A pastor went to his church office on Monday morning and discovered a dead mule in the church yard. He telephoned the police. Since there did not appear to be any foul play, the police referred the pastor to the Health Department.
They explained, “Since there was no health threat, you’ll need to call the Sanitation Department.”
When the pastor called the Sanitation Department, the manager said, “I can’t pick up that dead mule without authorization from the mayor.”
The pastor was not at all eager to call the mayor, who possessed a very bad temper and was always extremely unpleasant and hard to deal with, but eventually the pastor called him.
The mayor immediately began to rant and rave. After his continued rant at the pastor, the mayor finally said, “Why did you call me anyway? Isn’t it your job to bury the dead?”
The pastor paused for a brief prayer and asked the Lord to direct his response. The Lord led the pastor to the words he was seeking, “Yes, Mayor, it IS my job to bury the dead, BUT I always like to notify the next of kin first!”
—–
—–
SIGNS YOUR PASTOR IS A COWBOY
~ At the end of the service, he replaces altar call with “roundup.”
~ Refers to the deacons’ meetings as “a campfire chat.”
~ Walks into the pulpit with a hearty, “Hi-Yo Silver!”
~ Occasionally refers to his Bible as “my trusty six-shooter.”
~ Wants the ushers to pass around 10-gallon cowboy hats instead of offering plates.
~ When performing a wedding, he begins the ceremony with, “Howdy Pardners.”
~ Constantly threatens to preach well past “high noon.”
~ Wants to be called “Pastor Tex.”
~ Refers to the next church fellowship dinner as “gathering around the ol’ chuck wagon.”
~ His new three-week sermon series: “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
—–
—–
While walking in the park one day, I was taking in the beautiful lake, blooming flowers, and enjoying the oversized path to walk on.
As I was coming down a hill, I saw an older woman coming toward me, pushing a stroller with two toddlers in it. “We’re coming to a hill,” the grandmother said to the children, “so you’ll have to help me. Are you ready?”
I wondered how those little toddlers would be of any assistance, but as I passed them, I heard them earnestly repeating: “I think I can, I think I can…”
—–
Leaving Miami for Ft. Lauderdale, I decided to stop at one of those rest areas on the side of the road. I go into the bathroom. The first stall is taken, so I go into the second stall. I had just sat down when I hear a voice from the other stall. “Hi there, how is it going?”
Okay, I am not the type to strike up conversations with strangers in washrooms on the side of the road. I didn’t know what to say, so finally I said, “Not bad . . .”
Then the voice says, “So, what are you doing?”
I am starting to find this a bit weird, but I say, “Well, I’m going to Ft. Lauderdale . . .”
Then I hear the person, flustered, say, “Look, I’ll call you back. Every time I ask you a question, this weirdo in the next stall keeps answering me!”
—–
