Pastor Terry Aise, a man whose booming voice could rival a foghorn on a foggy day, roared into his third point. Flowing River SDA vibrated with the usual Sabbath symphony: creaking fans, the rhythmic click-clack of knitted needles, and the faint snores emanating from the corner pew (courtesy of Brother Ben, bless his sleep apnea).
As Pastor Terry launched into the tale of “Mr. Whiskers,” a local stray with matted fur and a penchant for getting stuck in trees, the congregation stirred and Sister Mildred adjusted her hearing aid, a sure sign the emotional climax was nigh. The preacher described, in excruciating detail, the perilous rescue mission, the yowling feline, and the valiant efforts of the local fire department.
Sweat beaded on Terry’s brow. His voice began to wobble as his congregation’s hearts rose with the beautiful hope the end was nigh.
“And there I was,” Terry choked, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper and a solitary tear rolling down his cheek, “dangling precariously from a branch, Mr. Whiskers clinging to my shirt like a furry life raft…” He paused, blinking rapidly, a picture of emotional turmoil.
The congregation held its breath, any minute now. Terry swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in a rough sea. Finally, with the theatrical flourish of a seasoned soap opera actor, he described how he had leapt with the cat into an outstretched net. Then he uttered the magical phrase:
“In conclusion…”
A collective sigh of relief whooshed through the church. “Works every time,” said Sister Mildred. “As soon as he cries I know lunch is almost here.”
As the final “Amen” echoed through the empty church, Terry beamed, unaware of the synchronized dash for the door. He basked in the silence, convinced his emotional storytelling had truly moved his flock.
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