A Sunday school teacher asked his class, “Who was the mother of Jesus?”
“Mary,” a child answered.
“Good,” said the teacher. “And who was the father of Jesus?”
“Virge,” said another. A bit confused, the teacher asked, “Can you tell us more about that?”
“Sure,” the child replied. “Everyone talks about Virge ’n’ Mary.”
—George Vander Weit
When reading books to my young daughter, I often give her the opportunity to “read” one story back to me. One night she selected a kids’ version of the Christmas story. She confidently read along in her sweet voice until she came to the part in Scripture that reads, “Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared. . . .”
“Oh, Mom,” she said. “Here’s where the angels go crazy!”
It was near Christmas, and we were having family devotions one evening with our sons. My parents dropped by unexpectedly, and 3-year-old Colin was eager to finish devotions and talk to Grandma and Grandpa. After reading the story of the Wise Men’s visit to Jesus, we ended, as we usually did, with questions to see who was paying attention.
“What presents did the Wise Men bring to Jesus?” my husband, Kent, asked Colin. Totally exasperated by this drawn-out session, he blurted out, “How would I know? They were probably wrapped anyway!”
—Valerie Van Kooten
A $1 bill meets a $50 in the cash register at a grocery store.
“Hey, buddy!” says the $1. “Welcome to the drawer. Where did you come from?”
The $50 answers, “Oh, you know, casinos, a cruise ship, a few classy restaurants, a baseball game, the mall. What about you?”
“Well,” says the $1, “the last place I visited was a church.”
“A church!” exclaims the $50. “What’s a church?”
Church message board in Vancouver, British Columbia:
“God loves a cheerful giver, but also accepteth from a grouch.”
When the dog of a wealthy neighborhood lady died, she went to the nearby Christian Reformed church and asked the minister, “Would you please do a funeral service for my dear deceased Fluffy?”
“Oh, no,” said the pastor. “I don’t do funeral services for animals. Why don’t you try the Methodist church a couple blocks from here?”
“OK,” the woman replied. “But could you tell me how much I should offer the pastor for doing the service? Is $400 enough, or do you think I should offer $500?”
The minister responded, “Ma’am, why didn’t you tell me that Fluffy was a Christian Reformed dog?”
—George Vander Weit
As I arrived at church for the evening service, I was greeted by a couple of frantic elders. The guest pastor was nowhere to be found. One of them offered to lead a song service, while I called the guest pastor. I found him in his office, thinking our service started at 6 p.m. rather than at 5 p.m. He arrived about 20 minutes later. I have never forgotten his opening line to the congregation: “You’ve heard it said, ‘To err is human, to forgive divine.’ I’ve been very human; I’m asking you to be very divine.”
This election day our city used a new ballot format. The concept was simple: fill in the oval next to the candidate of your choice. No problem, I thought smugly—I’d have to be an idiot to get that wrong. Then I proceeded to spoil my ballot by blackening too many ovals.
But wanting my vote to count, I asked the lady at the table for a new ballot. A bit rattled, I started over, choosing a candidate for the hotly-contested governor spot.
With horror I saw that I had just voted for the wrong candidate. After weighing a grave mis-vote against the mortification of asking for a third ballot, I slunk back to the lady, comforted by the thought that she didn’t know me and I’d probably never see her again.
After looking me over in politely disguised disbelief, she gave me another ballot. Then she asked, “Aren’t you the girl who writes for The Banner?”
I’m now in the market for a good alias.
—Sandy Swartzentruber(contributor to The Banner’s kids’ pages)