily I let Facebook likes define my worth. But as I sat with verses 12-17 this week, I realized Paul’s words speak to something deeper than the superficial struggle over likes.

This isn’t only about stepping away from worldly validation; it’s about stepping into something new—clothing myself in compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience—qualities that shouldn’t just sit on the surface but sink into who I am.

It’s about putting on Christ.

And as I’ve been reflecting on that, one particular struggle has been stirring in me—one I am hesitant to share.

Comedy.

I’ve loved stand-up comedy for as long as I can remember. There’s something brilliant about the way comedians can take the raw, often uncomfortable realities of life and make us laugh.

Specifically, though, there is this one show I watch regularly called Kill Tony. For those who are unfamiliar, Kill Tony is a live comedy podcast hosted by Tony Hinchcliffe and Brian Redban. The format involves a live show where they pull random comics’ names out of a bucket for the chance to perform a one-minute set, then be critiqued and interviewed by Tony alongside big-name guests.

It’s a chaotic, anything-can-happen environment—raw, unfiltered creativity spilling out as these comics have to be sharp and punchy. The show has launched the careers of unknowns, affording opportunities they’d likely never get otherwise.

In a world where political correctness has impacted the comedic landscape, Kill Tony leans into this rough, unfiltered edge that’s messy and risky—and yeah, sometimes dicey. You never know what kind of show it’s going to be—from train wrecks to brilliance. It illustrates the artistry of stand-up, revealing how fast thinking, improvisation, and risk define the craft.

Shows like Kill Tony—which are irreverent, biting, racy, and boundary-pushing—still make me laugh, and I’m not uncomfortable with that.

But here’s the struggle: I’m wondering if I should feel uncomfortable with it.

I don’t think I should have to give it up, but something in me keeps questioning whether that’s true—or whether I’m justifying something I don’t want to change about myself, because Kill Tony is this wild, messy joy I cling to, and letting it go feels like losing a piece of me.

Colossians 3:12—“Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.”

That identity—being chosen, set apart—should shape everything. Not just how I love others, but what I let shape my mind and heart. It’s a call to wear these traits like armor, not just admire them—compassion that feels, humility that bends, patience that waits. Does my laughter match that?

Colossians 3:15—“And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful.”

I’ve questioned whether I’ve felt that peace slipping when I indulge in humor that sometimes tears down rather than builds up. The laughs might come, but is there also a subtle dulling of my sensitivity toward what is good and true—until I’ve tuned out what matters? Peace ruling in my heart is what is supposed to keep me anchored.

Colossians 3:16—“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God.”

That tension is hard because I don’t want to give it up, but I also want to be authentic and do my best to align my heart with God. But I know this: It’s not about changing myself to be right with God. It’s about abiding in Jesus and being changed from the inside out.

This is exactly the struggle—the tension between living fully for God and still enjoying the things that have shaped me, the things I love, the things that bring me joy.

I’m not looking for loopholes; I’m looking for truth. If I didn’t care, if I just shrugged and said, “Whatever, I’ll do what I want,” that would be a bigger issue.

But I do care.

What degree of strictness should I follow?

Because, yeah, Paul would probably have a stricter view. He talks about setting our minds on things above (Colossians 3:2), avoiding corrupting influences (Ephesians 5:3-4), and filling ourselves with what is true, noble, right, pure (Philippians 4:8).

So, on the surface, it might seem like the answer is cut it all out.

But I don’t think the question is just what should I cut out, but rather what is forming me?

What is shaping my heart, my thoughts, my desires?

Maybe instead of asking, how strict should I be, the better question is:

What is this doing to my soul?

Does it strengthen or weaken my ability to show love, patience, humility?

Does it influence my speech, my thoughts, my priorities in ways I don’t realize?

Comedy has been a part of my life, part of how I see and process the world. Giving up these things I love completely would feel like losing a part of myself. But at the same time, I don’t want to be the guy clinging to something that keeps me from growing into the person God is shaping me to be.

I think that’s where the real struggle lies. How do I hold onto the things that have shaped me without letting them own me?

I don’t think it’s about quitting Kill Tony cold turkey but rather being conscious of how it affects me. Because ultimately, I want my heart to stay tuned to Jesus.

Final Thought:

Yes, that’s what I want. For my mind and heart to be filled with His truth so fully that even my entertainment choices reflect Him. I don’t want to be desensitized to what grieves God or let something trivial weaken my sensitivity to Him, because if I do, I could drown out the voice I’m trying to hear.

I want to laugh and keep enjoying comedy, but not if it numbs my conscience or slowly shapes me into someone I don’t want to be.

I will keep praying on it, wrestling with what stays and what goes, chasing a joy that doesn’t fade. I know that holiness isn’t about following a list of rules—it’s about being transformed.

But in the end, I don’t want anything—not a show, not a joke—to have more of a hold on me than Christ does.