Final Day-Farewell, Moose Camp!

The last day of Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp came too quick. After a week filled with laughter, learning, rehearsals, workshops, and the big All-Star Clown Show, Sunday morning felt quieter, gentler—like the camp itself was taking a deep breath before saying goodbye.

We gathered together one last time to receive our certificates of completion, a reminder of all the hard work, courage, and creativity we poured into the week. Each certificate carried with it not just a name, but the joy of discovering new skills, the bravery of stepping outside our comfort zones, and the friendships that will keep us connected long after camp ends.

Our wrap-up session with the Clowning 101 instructors—Julia, Rick, and Annette—was equal parts heartfelt and hilarious. They reminded us of the lessons learned: the value of play, the power of listening, the importance of presence, and the gift of sharing joy. We laughed together at camp memories, nodded at the wisdom offered, and maybe even wiped away a few tears as we reflected on the growth each of us experienced.

Then came the bittersweet task of packing up. Costumes were tucked away, make-up kits zipped up, and noses carefully stowed. Luggage rolled down the hallways as hugs and promises of “See you next year!” echoed around us.

Finally, it was time to head home. The drive away from camp felt a little heavy—leaving behind a place that feels so alive with magic—but our cars were packed full of more than just props and costumes. We carried home laughter, new friendships, and a deeper sense of what it means to be a clown: to be brave enough to be silly, compassionate enough to see others, and generous enough to share joy in a world that needs it.

Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp may last only a week, but the lessons and memories stay with us all year long. Until we meet again—keep laughing, keep playing, and keep clowning!

🎆The Big Show! Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp Day 5 Recap🎆

Day 5 of Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp began like the others—with breakfast and a good dose of laughter and learning at Clowning 101—but there was something different in the air today. A tingle of excitement. A little more sparkle in everyone’s eyes. It was the day of the All-Star Clown Show and we could all feel the buzz.

The morning moved quickly with our Cue-to-Cue Walk-through, where we fine-tuned entrances, exits, and all those little details that make a big show run smoothly. After lunch, the transformation began—make-up and costumes on, wigs adjusted, big shoes buckled. We gathered for course and group photos in full clown regalia, immortalizing our goofy, colorful crew before piling onto the bus for the 10-mile ride, singing all the way, to Maple Lake High School where we'd be performing.

Once we arrived, we jumped right into the pre-show Meet & Greet. There was face painting, kid-friendly activities, and plenty of clown silliness as we also made sure props and places were set and ready for the main event. Then—showtime! The All-Star Clown Show was a blur of gags, clown skills, honks, and belly laughs. The gym rang with applause and giggles, and every clown left a little piece of their heart out there in the ring.

Afterward, something happened that will stick with me for a very long time. Both Tricia Manuel and Ron Severini—clowning legends in their own right—separately shared with me unsolicited words of encouragement. Tricia told me she was glad I found camp and that I remind her of Jackie Gleason. Ron told me that I “have great comedic movement.” I was floored. These were not just kind words; coming from them, they were monumental affirmations. I thanked them both profusely, tucking their encouragement deep in my heart.

We capped the night with dinner and the Afterglow Party, riding the high of the performance and the warmth of shared joy. Later, with dreams of the circus swirling around in my head, I drifted off to sleep—already thinking ahead to our last day, when we’d receive certificates, say our goodbyes, and pack up for the journey home.

🎈Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp – Day 4 Recap🎈

Day 4 at Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp was packed with movement, rehearsals, and a whole lot of laughter.

We started the day the same way we always do—breakfast in the dining hall, sharing sustenance, stories, and some sleepy giggles before diving into the day’s lineup.

Clowning 101 got our new clown brains and funny bones warmed up, as well as more practice with makeup, setting the tone for another day of creativity. From there, it was straight into the All-Star Clown Show AM gag rehearsal, where acts polished timing, tweaked punchlines, and made sure props were exactly where they needed to be.

 

After lunch, the afternoon of workshops became masterclasses in movement. First, Comic Movement through Skits with Tricia Manuel had us exploring how our bodies tell the joke before we even say a word. Then The Body Speaks: Effective Movement with Randy Christensen built on that work—helping us create clear, expressive moments without a single sound.

We all came together again for the Clown Dance with Karen Hoyer—a joyful, slightly chaotic session that will pay off big when we're faced with the need to move to the music. After that, the All-Star Clown Show Finale Rehearsal brought everyone into the same space working toward a grand closing.

