the brand new confessional
patrick is going into the confessional box after an extended lapse from going to church.
interior he reveals a fully geared up bar, guinness on tap and a row of decanters with great irish whiskey. on the wall is a astonishing array of cigars.
then the priest comes in.
the best power
carolyn heap, some other sunday faculty trainer, said to her youngsters, ‘we have been learning approximately how effective the kings and queens were in biblical instances. however there may be a better energy. who can inform me what it is?’
george blurted out, ‘i realize, aces.’
something lacking – missing some thing?
going over our church budget i discovered a receipt from a local paint shop signed with the aid of a person named christian. i wasn’t aware of all of us shopping for paint, so i referred to as the shop to point out its mistake
‘i’m sorry,’ i advised the manager, ‘however there are no christians right here at st mary’s church.’
amusing and correct humoured spiritual jokes
father brian, an aged catholic priest, changed into speakme to father karl, a more youthful priest, announcing, ‘you had an excellent concept to update the first four pews with plush bucket theatre seats. it worked like a charm. the front of the church always fills first now.’
father karl nods, and the old priest keeps, ‘and also you advised me including a little extra beat to the track could bring younger humans lower back to church, so i supported you when you added in that rock ‘n’ roll gospel choir. now our services are constantly packed to the rafters.’
‘thanks, father brian,’ solutions the younger priest. ‘i am thrilled that you are open to the new ideas of children.’
‘all of those ideas were well and appropriate,’ comments father brian wisely. however i’m afraid you’ve long gone too a long way with the force-thru confessional.’
‘indeed,’ replies the elderly priest, ‘and that i appreciate that. but the flashing neon sign, “toot ‘n tell or go to hell” can’t stay on the church roof.’
short memories with a religious theme
darlene was sitting on her grandfather’s lap as he study her a bedtime tale.
now and again, she could take her eyes off the ebook and reach up to the touch his wrinkled cheek. she turned into alternately stroking her personal cheek, then his again. in the end she spoke up, ‘grandpa, did god make you?’
‘sure, darling,’ he spoke back, ‘god made me a long term in the past.’
‘oh,’ darlene paused, ‘grandpa, did god make me too?’
‘yes, indeed, poppet,’ he stated, ‘god made you just a little whilst ago.’