It's been awhile since I've talked to you. More like 6 weeks, actually. The last time I prayed to you, my shoes slipped on the slick alter and I kicked over the acolyte with my foot. Fortunately, the communion bread broke his fall, but it destroyed the Bible on the alter. Lord, why was the communion bread so hard that day? I don't think having the body of Christ stuck 4 inches into the Bible was causing any sort of imminent problem, but I tried to help out. Do you remember? I grabbed the Bible and dislodged the bread, but it was difficult to pry out of the pages, so it kind of got flung across the alter and knocked over the sacramental and Paschal candles. But you understand, God, and I know you forgive me for just trying to help out.
Lord, you've never told me why we have candles lit during service.
Anyway, and I know you remember this, a fire spread from the candles onto the carpet. I know a church is really the people, and not just a building, but I'm rather fond of my church, so I lept to my feet with Bible in hand and tried to beat the flames out with the Bible. The leatherbound cover with parchment sheets were very flammable. For my next business venture, I'm going to start promoting fire-proof Bibles with a flame retardent jacket and thin steel pages. My boss said he'd get back to me on that idea.
And I bet you know what happened next, God. The fire spread to the pulpit and the front of the pews very quickly. I've been told that flax carpet is flammable, but I must remonstrate that statement: it's exTREMELY flammable. But God, I witnessed its flammability that day. The preacher went over and tried to put out the flames that were licking the wooden pews. You must have listened to my pleas, because I'm sure you put the idea in my head to grab the chalice with the wine in it and throw it on the fire. It abated the fire long enough for the congregation to run outside and onto the street. It wasn't long at all until the priest's vestments caught on fire and I had to stomp the flames out. That might've worked better if the priest hadn't been wearing the vestments at the time. Anyway, he forgave me afterwards and we had a little chuckle over it, and said he would repay the favor to me the next time I caught fire.
The fire was now a conflagration, God, and I was blackened from all the soot. The priest took off and told me to follow suit. But I was determined to get the Bible and the cross on the altar. It was perfect timing, God, when I grabbed the Bible and Cross and the water sprinklers came on. This made me wet, and the soot on my hands got over everything. I tried to run outide, but the smoke made it very difficult, so I had to get on my hands and knees, coughing from all the smoke. The Baptist church across the street were just let out and they were gathering around to see the fire at our church. God, you're very forgiving of appearances. You would love me just the same if I were wearing a porkpie hat and a speedo. The Baptist church wasn't *quite* as forgiving as you are, though. I'm not sure who they thought I was, but it was certainly a person of ill-repute. Several old ladies whacked me with their handbags and purses; some of the old geezers hit me with their canes. I had to drop the cross and the Bible to cover my head from their blows, and they were obviously touched at seeing my brave efforts to save the altar cross and Bible, because they went and got holy water and started dousing the cross and the Bible with it. The Bible was smoking, true, but it didn't deserve the amount of water they were pouring on it, and the cross was metal, so I couldn't understand why they were pouring water on it. God, I think they were possibly trying to cool the cross off; it was kind of hot.
Anyway, you know what happens next, God. I told them the Bible wasn't on fire and didn't need to be drenched. But all that came out of my throat was a horrible low croaking sound which infuriated them. They started to douse ME with the holy water, but I began choking on the soot in my throat, and when I tried to take some of the holy water to drink (it was an emergency Lord, you understand), they shrank back and came forward with a wicker basket.
I didn't know what was in the basket, Lord; I thought it was perhaps a picnic basket filled with food and they had something to drink in it. I was disappointed when I stuck my hand in and pulled out a very large and very irate venomous snake. How did I know it was venomous? Why, the churchfolk of the Baptist church yelled to me that it was venomous and that if I were an actual God fearing man and not some guy they called "Bill Zabub", then I would be spared the serpent's bite.
God, you work in mysterious ways, but I've always understood that Bible passage to be figurative and not taken in a literal sense. And I always figured you endowed your creations with enough sense to leave large venomous snakes alone. But here I was, with a venomous snake slithering down my arm and into my shirt. It moved some of the soot off my arm and exposed my bronze skin. The Baptists then took a different tone with me and I was offered water and food, and one of the old geezers was kind enough to give me his jacket since my shirt and pants had holes burned into them. One of the old ladies gave me a peck on my check, another licked her handkerchief and grabbed my hair so I couldn't get away from her cleaning my face.
