Anyone Willing To Die For Jesus

by The Butcher!

Sunday dawned bright, as the congregation filed into the church. The building held a thousand, and all the pews were filled. The organist played some non-intrusive melody perfectly tailored for the elevator down at city hall, and what conversation was heard was hushed, and respectful, lest it should wake up The Lord.

The men all had suits in the expected dark tones, emphasized with the proper tie to symbolize their political affiliation, while the women wore dresses any Mormon would approve of in early years. And the children, filled with their morning portion of Clonidine were very respectful, daring not to disturb the holy atmosphere that permeated the officious structure. Everyone was there, God was in His heaven, and the air conditioning was working just fine!

The preacher appeared and began to gleen the crowd. Everyone was in their place. Construction workers and family in the back with the more blessed being up front nearer the baptismal. There wouldn’t be any baptisms today because everyone in the congregation had been throughly washed. Well, all except the babies who had to sin a little before receiving their ceremonial dunking.

The music faded, and the organist very respectfully exited the stage. The preacher focused a penetrating gaze upon the crowd. The people waited in anticipation for the words of inspiration that would soon proceed from his mouth and cause them to forget the Saturday night previous to this morning.

As the preacher drew a breath, two men in long dark coats appeared at the entrance of the church. Men in long coats were not the exception to this crowd, but somehow the ski masks set them off a bit. They made their way to the front of the church where they stopped, stood (very respectfully) and produced very respectful AR-15s from beneath their coats. If it were possible for the congregation to get quieter, they did. Even the preacher was at a loss for words. Then, one of the men approached the microphone on the podium.

“Anyone willing to die for Jesus, please stand up,” he said.

At this point there were audible gasps from the crowd. People began to look around. Staring at each other. This was the moment! This was the horrible active shooter situation they’d all seen in the news. In a matter of seconds these two men would begin to spray the crowd with thirty round clips. If there was to be a second coming, now would be a good time.

And about ten parishioners slowly stood up. Some elderly, a woman in the back who worked in the liquor store, and a little girl, whose mother was fighting to make her sit back down. One of the gunmen motioned for the little girl to come to him. As the people held their breath the man put his hand on the little girl’s head and said, “All of you not standing . . . can just leave!

Pandemonium reigned. Jesus had appeared in His own mysterious way, and provided salvation for ninty-nine point nine percent of the people in the church. They flooded out through the big doors in front so quickly that any fire Marshall would have been proud.

Then, all that remained were nine people, one preacher, two armed gunman and a little girl. The shooters turned to the preacher and removed their ski masks revealing two deacons that nobody had noticed were absent from the pews that morning.

One said, “There! All the hypocrites are gone, preacher. You may proceed!”

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