Good Lord, what is it now? I do not keep office hours on Sunday mornings—especially the Sunday morning before an Election Day!
I’ve got a gaggle of judicial candidates, each begging me to read the morning announcements. Parents are complaining that the new elephant slide in the Noah’s Ark nursery sends the wrong message to the conservative voters of tomorrow. Plus my sermon on “Give Unto Rome a Good Biblical Ass-Lickin’-Kickin’!” isn’t going to write itself!
Just another Lord’s Day morn at Cubic Zirconium Cathedral Ministries!
What do you want? Say, don’t you know that Halloween is over? Although I’ve got to say that I dig the whole Obi-Wan Kenobi look. But you should really trade in that Glock for a light saber.
Seriously, though, I’m all out of treats. Why don’t you go bother Brother Bear down the street at Glory Holy Ministries. He’ll give you a bag of candy corn if you can recite The Golden Rule. But normally that’s just for kids—I’m not sure what he does for Kenny Loggins lookalikes.
I’ve gotta get back to work now, okay? If I’m not spot-on, Third Offering will be a bust—and then no anniversary getaway for me and Mrs. Pillow to Atlantis Sanya, China.
Okay, now where was I? Ah yes, back to my sermon and a few nips from that bottle of Old Grand-Dad.
The three key letters to any decent Election Week sermon: G-A-G.
G. Rome is coming for your Guns. Usually a few references to Nero and the Colosseum will do the trick. Plus, always a good idea to remind the congregation that if the victim in Jesus’ parable had been packing heat, we never would have needed a Good Samaritan in the first place.
A. Vote conservative or there will be Abortions in the streets, at kindergarten Christmas pageants, during Super Bowl commercials, you name it. Also, a wire shirt hanger always makes for a good visual. I must have one around here somewhere.
And, finally, G again. While the IRS might not want me to tell you which candidate to vote for, God Himself appeared to me last night in a vision, His Divine finger stretching forth and writing upon the wall, “Thou shalt vote for—”
Sigh. Who is it this time? You again?! Listen, I appreciate the whole Chuck Norris in a tunic concept, but I’m going to have to call security if you don’t leave me alone.
What’s that? Follow you? Where, to Jo-Ann Fabrics? Careful, or someone’s going to ring you up as a Shroud of Turin bolt. Ha-ha!
You have an idea for my sermon? By all means, I’m all ears. Tolerance, plus care for the widow and orphan? Support same-sex marriage? Discount drones? Plug ecumenism? Add a few quotes by Pope Francis?
Holy shit, what are you, a Balaam’s ass socialist?! Why don’t I just invite Bernie Sanders in all his wild-haired glory to pour Welch’s grape juice into Dixie Cups at the altar? I’m sure that’ll boost our bottom line.
Sheesh. Hey, you want to write my sermon? How about I augment your costume? Why don’t you throw on a leather jacket and come back a third time as Richard Marx? You can sit just outside my office door and serenade me with “Right Here Waiting.”
Thanks for your help, but there’s a reason I’m a M to the D to the I to the V. Bang!
Now just run along and play Jesus Christ Superstar while the real Gospel professionals get back to the business of running tax-free billion-dollar operations. And don’t forget to vote straight-ticket Republican!
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