It was the best sermon no one will ever hear.
I spent 6 hours yesterday writing, crafting, moving a paragraph here and one over there. Here a comma, there a comma, everywhere a comma, comma. I pounded the words on the word processing anvil shaping, forming them to the best of my wordsmithing abilities.
I stepped away from the finished product and pronounced “it is good.” I renamed the file and here’s where the details go fuzzy. Through a mad series of clicks the sermon was gone. I tried every conceivable method, even purchased a snazzy undelete program, to no avail. The sermon was gone. As the crew from Switchfoot observes:
Gone, like yesterday is gone,
Like history is Gone,
Gone, like frank sinatra
Like elvis and his mom
Like al pacino’s cash nothing lasts in this life
My highschool dreams are gone
My childhood sweets are gone
I mean vanished, erased, deleted, terminated, vaporized. The sermon death star displayed the power of a full working destroyer and obliterated my sermonary planet.
Whoever determined that preachers should not cuss never lost the best sermon they had ever written. Though used in the right context there are at least two religious terms and one biblical city name that came readily to mind. Bonus points if you can figure out the two words. Double bonus points if you figure out the biblical city. Though you should probably just leave the passage in reference and not the actual city name!
I’ll try to rewrite the sermon. But I already know it won’t be the same.