 

A bit of free time gave people without PM gag rehearsal a chance to catch their breath, nap, or chat before dinner. The evening’s special presentation was a real treat: Ron Severini and Earl “Mr. Clown” Chaney, both legendary veterans in clowning, shared stories from their long, colorful careers. From backstage mishaps to heartwarming moments, their words carried the weight of decades of laughter and love for the art of clowning.

The day ends as today’s lessons sink in before sleep comes. Tomorrow’s the big day, the day of the All-Star Clown Show! For now, the red noses are on the nightstand, and the camp is quiet—well, except for the occasional snore or a muffled chuckle from someone remembering a funny moment.

🥧 Day 3 at Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp 🥧

We kicked off day 3 with breakfast, where the caffeine flowed and the conversations were a delightful mix of “How did you sleep?” and “Has anyone seen my rubber chicken?”

Next up for me was Clowning 101, a perfect morning warm-up for body, soul, and funny bone. We played with character work, timing, imagination, and the art of clown logic (If you believe it, so will the audience). Then more makeup work.

The AM gag rehearsal followed, my first rehearsal for the gag I'd be participating in at the All-Star Clown Show at the end of the week called "Is It Time Yet?"—controlled chaos at its finest. Props were flying, punchlines were tested, blocking was attempted, and we all learned that sometimes the funniest moments come from happy accidents. As a clown (and as a person) failure truly is your friend!

Lunch gave us a breather and time to refuel. Camp meals are their own form of performance art—somehow there’s always room for dessert, no matter how much you swear you’re full.

In the afternoon, I headed to my workshop of choice: Mime: The Language of Clowns with the brilliant Karen Hoyer. Karen took us deep into the world of silent expression—how to tell whole stories without saying a word, how to create invisible worlds, and how to make audiences laugh or sigh with just a look or a gesture. It was like unlocking a new superpower!

After that, the energy level soared with the legendary annual Pie Fight. Whipped shaving soap flew, laughter echoed, and dignity was checked at the door. While the "fight" took place outside, I think the cleanup crew still deserves a medal.

Free time gave everyone a chance to regroup (and maybe get the last of the soap out of their hair), then we gathered for dinner before one of camp’s biggest events: the Scholarship Auction. The bidding wars were fierce, the auctioneers hilarious, and generosity was on full display. Every dollar raised helps keep the joy of clowning alive for future campers.

We ended the day tired, happy, and with the scent of shaving soap still in the air. Bedtime came as a welcome friend—tomorrow promises more laughs and more learning.

🦆 Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp 2025 – Day 2 Recap 🦆

As the sun rose on our first full day at camp, the Mooseburger magic was in full swing! We started with a hearty breakfast (caffeine = clown fuel) before diving into the morning main courses. In Clowning 101, the amazing Annette went over basic clown characters and our group of 20 new clown campers were divided into two groups. My group started with the ever joyful Julia, Miss Moose's daughter and a former Ringling clown herself, while the other group started on makeup design basics with Annette and the remarkable Rick. Then we switched.

After Clowning 101, the new campers joined Julia and Rick for the wonderfully honest session, “Holy Cow! What Did I Get Myself Into?” while returning campers learned about the alumni challenge.

Lunch gave us time to refuel, then free time brought its own adventures — some folks worked on props, others just enjoyed the Minnesota summer air.

The afternoon was packed full of energy. Comic Movement with the terrific Tricia Manuel a.k.a Pricilla Mooseburger, camp founder and director, had us bending and stretching our way to better physical comedy. Then came the All-Star Clown Show casting, which brought equal parts excitement and butterflies. The All-Star Clown Show is the culminating 90 minute show all campers get to participate in at the end of the week. After the casting, workshops like "Finding Your Clown Character" helped us dig deeper into who our red-nosed alter egos really are.

Evening kicked off with the hilarious chaos of Midweek Madness: Ken-ducky Derby, where speed, skill, and rubber ducks met in a glorious competition. Dinner gave us another refuel before those in PM Gag Rehearsal got down to serious silliness, while the rest of us enjoyed some downtime.

 

The night’s highlight was a special presentation from guest star Flo (Linda Hulet) — heartfelt, hilarious, and a reminder of the joy our craft brings. We wrapped with Moose Mingle games and icebreakers, a few late-night jams, and finally rolled into bed, tired but grinning.

 

 (The incomparable Linda Hulet as Flo the Clown, a retro 50's waitress character clown!) 

Day 2 left us with sore cheeks (from smiling), tired feet (from clowning), and full hearts (from community). Onward to Day 3!

