The Father
On Sunday evening, Father Emmanuel lay back on his bed and exhaled a long, relieved breath. The worship service had gone well this morning. They had a full load of furniture and quilts ready to ship to the store in the morning. None of the men in the watch towers had seen a police car all weekend. Things seemed to be settling down, getting back to normal.
Unfortunately, normal around here sometimes meant dull. Billy Joel got it right when he said sinners had much more fun than saints. The occasional private “prayer session” with a female member aside, reigning over a kingdom on the north Texas prairie offered little excitement.
He should plan an event, something to celebrate the official start of fall that was coming up. The men had been having a bit of luck on the lake recently. Why not a fish fry? The women could bake homemade bread to go with it. He’d call the event Loaves and Fishes. Of course Jesus probably hadn’t served those two fishes fried, but Jesus was from the Middle East, not the southern U.S.
Father Emmanuel stretched his legs and congratulated himself on his cleverness.