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Pastor Kaleb’s Easter Sunday Service is not your typical day in church. This is church as Willy Wonka or the Mad Hatter might have envisioned it.

The service though belongs to Seattle performer Kaleb Kerr, and it’s a polychrome extravaganza; a wild, all-inclusive spectacle of humanity’s hardship, comedy and fellow feeling. Pastor Kaleb has no official affiliation with any church and God doesn’t have much to do with it, but the familiar stylings of worship are all in order: a choir full of ladies, a band, a congregation dressed to the nines, and a preacher in flowing robes who invokes – if not the holy power – at least the power of people to come together and celebrate the beauty and absurdity of life.

It started 17 years ago as a performance for Kerr’s friends. Since then, through word of mouth, it’s grown to a massive annual production, which this year includes two sold-out shows at the Century Ballroom (March 27, 11 a.m. and 2 p.m.). It’s also the first year that Kerr has decided to sell tickets. In the past, the collection plates haven’t always brought in enough funds to compensate people for the extensive time and work that goes into building sets, designing costumes and rehearsing.

Kerr expressed a sense of relief about finally being able to pay people for their efforts, but when asked if he was happy about the shows selling out, he answers, “Yes and No. I like it when everyone can see the show. But it is a good problem to have. Maybe next year we’ll do three, or four.”

The success of the show is a testament to its exploration of joy and common understanding. What’s the key to this exploration for Kerr? “You do it with humor,” he says. “You do it by making real observations, and by being true. The truth is that everything’s complicated. The truth is that it’s not black and white. When it goes dark, well, that’s part of living. We make mistakes. We’re kind to each other, and then we’re mean to each other.”

The theme for this year’s show is the battle between winter and summer, a conflict that produces spring. To characterize these opposing, seasonal forces, Kerr divided the choir into summer and winter factions. “With the choir split in two, there’s going to be a fight, but its going to be be funny because it’s men, women and children dressed up like old ladies. This idea of the clown is essential to Kerr’s vision. It’s the natural silliness and mutability of the human experience, coupled with our inherent performative impulse that gives us the freedom to celebrate collectively. “That’s what the jester was all about: everybody is a clown.”

Kerr, who also performs with the all-male revue the Buckaroos, cites a wide range of influences for his creativity. “I love The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Pee Wee Herman, The Muppets, Steve Martin.” His affinity with the archetype of the jester shines in his performances. The queer and the zany are staples of the show. “It started out with just my friends, and my friends were all weirdos, artists and queers – in all aspects of those words,” he says. “It’s a really queer audience. I’m not a judgmental person. I’m just open to the world, all the colors, all the shades.”

Occasionally, Kerr’s adoption of the pulpit gets him in trouble. “I’ve had people walk out. I was performing at a party once, and a woman came up to me afterwards and was really upset that I was preaching what I was preaching.” But he insists that he’s not intending to attack anyone’s faith. “I have no interest in degrading anybody’s sense of belief. I don’t want to make fun of anybody’s beliefs. What I am interested in is bringing people together, caring about people, showing that we’re all a part of life.”

And the Easter Sunday Service does bring people together – a lot of them – and in spectacular fashion. The congregation is so fabulously dressed that the Kentucky Derby looks drab by comparison. Men in pink suits and women in physics-defying hats exchange giddy superlatives. Dandified children cavort and squeal happily. Drinks are served. The room glows with a collective awareness of the strange performance that everyone is involved in.

“It’s bigger than me,” Kerr notes, sounding almost surprised at the magnitude and longevity of the production. “It’s amazing that people sit and listen to this raving lunatic. It’s been wonderful to get the support of a community behind something you do. It’s powerful for other people to enjoy what you do. I’m really thankful to have people listen.” 

Kerr’s generous mix of gratitude, self-deprecation and compassion are what make his preaching so captivating. Affecting a holy-roller drawl that’s simultaneously ridiculous and grand, Kerr delivers an often-hilarious, always-heartfelt message. 

“I want people to leave the show feeling good about life. It’s difficult, but it’s good. I want them to know that they are not alone in dealing with the trouble out there. I want people to look at it with fresh eyes, and with compassion.”