🎪 Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp 2025 – Day 1 Recap 🎪

The red noses are on, the trunks are unpacked, and the camp is alive with color, laughter, and the sound of squeaky shoes—it’s official, Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp 2025 has begun!

Campers from all over the country (and even a few from beyond!) arrive in Annandale, Minnesota throughout the afternoon, hauling in suitcases stuffed with costumes, props, puppets, and the occasional uninflated balloon animal. The check-in area was buzzing as old friends hugged and new friends introduced themselves, all while a man serenaded us with tunes on a barrel organ.

After settling into our cabins, we gather back in the main hall for the welcome session with Miss Moose herself, Pricilla Mooseburger, who reminds us why we’re there: to learn, to grow, and to share joy in a world that needs it more than ever. She introduces the staff and lays out the week’s schedule, which promises a whirlwind of classes in makeup, costuming, skits, improvisation, juggling, balloon twisting, and—most importantly—how to connect with an audience from the heart.

After the Orientation and Course Preview, we head to the dining hall for dinner. Dinner was loud (in the best way) as everyone swapped introductions and stories over food. The evening ended with an opening night Makeup Demo and All Star Staff Show from our instructors, giving us a taste of the magic we’ll be working toward all week.

(Christopher Hudert, Staff member and former Ringling Clown)

As the sun set, excited yet sleepy clown campers wandered back to their rooms, still talking about the staff show and which workshops they wanted to take tomorrow. In my cabin, there are clown campers of all types and levels of experience from all over the map. There's a new rodeo clown from San Antonio, Texas, a second year clown camper from Alabama, others are there from Iowa, Minnesota, Massachusetts, and one from Toronto, Canada.

The overall vibe? Joyful. Excited. A little nervous. But mostly, full of anticipation—because Day 1 has only just cracked open the door to the world we’re about to step into together.

Packing for Clown Camp

The time has come—I'm packing my bags, rounding up my red noses, and getting ready to head off to a week at Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp! This is the kind of preparation that calls for more than just clothes and toiletries. This is no ordinary week away—this is a pilgrimage to play, vulnerability, laughter, and deep creative exploration.

What’s in the Bag?

Of course I packed the basics: comfortable and weather appropriate clothing, sunscreen, bug spray, toiletries, and a water bottle. But here’s where the list starts to look a little… different:

• Noses (yes, plural)
• Courage (to be ridiculous and fully myself, though one might ask if these aren't one and the same) 
• Face paint & makeup remover (and enough wipes to take off an identity crisis)
• Costumes 
• Camera (to document my experience) 
• Props (rubber chickens, juggling clubs, kazoos, you name it)
• Notebook (for keeping notes about what I learn, but also because clowning stirs up all kinds of unexpected feelings)
• Ukulele (because clowns have ballads too)

The Real Prep

As I zip up my suitcase, I realize that the most important things I’m bringing aren’t material things at all. I’m bringing my curiosity. I’m bringing my willingness to fail gloriously and to look and feel foolish. I’m bringing the version of myself that’s still learning to loosen up, to laugh at my ego, and to listen—deeply—to the room around me.

Clowning is so much more than comedy. It’s about connection. It’s about truth-telling. It’s about finding joy in the absurd and grace in the mess. So while I’ve checked my packing list twice, I’m also preparing my spirit: to be cracked open, to be surprised, and to delight in whatever unfolds.

I’ll be offline for most of the week, but when I come back, I’ll be full of stories, bruises (from prat falls), and the kind of laughter that echoes for days. Whether you're a clown yourself, or just a fan of joyful living, I hope you find a little room for play and creative exploration in your week too. See you in the Silliness!

The Cross and the Slapstick

When I was younger, my mom gave me a copy of The Cross and the Switchblade by the Rev. David Wilkerson. If you're not familiar, it's the true story of a Pentecostal preacher who felt moved by the Holy Spirit in 1958 to leave his sheltered life and ministry in Pennsylvania after reading an article in Life Magazine about young men on trial for gang violence. He moved to New York City to begin a street ministry among people struggling with addiction and gang membership. The story had a profound effect on me and played a role in my own discernment to become a pastor.

 

 

Reflecting on the story of The Cross and the Switchblade now, I see such stark parallels emerge between Rev. Wilkerson's story, the foolishness of Christ crucified about which the Apostle Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 1, and the art of clowning. 

There’s a deep, sacred absurdity at the heart of the Christian story. That a first century intenerant Jewish preacher, innocent of any crime yet hung on a cross like a criminal, somehow cracked open resurrection. Power shows up disguised as weakness. Victory looks a lot like failure. It’s the kind of upside-down logic that would make a clown nod and smile in recognition.

