Generally, I enjoy annual conference . . . but primarily this is due to spending time with friends (what few I have). I also work hard to find the humor in the proceedings, and as has been my tradition for many years now, I also write on this blog during annual conference. I point my humor at The United Methodist Church.
I'm not "down" on the church as I do this . . . it's just a fun exercise for me, a way of detailing some of our peculiarities and our strengths and deficiencies.
This year, I've decided to write limericks. I hope you'll visit each day to read a few.
(Story: Isaac Asimov relates in his autobiography about the "fever" that ensued while he was writing his two limerick books. As he noted: "Once I started writing them, I couldn't stop.")
Toward that end, just to whet your appetite, here are a few pre-conference limericks for you to ponder. I can't stop writing them . . . so, be sure to check back here each day of annual conference:
Some pastors of Methodist name
Convened by the cross and the flame
And they all lit their hair
While worshipping there
And left thus more inspired than they'd came.
A pastor from Timbuktu
Reported her stats which were few
She baptized Siamese brothers
And buried all others
So her church was comprised of just two.
A pastor who looked like a scythe
Who was tall and lanky and lithe
Was thus reappointed
For looking disjointed
And for sending along a short tithe.
There once was a pastor from Gripe
Who preached all of her sermons on Skype.
But the server? It crashed!
And her voice became hashed
And her sermons were not worth the hype.
When we become crass and rude
We should all be required to pray nude
And thus without clothing
Can't pretend we're all-knowing
And stripped of our masks be renewed.
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