For years in the pulpit

his hope was that he

would give those who

sat in the pews some-

thing sufficiently,

spiritually tasty and

nutritious to last

them longer than the

coffee hour following

worship. Sometimes

he prepared and deliver-

ed a four-course meal

for chewing upon and

digesting at

least through Thursday.

But sometimes the

really spicy Spirit

crept into the ingred-

ients in spite of the

cook and gave the

folks indigestion

before the twenty-

minute delivery was

done. He knew he

would get no dessert

that day at the door

when he shook their

hands. He saw the

stares from those who

dished out the

lemon meringue pie

at coffee hour. When

he got home he told

his wife that they were

on the menu for Sunday

dinner.  His parishioners

would be chewing on

Pastor Tartare and his

lovely wife Pasta Al

Dente and their delightful

teenaged, if a bit ram-

bunctious, twin daughters

Sautéed Shrimp.

The pastor’s stomach

started to churn and he

made a beeline for the

bathroom while his wife

reached for the Tums.