That’s why I’ve been thinking about clowning as a lens through which to view the world.

Clowning is the art of sacred disruption. It’s the pratfall that reveals truth. It’s the banana peel that humbles the proud. It’s the red nose that says, “I have nothing to prove, and neither do you.” It’s what happens when we stop trying to be impressive and start being real.

The cross is no joke. But if we miss the holy foolishness of it—the outrageousness of God choosing humiliation, vulnerability, and failure as the way of love—we might miss the whole point. The slapstick of grace is that we’re not saved by our own strength, by our own smarts, or by our slick performance. We’re saved by the love of God, a love that's willing to slip on its own dignity and land with arms wide open to all.

So here I am: clown nose on, heart open, shoes too big, soul ready to stumble into something true.

The Caddie Clown: Playing Through

As I prepare to go to clown camp in August and make my first foray into clowning, there’s a character I’ve been dreaming of developing. He’s a clown—but he’s also a golf caddie. He's not a golfer. He's not a country club elite. He's "just" the guy who carries the clubs, makes a fool of himself, maybe trips into a sand trap or two, but always gets the last laugh.

I want to be a character clown who’s a caddie.

But what’s a Character Clown?

What I've learned about the world of clowning so far is that there are different clown archetypes: the whiteface, the auguste, the character clown/tramp or hobo clown. The character clown is exactly what it sounds like—someone who plays a recognizable person, but through a heightened, distorted, and revealing lens of the clown. Think of a firefighter, a police officer, a house painter, or in my case, a golf caddie.

Unlike the more abstract or traditional clown types, the character clown invites us to laugh at the familiar: the systems, the hierarchies, and the professions we move through every day. The humor comes not only from the absurdity but from recognition. It’s a satire of the world we already live in.

My idea owes a lot to the tramp and hobo clowns of the early 20th century—especially legends like Emmett Kelly, Otto Griebling, and Charlie Chaplin. These clowns were not the polished whitefaces in the spotlight. They were the down-and-outs, the ones who "swept up" after the show, who stared mournfully at the crowd from the margins. They embodied economic hardship with pathos and quiet rebellion.

They weren’t "just" clowns—they themselves were social commentary.

But I also want to acknowledge that complications can arise from a modern adoption of this archetype. Many of the original tramp and hobo clowns emerged during the Great Depression, when poverty was widespread, when audiences could see themselves in the performer's characters and laugh at themselves. I fear that today using poverty as a costume might unintentionally parody real human suffering. When we “play poor,” we risk mocking what people experience every day.

So rather than dress as a tramp, I want to step into a more modern role—one where the economic lines are still clearly drawn, but where the satire may be sharper and more deliberate.

Why a Golf Caddie? Because the golf course is one of our great American sanctuaries of wealth and exclusivity. And the caddie? He’s the servant, the outsider, the observer who knows the course better than anyone—but never gets to play.

Imagine a clown-caddie stumbling after a high-and-mighty golfer. Imagine him unintentionally or otherwise sabotaging the round with slapstick mishaps and well-timed honks. The caddie sees everything. He’s not a player of the game, but he can change the way it’s played.

My hope is that this character will allow me to challenge class disparity, not by dressing as poverty itself, but by showing what it means to live just outside the gates—carrying the tools of the powerful, yet refusing to play by their rules.

Clowning is at its best when it punches up. When it questions power, mocks injustice, and makes room for the wisdom of the marginalized. That’s what I aim to do with my caddie clown. He’s a mirror for the absurdity of wealth and class performance—and a reminder that the joke is usually on those who think they’re above it all.

So if you see me in baggy white coveralls, a silly cap, red nose, oversized shoes, and dragging a golf bag behind me… just know this, I’m not trying to make par, but I do hope to make a point.

Why I’ve Chosen to Go to Mooseburger Clown Camp

No, I’m not starting a “clown ministry.”

No, I’m not planning to preach in oversized shoes and a wig.

And no, I haven’t run away to join the circus (yet).

But yes—I’ve chosen to go to Mooseburger Clown Camp this August in Minnesota.

Why?

Because I believe clowning is one of the most honest, vulnerable, and human art forms we have. It’s not just about trying to be funny or putting on a show—it’s about practicing being truly present. It’s about learning how to fail, how to laugh at yourself, how to connect with other people without pretense. It’s about saying yes to absurdity in a world that’s way too invested in looking all put-together.

