A crooked prosperity
preacher died and knocked on the Pearly Gates. St. Peter came to the door but
blocked the man’s entry.
“Can I come
in?” the preacher asked. “I lived a good Christian life.”
louder than words,” St. Peter said. “So let’s do an instant replay of your last moments on earth.”
A vision unfolded
before St. Peter and the preacher. Down below on earth, an exuberant service
was in progress. People sang and clapped their hands, dancing to the loud music. Ushers stood before the speakers’ platform, holding big offering plates and
waiting for their cue to circulate out in the pews and fleece the flock.
The vision shifted
to the utility loft just above the ceiling of the auditorium, where two grinning workmen were emptying the contents of a bulging
bag into the ventilation ducts. They cracked jokes about angels molting in the
One of the men turned
on the central air, and PRESTO! A soft shower of turkey feathers fell upon the congregation down below, causing a chorus of “hallelujah’s!”
among us!” the preacher cried. “I decree a special ‘Angel Feather
Blessing’ on every pocketbook in this congregation. Open wide as the ushers come to receive your tithes and offerings,
and angels will FLY to bring blessings into your life! Just like baseball, you won’t get to first base with God unless
you pitch into your church home plate!”
fly!” one of the workmen wisecracked to his partner.
Once the offering
was taken up, the preacher preached about heaven’s streets being paved with gold.
High above the congregation, the two workmen, doubled over with laughter, loaded
the vents with tiny plastic specks.
Once again the thermostat
clicked on. This time “gold dust” floated down from above onto the
worshippers. The preacher rejoiced about the “Golden Prosperity Visitation” from heaven.
needs need to be met in our ministry,” the preacher said. “I’m
asking for a ONE-TIME extra offering to be made, and in return, you can expect a GOLDEN GLORY harvest to come your way in
the coming weeks. You won’t get to second base with God unless you pitch into your church home plate!”
Once again the offering
plates made their rounds and returned to the platform. But as the preacher set
his greedy eyes on the loot, he keeled over, clutching his chest.
At the Pearly Gates,
the preacher shook his head and said, “I never did get to enjoy that offering, did I? Oh, well, it’s not a TOTAL
loss. I did at least make it to heaven.”
“Not so fast!”
St. Peter said. “Fool’s gold can’t fool God. And then there’s
the matter of the turkey feathers. Before you could fly the congregation to third
base, you struck out for fowl play.”