A minister was making his rounds to his parishioners on a bicycle when he came upon a little boy trying to sell a lawn mower.
“How much do you want for the mower?” asked the preacher.
“I just want enough money to go out and buy a bike,” said the little boy. After a moment of consideration, the preacher asked, “Will you take my bike in exchange for it?”
The little boy asked if he could try it out first, and after riding the bike around a little while said, “Mister, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
The preacher took the mower and began to try to crank it. Pulling on the string a few times with no response from the mower, the preacher called the little boy over, “I can’t get this mower to start.”
The little boy said, “That’s because you have to swear at it to get it started.”
The preacher said, “I am a minister, and I cannot swear. It has been so long since I have been saved that I do not even remember how to swear.
” The boy looked at him happily and said, “Just keep pullin’ on that string. It’ll come back to you’!”
The Meenister’s Log
I have to admit that occasionally I have used some un-ministerial language in my time – never anything blasphemous – just the usual industrial language that sadly seems to be common currency these days.
Btw I watched a particular Jeremy Kyle show a while back where nothing that one of his guests said made any sense, as virtually every third word was “beeped” out.
Once when I was driving, I was cut in front by a cyclist. I sounded my horn and received a “V” sign in return.
I quickly turned into a parallel street, raced up it and back onto the road which he was cycling up. Stopped the car by the kerb and as he passed by, wound down the window and shouted something sweary at him. Poor guy nearly fell off his bike.
I realised a nano-second later that it was the wrong cyclist…. oh, and I’d forgotten that I was wearing my clerical collar.
Oh, the embarrassment; oh, the shame!
Copyright © 2011 The Zondervan Corporation
.In the Bible story there are all sorts whom Jesus befriended, including prostitutes and rough fishermen. I guess that Christ was used to hearing crude talk and colourful language. Sometimes, though not always, a coarse word might just get the message across to some folk for whom sugar-coated “nice” language may be totally ineffectual
Tynecastle Stadium. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Meenister’s Log
Once, when at Tynecastle watching the Hearts, I was sitting two or three seats along from this late middle-aged guy. He had his replica top on, Jambo woolly hat, and maroon and white scarf. I was in mufti – jeans and leather jacket and probably a baseball cap.
Well this guy went bananas from kick off to final whistle. He shouted at the referee in heavy duty language, he berated our own players for missing chances and did so in no uncertain terms, virtually every opposition player received a colourful comment, he was f’ing and blinding so much that someone in the row behind had to tell him to tone down his language as there were kids nearby (who had most likely heard all this stuff before!)
He was quiet until half time when he went off to get a pie and a paper cup of Bovril.
Second half: same again – industrial stength language including a suggestion that one of the players do something that’s physically impossible.
The Jam Tarts lost. They were booed off the pitch with my neighbour calling them a bunch of four letter fellows (or something like that).
The next day being Sunday – it was church time in the morning.
“Wasn’t a very good game yesterday” I said to this guy.
“Were you there?”
“Aye, sitting two seats along from you – you were better entertainment than what was happening on the pitch”
His face turned a shade not unlike the Maroon colour of Hearts jerseys.
He was one of my Kirk Elders!