READING, Calif. — Bruce Pendleton, a self-proclaimed biblical scholar, Sabbath School teacher, and renowned armchair theologian, arrived at church this Sabbath armed with an assortment of colored pens and a notebook ready to take down notes on every minor detail of the sermon.
“I just can’t help myself,” said Pendleton, barely concealing his superiority complex behind a facade of pseudo-humility. “Whenever I hear a sermon, my inner theological radar activates, and I can’t wait to swoop in and offer my profound insights and corrections.”
Witnesses report that as soon as the pastor began speaking, Pendleton’s facial expressions were akin to a master poker player, displaying an array of eye rolls, smirks, and disappointed head shakes. At one point, when the pastor made a reference to a Greek word in passing, Pendleton audibly scoffed, confident that nobody else in the congregation would understand the significance.
“I’m just trying to help,” Pendleton proclaimed condescendingly. “If the pastor would only consult me before preaching, imagine how much more enlightened the entire congregation would be.”
As the minutes ticked by, Pendleton’s anticipation grew, and it became evident that his excitement for the sermon’s conclusion even outweighed his desire for potluck.
Finally, when the pastor uttered the concluding words, “Amen, let us pray,” Pendleton’s eyes lit up as though he had won the theological jackpot. As the rest of the congregation bowed their heads in prayer, he immediately leaped into action, feverishly flipping through his notebook, ready to dissect the sermon’s every phrase, analogy, and pronunciation.
“It’s a tough job, being the spiritual watchdog of the church,” Pendleton admitted with a sense of imagined humility. “But someone’s got to do it, right?”