We all gathered around while the fire department put out the blaze and I caught up with the rest of my church. The priest had started a donation plate for a fund to refurbish the church and repair the damages, and when he saw me he also added that it could pay for hiking boots for me to wear in church, and everyone I saw donated to it.
Well, God, that's been my past month and a half in all things spiritual. How have things been with you? Busy? Heh heh. That's a little joke, I'm sure you're busy with the world. Anyway, I've gotta run to a contemporary worship session; I'm handling all the electronics and sounboard for the music, and I also want to get water for everybody in the band. It can get pretty hot up there praising the Lord. I'll keep you updated.
And I bet you know what happened next, God. The fire spread to the pulpit and the front of the pews very quickly. I've been told that flax carpet is flammable, but I must remonstrate that statement: it's exTREMELY flammable. But God, I witnessed its flammability that day. The preacher went over and tried to put out the flames that were licking the wooden pews. You must have listened to my pleas, because I'm sure you put the idea in my head to grab the chalice with the wine in it and throw it on the fire. It abated the fire long enough for the congregation to run outside and onto the street. It wasn't long at all until the priest's vestments caught on fire and I had to stomp the flames out. That might've worked better if the priest hadn't been wearing the vestments at the time. Anyway, he forgave me afterwards and we had a little chuckle over it, and said he would repay the favor to me the next time I caught fire.
The fire was now a conflagration, God, and I was blackened from all the soot. The priest took off and told me to follow suit. But I was determined to get the Bible and the cross on the altar. It was perfect timing, God, when I grabbed the Bible and Cross and the water sprinklers came on. This made me wet, and the soot on my hands got over everything. I tried to run outide, but the smoke made it very difficult, so I had to get on my hands and knees, coughing from all the smoke. The Baptist church across the street were just let out and they were gathering around to see the fire at our church. God, you're very forgiving of appearances. You would love me just the same if I were wearing a porkpie hat and a speedo. The Baptist church wasn't *quite* as forgiving as you are, though. I'm not sure who they thought I was, but it was certainly a person of ill-repute. Several old ladies whacked me with their handbags and purses; some of the old geezers hit me with their canes. I had to drop the cross and the Bible to cover my head from their blows, and they were obviously touched at seeing my brave efforts to save the altar cross and Bible, because they went and got holy water and started dousing the cross and the Bible with it. The Bible was smoking, true, but it didn't deserve the amount of water they were pouring on it, and the cross was metal, so I couldn't understand why they were pouring water on it. God, I think they were possibly trying to cool the cross off; it was kind of hot.
Anyway, you know what happens next, God. I told them the Bible wasn't on fire and didn't need to be drenched. But all that came out of my throat was a horrible low croaking sound which infuriated them. They started to douse ME with the holy water, but I began choking on the soot in my throat, and when I tried to take some of the holy water to drink (it was an emergency Lord, you understand), they shrank back and came forward with a wicker basket.
I didn't know what was in the basket, Lord; I thought it was perhaps a picnic basket filled with food and they had something to drink in it. I was disappointed when I stuck my hand in and pulled out a very large and very irate venomous snake. How did I know it was venomous? Why, the churchfolk of the Baptist church yelled to me that it was venomous and that if I were an actual God fearing man and not some guy they called "Bill Zabub", then I would be spared the serpent's bite.
God, you work in mysterious ways, but I've always understood that Bible passage to be figurative and not taken in a literal sense. And I always figured you endowed your creations with enough sense to leave large venomous snakes alone. But here I was, with a venomous snake slithering down my arm and into my shirt. It moved some of the soot off my arm and exposed my bronze skin. The Baptists then took a different tone with me and I was offered water and food, and one of the old geezers was kind enough to give me his jacket since my shirt and pants had holes burned into them. One of the old ladies gave me a peck on my check, another licked her handkerchief and grabbed my hair so I couldn't get away from her cleaning my face.
We all gathered around while the fire department put out the blaze and I caught up with the rest of my church. The priest had started a donation plate for a fund to refurbish the church and repair the damages, and when he saw me he also added that it could pay for hiking boots for me to wear in church, and everyone I saw donated to it.
Well, God, that's been my past month and a half in all things spiritual. How have things been with you? Busy? Heh heh. That's a little joke, I'm sure you're busy with the world. Anyway, I've gotta run to a contemporary worship session; I'm handling all the electronics and sounboard for the music, and I also want to get water for everybody in the band. It can get pretty hot up there praising the Lord. I'll keep you updated.
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