BLING AND A PRAYER
News that the priest at my church was leaving was at first a great disappointment to me; it meant I would lose a fortune.
It's not often that someone as slack as I am comes up with a scheme that coughs up money like a frat boy at a strip bar. But that's one of the great things about this country, that even those who are at best sporadically motivated can acquire undue riches through dubious means. Those of you who have read this blog for the past two years know I am talking about the salvation tax, the $5 a head fee I charge for access to the altar rail for communion when I usher. As far as easy money goes, it was like finding Fort Knox guarded by narcotized prairie dogs. Episcopalians are powerless to resist the call of communion wine and wafers.
I considered it quite unlikely that the next priest would have the moral flexibility to tolerate the salvation tax, or, that if he or she did, that priest would probably want more than a 20 percent cut. But when the Lord moves in His mysterious ways, any right-thinking Christian (of a certain ilk) should have no trouble looking out for No. 1. And soon I was transfixed by the light of revelation that illuminated the silver lining in this cloud. The priest of my church, you see, is going to be bishop of Nevada. That's right, bishop of Vegas, baby!
To be bishop of Vegas takes a certain blend of piety and street smarts, which perhaps is best seen here:
Such a bishop would be tough enough to keep other clerics from muscling in on the racket I have in mind. And it's such a simple plan. It's prayer. For sale.
Vegas is a town that probably sees more than its share of prayer, everything from gamblers seeking luck to wayward celebrities hoping to elude the paparazzi. But I imagine many of these prayers are slight and insubstantial things. They lack the vigor to rise to heaven, and so flit about the lights of Vegas like moths with ADHD.
Simply put, some people in Vegas might not know how to pray for selfish and dubious hopes. That's where my plan comes in. I see me and the bishop in his full regalia (mitre, crosier, the whole works) wandering the casino floors, trying to sniff out a losing streak. "Having a little trouble, buddy?" I'll ask. "Maybe my friend here can help ... for a fee, of course." Once the money has been paid, the bishop can offer up something like this: "O merciful Lord, the Bible tells us that Thy beloved servant Jacob enjoyed the bounty of easy and ill-gotten money. Please look with similar favor upon (insert name). Help him to know when to double down, and help him make his points the easy way. Lead him to like Jacob to riches, so that he, too, might screw over his boss and then hit Easy Street. Amen"
This plan is not restricted to gamblers. Anybody on the prowl for one of those moments that needs to stay in Vegas would be open to my scheme. "Bish! Look at that blonde over there in the black cocktail dress! Pray for me; I'm going in!" That could lead to "O Holy Father, please watch over Thy son, (insert real name, not alias), as he approaches one of Your children, who has been blessed with an ample rack, long legs and firm, toned backside. Help him to keep his back story straight, and instill in her a trusting heart that yields not to suspicion. Help her to believe that a 21-year-old man with a 10th-grade vocabulary really can be a well-connected entertainment lawyer in Hollywood. And should dawn break, and they are still together, grant (insert real name, not alias) the gift of stealth, so that he might quietly slip away without disturbing her slumber. In the days to come, always allow him to see her first, so that he might avoid awkward encounters that might unsettle the peace of the world. Amen."
Of course, there is a strong likelihood that such prayers will go unanswered, and the bishop and I might be faced with disgruntled masses. In which case, I would merely say, "The prayer didn't work? Wait a minute, did you confess your sins before the prayer? I thought not. See, you were still in a state of sin when the prayer went up, and that doesn't help. OK, to keep that from happening again, we have something called indulgences ..."
News that the priest at my church was leaving was at first a great disappointment to me; it meant I would lose a fortune.
It's not often that someone as slack as I am comes up with a scheme that coughs up money like a frat boy at a strip bar. But that's one of the great things about this country, that even those who are at best sporadically motivated can acquire undue riches through dubious means. Those of you who have read this blog for the past two years know I am talking about the salvation tax, the $5 a head fee I charge for access to the altar rail for communion when I usher. As far as easy money goes, it was like finding Fort Knox guarded by narcotized prairie dogs. Episcopalians are powerless to resist the call of communion wine and wafers.
I considered it quite unlikely that the next priest would have the moral flexibility to tolerate the salvation tax, or, that if he or she did, that priest would probably want more than a 20 percent cut. But when the Lord moves in His mysterious ways, any right-thinking Christian (of a certain ilk) should have no trouble looking out for No. 1. And soon I was transfixed by the light of revelation that illuminated the silver lining in this cloud. The priest of my church, you see, is going to be bishop of Nevada. That's right, bishop of Vegas, baby!
To be bishop of Vegas takes a certain blend of piety and street smarts, which perhaps is best seen here:
Such a bishop would be tough enough to keep other clerics from muscling in on the racket I have in mind. And it's such a simple plan. It's prayer. For sale.
Vegas is a town that probably sees more than its share of prayer, everything from gamblers seeking luck to wayward celebrities hoping to elude the paparazzi. But I imagine many of these prayers are slight and insubstantial things. They lack the vigor to rise to heaven, and so flit about the lights of Vegas like moths with ADHD.
Simply put, some people in Vegas might not know how to pray for selfish and dubious hopes. That's where my plan comes in. I see me and the bishop in his full regalia (mitre, crosier, the whole works) wandering the casino floors, trying to sniff out a losing streak. "Having a little trouble, buddy?" I'll ask. "Maybe my friend here can help ... for a fee, of course." Once the money has been paid, the bishop can offer up something like this: "O merciful Lord, the Bible tells us that Thy beloved servant Jacob enjoyed the bounty of easy and ill-gotten money. Please look with similar favor upon (insert name). Help him to know when to double down, and help him make his points the easy way. Lead him to like Jacob to riches, so that he, too, might screw over his boss and then hit Easy Street. Amen"
This plan is not restricted to gamblers. Anybody on the prowl for one of those moments that needs to stay in Vegas would be open to my scheme. "Bish! Look at that blonde over there in the black cocktail dress! Pray for me; I'm going in!" That could lead to "O Holy Father, please watch over Thy son, (insert real name, not alias), as he approaches one of Your children, who has been blessed with an ample rack, long legs and firm, toned backside. Help him to keep his back story straight, and instill in her a trusting heart that yields not to suspicion. Help her to believe that a 21-year-old man with a 10th-grade vocabulary really can be a well-connected entertainment lawyer in Hollywood. And should dawn break, and they are still together, grant (insert real name, not alias) the gift of stealth, so that he might quietly slip away without disturbing her slumber. In the days to come, always allow him to see her first, so that he might avoid awkward encounters that might unsettle the peace of the world. Amen."
Of course, there is a strong likelihood that such prayers will go unanswered, and the bishop and I might be faced with disgruntled masses. In which case, I would merely say, "The prayer didn't work? Wait a minute, did you confess your sins before the prayer? I thought not. See, you were still in a state of sin when the prayer went up, and that doesn't help. OK, to keep that from happening again, we have something called indulgences ..."
posted by John Parnell at 1:27 PM
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