At a Baptist Church in the deep south, male leaders are taking turns filling the pulpit in the absence of a pastor.
Two weeks before Easter, one of the leaders—an eighty-year-old millionaire—looks out over the congregation of sixty people. “I’ve decided not to teach this morning,” he declares. “Rather I’m going to make an announcement. And it’s going to upset many of you. But at this point I honestly don’t care; I’m angry. The two previous pastors have nearly destroyed our church. So, I’ve decided to do something about it. Before I make my announcement, I should remind you that my brother, when he was still alive, and I built this church building on our property with our money. The agreement at the time was that when my brother and I are deceased, the deed to the property, and all the buildings, will transfer to the church. But I’m not dead. And I still hold the deed to the property. Therefore, I’ve made a unilateral decision. And there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”
Eyebrows all across the auditorium instantly lifted.
“In two weeks from now, on Easter Sunday, I’m bringing in a lady pastor. I’m going to pay her salary. I’m going to furnish her a home and a car. All I’m going to tell you at the moment is that she’s a widow, and she has served as a long-time missionary in Africa.” The old man paused and pointed an aged finger toward the foyer. “If you don’t like my decision, you know where the doors are.”
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