I’m not going to camp to sneak Jesus into kid's birthday parties or to slap a Bible verse on balloon animals (and not just because I strongly dislike balloons). I’m going because I believe play is sacred. I believe silliness can be a form of resistance. I believe joy is serious business.

Clowning asks of its practitioners and its audiences alike something that's rare and powerful: Show up as you are. Risk being ridiculous. Stay with the moment, even when it surprises you. That’s not just a performance skill—that’s a life skill. And if I’m honest, it’s something I need more of.

I want to learn from people who’ve given themselves to the craft. I want to train in the discipline of humor, timing, movement, silence, mischief, and heart. I want to practice taking myself less seriously—and learn to take spreading joy more seriously instead.

Because when it's all said and done, I’m not going to clown camp to become someone else.

I’m going to become more myself—only with a redder nose.

The Most Unique Congregation on Earth

This week, Becky and I took the kids down to Baraboo, WI to take in the sights at Circus World Museum and the International Clown Hall of Fame. I have fond memories of the trips to Circus World Museum my parents took my siblings and I on when we were growing up and I wanted to share those memories with our kids while they make their own.

I was delighted to see that there's an exhibit at Circus World Museum for the 2025 and 2026 seasons about Circus Ministry called, "The Most Unique Congregation on Earth."

The exhibit vividly highlights how circus chaplains—priests, ministers, and religious sisters—embody a ministry of presence. These faith leaders don bright, circus-themed vestments and carry portable worship implements to tent rings and animal pens.

Rather than preaching from a pulpit, they share daily experiences with performers and crew, offering baptism, communion, marriage, burial, or simply a listening ear.

This is incarnational ministry in its radical everyday form—being present in real life, not merely in ecclesial spaces.

The exhibit shines a light on the fact that circus ministry has always been ecumenical, serving people of all faith backgrounds. This resonates deeply with a theology of radical welcome. There’s no judgment here—just solidarity with those living outside the societal "norm" and those who may not fit into typical parish life.

A circus is a “town without a zip code,” which means local churches rarely reach its people. The exhibit forces us to reimagine church not as a building but as a community in motion—where liturgy happens in train cars, show tents, and barns. For a person of faith who cherishes baptismal identity over institutional belonging, I see this as embodied theology.

In today's context, where it may often seem there's a growing divide between “regular churchgoers” and people who identify as “nones,” these circus chaplains remind us that faith is richer when it embraces the full human kaleidoscope: the daring, the nomadic, the nonconforming. And they do so with joy—singing hymns under colored lights, blessing elephants, and walking hand-in-hand with juggling families.

Can our faith communities take worship outside the sanctuary—into parks, streets, and community centers—demonstrating that God is present beyond church walls?

How can we foster deeper collaboration across denominations in serving mobile or underrepresented communities?

The circus chaplains' open-hearted welcome challenges us to broaden our own table—to those who are seen as or feel like outsiders, the wounded, and the on-the-move.

"The Most Unique Congregation on Earth" offers more than historical insight—it shines a mirror. It asks: How can we follow this example of shared life, listening, improvised liturgy, and genuine care? Whether in the tent ring or in a grocery aisle, God’s presence moves with us—and so does the invitation to embody a church that travels, that meets, and that loves wherever our lives are unfolding.

What I Learned from Clown Alley

Reading Clown Alley by Bill Ballantine, I expected to learn about greasepaint and slapstick, banana peels and pratfalls. And I did. But what surprised me—what stuck with me—is how deeply human the clown world is. Clowns, like pastors, are students of vulnerability. They train themselves to fall well, to fail big, to get back up with dignity and ridiculous grace.

Ballantine’s stories from inside the ring—his portraits of veteran clowns eating canned beans behind the big top or coaching the next generation on how to take a pie to the face—read, to me, like parables. These are not just funny people. These are people who know what it means to be seen. Who dare to be fools. Who understand the power of presence.

In the church, we talk a lot about incarnation—about how God became flesh and dwelled among us. In clowning, there’s something similarly incarnational: the holy risk of showing up with your whole, absurd, too-much self. Clowns don't hide their humanity; they exaggerate it, exposing our shared silliness and sorrow. They are both mirror and mercy.

Ballantine reminded me that ministry, like clowning, isn’t about being impressive. It’s about being available. It's about stumbling into grace, over and over, in front of a crowd. It’s about walking into sacred spaces (a.k.a. everywhere) with oversized shoes and open hearts, trusting that the Spirit might just be speaking through the laughter.

Reading Clown Alley, I remembered that the church is a kind of circus—holy, unpredictable, beautifully imperfect. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly how God likes it.